That Time I Hid in An Alleyway

Friends, I’ve got an embarrassing story to tell you, and it resulted in… well, what the title says: I hid in an alleyway. It all started yesterday, when I got a text, totally out of the blue, from Number 5: The Fireman.

“I live just around the corner from you now, and I’m at a loose end tonight. Would you like to come round for a drink? See the new pad?”

Yes, of course I wanted to go for a drink and see the new pad – and that wasn’t all.

Fireman is the ex that never really goes away. We won’t hear from each other for months, maybe even years; then one day, out of the blue, just like yesterday, one of us will text the other.

Let’s go for a drink = let’s fuck.

It has always meant that.

I rushed home from work, showered, shaved, primped n’ preened to within an inch of my life, wore my hair in that way he always liked, applied a little more makeup than usual, and spritzed myself with my favourite perfume.

Next, I selected my favourite set of lingerie, put it on, chose a relatively innocent outfit to go over the top, and walked my ass right round to his house… all of two minutes away.

We did what we always did: had a few drinks, reminisced, and laughed about embarrassments gone by. It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to sex, just like it always did.

He looked at me in that way.

I looked at him in that way.

Then, I got up from my chair, sassed myself over to his, and leaned in for the kiss…

He pulled back. “No.”

Whaaaaat?

Well, that’s never happened before.

He’s always said – and I quote: “You’re the only girl I can’t ever say no to.” So, why’s he saying no? The promise of sex was the only reason I’d said yes.

“Um, I’m dating this girl now,” he said, avoiding my gaze.

Okay, well, that’s fair enough… but couldn’t he have said that BEFORE I’d spent three hours getting ready for sex I wasn’t ever going to get? That aside, dating someone else had never stopped him from hopping into bed with me before, so I guess this one’s super special.  

 “We’ve been dating for a year now,” he told me. “I’ve grown up a lot. I love her. I can see a future with her.”

Great. I mean, I’m happy for him and all, but what kinda mixed signals bullshit was this?! Why invite me over for a drink, like all of our booty calls before, if he wasn’t going to booty call me? We’re not friends… we’re ex-lovers. Are we meant to be friends?!

I finished my third or fourth drink, then made my excuses… but I didn’t go home. Oh, no. Rather than doing the sensible thing, heading home, and sliding myself into bed, my slightly tipsy self decided to wait for him to change his mind.

I was actually furious that I wasted my now shaven hoohah on him. I wouldn’t have got date ready if I’d have known that it wasn’t an actual fuckin’ date. And, apparently, I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

Texts were exchanged.

Thanks for the drink. Let me know when I can hop on your dick again (in a slightly less crude way.) Blah, blah, blah.

I waited some more. I hung around in the alleyway between his street and mine, more pissed than I thought I was, waiting for that ex-boyfriend to change his mind and have sex with me.

He didn’t, obviously. That didn’t stop me from hanging around in the alleyway for MORE THAN ONE HOUR, dying for a wee but still not yet willing to admit defeat.

Eventually, the weather changed. I couldn’t stand and wait in the rain, could I? That was the point at which I admitted defeat, went home, and cried myself to sleep. I’m dramatic like that.

I don’t like being turned down. I know nobody likes getting turned down, but this time was especially humiliating. It was as though he waited for me to initiate it before dropping that huge bomb on me. I’m actually a bit proud of him for not taking what was handed to him on a plate but fuck him. I think he did it deliberately. I think he deliberately waited until that very moment for his news to have maximum impact.

Like, what did you call me for, then?

We ain’t friends, boy.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Text Sex Crazy.