Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sophia Scary and I am a 25 year-old medical student living in our nation’s great capital, where one would assume that with such a very high concentration of young intellectuals, dating should be no problem for an attractive, smart, and fairly cool chick such as myself. Well, I am here to tell you it most certainly is problematic.
When I first moved here, I was involved in a completely unfulfilling rebound relationship with Mr. Fool that lasted waaaaay too long because I “inadvertently” moved in with him. Long story. After the liberating moment when I finally ended it with Mr. Fool, I became involved in what can only be described as a passionate affair with Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen. Let’s talk about Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen.
When Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen sauntered into an MCAT class I was teaching back in October, I was immediately taken with his incredible looks and charismatic nature. And I am never attracted to men like this…men who are too good-looking and fucking know it. He was around 6 feet tall and slim but well-toned, with tanned skin, curly black hair with a hint of gray around his temples, and a few days’ worth of scruff. Beautiful. At the end of the first class, he stopped by my desk, leaned down, and asked, “When do we get to see you again?” Nervously (again, something I am usually not), I looked up to the rest of the class and said loudly, “Everyone, you have me again next week for your first O chem class.” He smiled his perfect smile and said, “See you then.” Then, he winked at me. I thought to myself, “Who exactly does this cocky bastard think he is?” But I was undeniably intrigued.
Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen started off our relationship outside the classroom by writing me one of the longest emails I have ever received about how uncertain he was about medical school. You see, the first class of every new class I teach, I offer my support and advice to my students…anything they need, when it comes to applying to medical school. We began exchanging emails and then found out through a series of serendipitous events that a good friend of mine from medical school is a good friend of his from college, which gave us a reason to hang out outside of the classroom. He began waiting for all the other students to leave after class and then would walk me out. We exchanged phone numbers and began texting regularly. Then one day we found ourselves alone together at a bar. We drank and talked and drank some more. Somehow we started talking about how fun it would be to take a roll in the hay together. Our knees were touching and the sexual tension could have been cut with a knife. I was newly single and he was newly single. Unfortunately, he was called away by an obligation to an ex-girlfriend so nothing came of it that night. In my inebriated state, I called Mr. Fool to come pick me up. The next morning, I woke up next to him and he said, “We had the wildest sex last night. I have never seen you act like that!” Guess who I was thinking about…
The next time we had class, he asked me to come over afterward to “watch a movie.” Of course, one thing led to another and we ended up in his bed. I was so totally nervous that I was practically shaking, never having bedded such a beautiful man. But I immediately relaxed in his arms. He kept eye contact with me the entire time and kissed me sweetly. The sex was incredible…mind-blowing…earth shattering. Yeah. Over the next few months, it only got better. Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen introduced me to the world of multiple orgasms and marathon sex. I was hooked. On top of the earth-shaking sex, we had this undeniable connection. We would send hundreds of texts back and forth all day. We spent 7 hours on the phone once. When I came to his place, we would make love (and I don’t use that term lightly; in fact I always shuttered at the mere mention of the term before knowing Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen’s touch), order some food, and snuggle on the couch, both of us in his pj’s.
At the onset of the romantic relationship, we had decided that neither of us was ready to be in a committed relationship and so we would just be “friends with benefits.” I hate that saying but I can think of nothing more appropriate. However, as I began to stay over after we got done doing what we were doing, and we began to eat meals together and kiss when we were not having sex and spoon all night, it did not feel at all like a friendship of any kind. He began to occasionally refer to what we were doing as “dating,” and would get jealous if I was talking to another guy. We would fall asleep on the phone together. I was in love with him before I knew what hit me. I had never been in love before, even though I had been in an 8 year relationship with Mr. Doc and a year long relationship with Mr. Fool. I loved Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen completely and unconditionally.
I am certain Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen knew this (ok, not 100%, but pretty sure). He began to become distant. Our “dates” (his term, not mine) grew further and further apart. He no longer texted me as soon as he woke up or right before he fell asleep. I was crushed because I saw this happening. I even got up the guts to say something about it after a few glasses of wine one night. His response was to deny the distancing and call a few days later with a heartfelt apology for being a flake and an “I miss you” speech. I, of course, forgave him.
Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen continued to become more distant. I started fucking Mr. Fumbles (again, a whole other story) from my class to distract myself from the pain of rejection by Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen. The sex was whack; so whack that I actually found myself rolling my eyes during sex. Meanwhile, every time I went a day without talking to Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen, I felt an awful void that wouldn’t go away. I missed him so much.
Eventually, Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen and I met up and he began telling me about how he had ended a fling with some other girl the night before because it was, “getting too serious.” He was totally bummed about it and so he went to his favorite bar and drank himself stupid, then proceeded to go over to an ex-girlfriend’s place with whom he “always had great sex.” That night that he went over to the ex’s place happened to be my birthday. And he happened to know I was alone. I sat across from him doing my very best to hold it together. I did a pretty good job. I just shook my head and said, “Oh, Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen, you and the women.” That day, I discovered that he was not who I thought he was and that I could not be in love with someone who did not exist. I fucked him one more time before he moved away. He hugged me afterward and thanked me profusely for all of the support I had provided him. “You have no idea what an important role you played in helping me make all of these decisions.” I wanted to punch him in the face, that patronizing bastard.
And so he left. I still talk to him at least every other day on GChat. He tells me he misses me every time and that he wants me to come see him. I want to, but then again I don’t. It would be totally masochistic of me to do so. I want very badly to let go of this relationship so that I can move on finally. This grotesque little glimmer of hope that he will realize we are meant to be together is making that very difficult. I thought that perhaps a good way to begin getting over Mr. Never-Gonna-Happen was to begin a new, more equal and fulfilling relationship. This has proven to be easier said than done. I mean, I see the same people every day in school and have no desire to date any of them. Where else do you meet men? In bars? That’s not working out so well; I hardly ever get hit on in DC.
So, after much hemming and hawing, I finally sucked it up and put a profile on match.com. I plan on blogging after each date so that you can all take this journey with me to find Mr. Right. I can guarantee it is going to be an interesting ride…
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