Sambuca: The Social Situation(s)
You know, I’ve moaned a lot, but there were good parts in my relationship with Sambuca. Yeah, we’ve got more shittiness here in Sambuca: The Social Situation(s,) like, jealousy, anger, more breakups and makeups, his perfect woman and conversation-wife, and an absolute fucking truckload of hypocrisy. But I promise you, there were good parts, too. They’re just overshadowed by the bad at this point.
I’ve cried a lot of tears writing this blog post, so you’d best enjoy it.
Let’s get right to it.
My perfect partner…
Sambuca and I had a chat one night, about our “perfect” partners. I basically described him. There was a reason I had a crush on him, after all.
He, on the other hand, described his female best friend. And I mean, really described her. He threw in the nationality, health conditions, job, the lot. It was fucking weird. I laughed about it at the time, but it never went away. In my defence, he wouldn’t let it go away. He talked about her a lot. I had to tell him to stop. It was mostly out of respect for her, but also because his mentionitis was starting to make me jealous. Proper jealous; not just fluffy jealous.
What else am I meant to think when he told me that she was his perfect fucking woman?
Now, I’ve had male BFFs for pretty much my entire adult life. My friendships with them were strictly platonic. I didn’t feel a whiff of attraction towards them, and I never thought of them as any more than a brother or gay BFF. I tried to train my brain to think the same about Sambuca’s friendships. (Plural, because there was another female BFF, too.) But, well, he said some more proper stupid shit.
“Oh, I’ve just replaced her husband,” he said to me one night, referencing BFF number two. “Just for the conversation bits,” he quickly added.
We’ve got BFF number one: his perfect woman.
And BFF number two: the conversation-wife.
He really doesn’t hear himself, does he? And he had the audacity to accuse me of cheating every five minutes.
I tried to bring up the way I felt about the BFF number one and two situations. Nothing changed. I swallowed it down, never to be brought up again… like an absolute mug.
The blog and Twitter situation (part one)
Sambuca fucking hated the blog, which is ironic as we met through it. You can’t date a dating and sex blogger, then be upset when there are things about their dating and sex life on the internet.
Of course, attached to the blog are the socials – Twitter, Instagram, etc. He hated those, too. Actually, that’s not fair: he hated the interactions I had with some of the people on them.
“He’s flirting with you.”
“He actively wants to have sex with you.”
“He knows that you have a boyfriend, but he’s still trying to fuck you!”
Yadda yadda yadda.
Public service announcement: Men always want to sleep with your girlfriend, bruh. Me, the last girlfriend, the ex before that. It’s just out in the open with me because a) you can see it, and b) I tell you fucking everything… like you asked me to.
This, right here, is why I don’t mix blogs and boys. It is an absolutely disastrous combination.
“I might get rid of the blog,” I said to Sambuca one night. “I’m getting a bit tired of being the sex blogger.”
It had been a day of dirty DMs (unsolicited,) too many work projects, and his blog-induced attitude problem. As much as I love being a dating and sex blogger, and I really do, being objectified in all the wrong ways gets a little tiring sometimes. It wasn’t the first time I’d threatened to throw in the towel (not sure who I’m threatening,) and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“I just want you to know that I’ve never had a problem with the blog,” Sambuca said. “Or the socials.”
Huh? I’m sorry, are you hallucinating, mate? Am I hallucinating? Have we not had the same conversations about it? Rows? Squabbles about other men? Even squabbles about women? Almost every single fucking day?
“I’m neurotic, and I stalk your stuff on there,” he then said, after one of our many breakups.
Don’t fucking stalk it, then. What’s wrong with you?
To be honest, I’d have probably quit the blog for him, had he compromised for me in the slightest… which he hadn’t. If the blog was genuinely getting between me and my happy-ever-after, of course I’d give it up. I’m not stupid. It’s just a fucking blog. I have copies of everything on it. Losing it wouldn’t be the biggest drama in the world. It’s not like I don’t have a thousand other projects to work on.
But I couldn’t think of a single time that he’d actually compromised for our relationship and/or me.
So, I asked: “Can you think of a single compromise or sacrifice you’ve made for me?”
He replied, “Oh, so it’s all about sacrifice with you, is it?”
I mean, no… but relationships are about compromising, right? Hadn’t I done enough compromising? I’d compromised on his job, how we met, the drinking thing, forgiving the maybe-violence, the porn thing (coming up,) telling me that his female BFF was his perfect fucking woman…
Hadn’t I compromised enough?
Where had he compromised? He hated my messaging habits, the blog, the people I hung around with, how opinionated I was, how I dealt with things when I got upset, how I didn’t deal with things, questions I asked, things I didn’t say…
He didn’t compromise for me; instead, he constantly pointed out all the things I’d done “wrong” and whined whenever I didn’t do what he wanted. For that reason, I think, I dug my heels in and didn’t shut down the blog. It was getting a little tiring, pushing my boundaries to the side for Sambuca, so I stopped doing it.
You want me?
Compromise for me.
It is definitely your fucking turn, mate.
Speaking of refused compromises…
The porn situation
One day, I got so sick and tired of Sambuca bringing up Twitter and/or the blog, that I went through his social media following lists. Why? I don’t really know. Nosiness? Jealousy? To prove a point, probably. He had far more interactions with women than he did with men, and it was something I’d noticed, but had chosen not to bring up.
It’s not my place to tell anyone who they can and can’t follow/talk to.
So, anyway, I looked at the accounts he followed. Porn account after porn account. OnlyFans woman after OnlyFans woman. Half-naked chick after half-naked chick. On multiple platforms. More than I could count on two hands, and perhaps my two feet, too.
Oh, boy. I was dating a creepy reply guy. Or a porn addict.
It gave me the massive ick.
I tried to let it go. Genuinely. I tried really hard to forget about it. But I couldn’t. Every single time he got annoyed with me, I wanted to explode with rage and jealousy at him…
And then, I did.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve, coming at me for who I’m talking to, when you’re following more porn accounts than all the porn addicts of Twitter,” I started… and I didn’t stop.
I called him some things I’m not proud of. I fully hold my hands up to being an absolute cunt. I called him a reply guy, a hypocrite, a creep, an internet skank, one of those weird Twitter blokes, and more. I let it allllllll out. I couldn’t stop.
Wanna know what he said? Ooooh, I cannot wait to tell you.
He said: “I didn’t realise that you had a problem with porn.”
Get fucked.
Don’t you dare make me out to be some kind of porn prude when you’re being gross and unreasonable. I love porn. I use porn, wank to porn, and enjoy porn on a regular basis. Basically daily. I write porn. I’ve sent you porn. I’ve wanked to porn that you have sent me. I’ve wanked to your homemade porn.
I am not a porn prude. That’s some weird, toxic, manipulating, gaslighting shit.
Hold yourself accountable, for fuck’s sake. Take some responsibility for your actions instead of trying to make me feel bad for being human and having feelings.
Despite my bottom line of never telling anyone who they should or shouldn’t follow, I asked Sambuca to reduce the number of porn accounts and practically naked women he followed. It made me feel uncomfortable, yeah, but it also made me feel inadequate, insecure, and inferior. Let’s just say, he had a type… and it wasn’t me.
“Yeah, of course, no drama!” he said.
And I waited.
I’ll save you the big build up: he didn’t get rid of a single porn/hot chick account. Not one. All those platforms, all those accounts, not a single one removed. You should have seen the speed at which he unfollowed one of my friends when he thought she was spying for me, though. Lightning fast. McLaren should hire him; that’s how fast.
(She wasn’t spying for me. I unfollowed and blocked him for a reason.)
Did those porn accounts and hot chicks really mean more to him than I did? How embarrassing for me. Not even worthy of one unfollow? Absolutely gutting stuff. As much as I’d love to be furious about it, I’m so fucking sad. And embarrassed.
I’m kinda embarrassed for him, too. Those hot women, who probably won’t ever talk to him, let alone fuck him, stopped him from getting actual sex with a real woman who was desperate to fuck him.
Make it make sense.
The no-social situation
“You won’t let me into your life,” Sambuca moaned, repeatedly. “You won’t let me on your personal socials!”
Well, duh. Do you know what my mother would say if she saw how many porn accounts you’re following, my dude? And she’s a nosy cow, so I don’t doubt that she’d have a proper look. If I listen real hard, I can already hear the snide opinions.
That aside, I might be flaky, but he’s unreliable as fuck in the boyfriend department. What’s the point in adding him to my personal, private socials, where my family and friends are all bundled up in one easy-to-find place, when I know damn well, he’s going to fuck up again? Fucking up was the only reliable thing about him at this point.
It irked him to no end. He repeatedly brought it up, even after I explicitly said, “I’ll add you to my socials once we’ve met and I’m sure you’re not a serial killer.”
I guess that boundary wasn’t right for him, either.
We repeatedly squabbled about it, but I refused to let it slide. I wasn’t budging. There’d be no steamrolling through that boundary, thank you very much.
The blog situation (part two)
Right at the beginning of our situationship, Sambuca explicitly told me that he had zero interest in reading about my past; therefore, he would never read the blog. He actually promised it, and it wasn’t for my benefit: it was for his.
Well, one day, after we’d broken up and made up again, Sambuca told me that I’d made him sad. Apparently, “someone” had read my blog, then told him what I’d written.
“You said that you wanted to have sex with two men. It upset me a bit,” he said.
If you’re going to quote my blog, after promising me that you would never read it, at least get the quote right. What I actually said was, “The only two men I want to have sex with,” in Re-Virginity. I didn’t say that I wanted to have sex with two men.
“Did you read it?” I asked. I couldn’t believe that someone else had read it on his behalf.
“No, I didn’t read it. A friend read it and thought I should know,” he answered.
I didn’t believe him, so I started throwing questions around.
Are they one of my followers? – No.
Did you ask them to read it? – No.
Are they someone I know? – No.
Are they someone who already reads the blog? – No.
So, let me get this straight:
He either read it himself and lied about it… or he told someone that didn’t already read the blog, about the blog, essentially revealing my identity – as his fucking “girlfriend” – to said friend.
What the actual fucking fuck?
First of all, getting someone else to read my blog doesn’t magically get around the whole promising not to read my blog thing. Just because he didn’t read it, doesn’t mean that he didn’t read it. Reading it by proxy is still reading it.
“I don’t care if it’s a dealbreaker,” he said. “I’m never going to tell you who read it.”
And, of course, from that point onwards, it popped into my head whenever we had a slight disagreement. I didn’t think it was a dealbreaker at the time. Afterwards, though, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling it gave me. What a weird, shitty, conniving, absolutely batshit thing to do.
I should’ve left his ass after that whopper of a red flag, really.
Lesson learned. (It’s probably not.)
Are you bored yet? I’m bored. It’s the same ol’ story on repeat at this point. More of the same coming soon in Sambuca: The Ugly. (Coz I’m not finished yet!)
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about the Sambuca story? You’ll find that right here.
If you’re in the market for something a lil’ spicier, why not check out one of my smutty favourites:
