Things did not go as planned with Sylvie. She decided to cancel and so there I was, frantic! How was I going to satisfy this deep need to validate myself through sexual expression? First I laid it on fairly thick in a hypomanic frenzy to see if she might not be willing to move some things around in order to accommodate our coupling. Kind of crappy move, but this woman holds a special place in my mind as the “one that got away”. No change and I think I only upset her a little bit with my continued flirtations and persistence. I recognize this to be childish and more than a little pushy, not the kinds of traits I normally attribute to myself. I normally don’t assert myself to women, I usually take it as it comes.
Now what? A brief respite in the form of a visit to a female friend. Married with kids, I have no intentions of being a pervert here. She has other company in the form of an attractive female friend who is preparing to move some three thousand miles away. I think that this might be interesting except for the fact that she almost immediately stonewalls me. ME!!! I’m used to women feeling one way or another about me but no matter what I get a reaction. From this lady I get less than nothing. She is a social flatliner the entire duration of my visit. It bothers me immensely. Especially given that I had recently had my validation bid canceled. Things start to get dangerous as my fragile ego begins to crumble.
The next day I return to the major North American city in which I lived for around six to seven years to visit my friends. I stay with my best friend from high school and college roommate, Damon. With the wife and kids it’s a full house and the children are happy to see me. I just adore them, he has a daughter, five and a son who is two. They are delightful. Roiling inside me however is this itch that I have not yet scratched and a massive bruise to my self-esteem. I fire up tinder and start getting hits. I score myself a date for Friday night when I attend a friends music show. She seems like a super nice and really cool woman, we chat incessantly through texts like giddy high schoolers and make stupid jokes. In the meantime however I have caved completely and the cage door has fallen off of its rusty hinges. The teasing and promise of attention has finally pushed me into a hypomania. Jack steps out from his dusty cell and appraises the situation. Date on Friday, but there is still Thursday night old bean and you need to get naked with something.
Jack takes the wheel. I tinder harder and faster, I start something that I like to call “A swing and a miss”. When I get a match with a woman the first message I send is something inappropriate or shocking. Something like: “You look like a good kisser, want to meet up at a secluded booth in a seedy bar and make-out?” Or: “You don’t really seem like the one night stand type.” The idea with these is as the name suggests, you are going to strike out for almost all of these. Except that when you don’t… Well, you sir have found a fuck partner. If she responds to these type of bold and outrageous advances she is likely to engage in meaningless sex, guilt free. Sure enough I get a few hits but one stands out. A musician and vocalist, aged forty one but surely that’s a mistake and she entered her age wrong. She doesn’t look like she has gotten too far into her thirties let alone forties. She looks younger than I do and I look young for my age. We chat, she isn’t into my proposal initially (that we meet and have sex). After a time however Jack butters her up well enough that she is intrigued and agrees to meet for sex.
We meet at a pub in the gaybourhood as she lives nearby to there. I ask her if there is anything about her I need to know, is her address indicative of anything? She says no. Good, no penis. When she comes into the bar and touches me on the shoulder to get my attention I turn and am actually shocked. She is better looking even than her pictures and has an aura of fuckability all about her. Seductive eyes and a nice soft sultry voice. I drop my glasses from my pocket while moving from the bar to the table so dumbfounded I am that I am fumbling. Not normal for me at all. Jack gets me to the table and starts the conversation. She is undecided whether or not to proceed. We share stories about our past relationships and find that we have had some similar experiences. She tells me that she has done this once before after she got out of a long controlling relationship in order to liberate herself sexually. I totally comprehend. I do not judge, it isn’t in my nature. Here I am looking to score, how could I judge?
I ask her if she is really forty one. She confirms that she is and I tell her that can’t be true, she looks younger than me. She disagrees, I insist and point out that she has no crows feet whereas I do, a little. I think she is a little flattered but ultimately doesn’t care. She is comfortable with what she is and she isn’t accepting my charm as leverage in her decision to mate with me. Jack realizes he is dealing with a genuine woman and sees what tactically needs to be done. He releases his control over me temporarily. I behave as a normal Dysphorian for the next half hour or so. It comes to decision time as we finish our third or fourth drink and she signifies her acceptance by gifting me with a kiss. We pay and leave.
Jack swoops in for the main event. Once inside her place I use the restroom, upon returning from my visit she stops me in the hall and we begin to make out. Deep beautiful kisses flooding me with dopamine and approval. I have my drug. If I thought that she looked young clothed I was in for a surprise. A pleasant one, so don’t you worry. Once nude her body resembles that of an endowed twenty-four year old volleyball player. Her breasts have not sagged in the very slightest, they are high and taut. I would think that they were fake until I felt them. They were not. Everything else about her is smooth, well-curved perfection. We proceed to roll around on the top of her bedclothes without bothering to pull them over us, fully naked in one anothers coital embrace.
The next day after I return to Damon’s place I put in a text to thank her and offer a similar treatment upon my return to the city. She enthusiastically accepts, assuming that she is unattached. I proceed to nap and plan my evening at my friend’s music show with the next lady. First I go to Damon’s place of work, a fine dining restaurant and throw back five cocktails. Jack is still driving for some reason, but why? Didn’t he get his fill last night? After this I meet with a long time female friend and mutual friend (former musical partner) of the evenings host. Trixie and I have a great conversation and some fried tofu and yam frites. Jack has two more drinks. At the venue I meet Daria, my date for the evening. She is bright, vivacious, energetic, beautiful and fun. We hear the music, and Jack has more to drink. Jack kisses her right there at the table in front of my friends. No sense of propriety at all, he does as he pleases and if that bothers you, well… that’s a you problem. Eventually Jack gets so abrasive that he says something off-putting to Daria that has her change her mind about being out with me. She decides to leave. I chase after her. In my mind I feel the need to explain to her or apologize, make it clear that I didn’t mean whatever Jack said. Maybe she could see that I wasn’t that guy and she might decide to return. This obviously fails and only makes me look like a douche who is desperately trying to stalk a girl for sex. So not the case, but the lesbians in attendance will not see it that way.
Oh, Trixie is gay and married to a woman. Many of her friends that are there are also gay. So now I just look like a misogynistic clown who feels like he is owed sex… Sweet. But wait, there’s more! Jack then proceeds to flirt with anyone and anything that will listen to him, yeah…. Well done, ass. They are all lesbians and they already don’t like you right now. Fortunately another mutual friend steps in to save the day. She literally throws herself into my line of belligerent jerk fire. She takes some of the hit but then redirects me to the burrito joint next door with the company of a gay male friend who is actually a really handsome guy and some bitchy little troll-woman who won’t shut up about the fact that I brought a tinder date with me. Whoa! Wait a minute… how does she know this? It isn’t as though I was advertising it… Not that it’s any of her damn business even if I did, I mean who is this fucking thing? She is fuck uglier than a burnt corpse and giving me hell for having a date that I procured via electronic means? Listen burnt-troll bitch, you can’t get a date… Just shut the fuck up, nobody cares and you aren’t going to shame me for using tinder. Seeing as she is here with a woman who is literally saving my hide I don’t tell her off. Jack is gone, diplomacy is a sure sign that he has no more control.
So that’s how my hypomanic outburst ruined the fun for many of my friends and made me a total shit-disturber. Not cool at all. Jack’s revenge for keeping him bottled up for so long. Fuck that guy. I would hate him more if he wasn’t totally effective at times…
Edit: This entire blog is intended for me so at times clarification is overlooked. Jack, for the newer readers or people who haven’t read back is Jack McBastard. This is the name I have given my hypomanic tendencies and is not actually another person, persona or personality nor is he my attempt to shirk responsibility for my part in anything that I have done. I am fully aware that I am squarely to blame for my behaviour. I have since spoken to Sylvie and there is a very solid chance that we may yet reunite for a tryst or two. I apologized for my persistence and borderline aggression. I genuinely feel terrible about that, it really isn’t my style. If I don’t get what I want I normally drop it and move on, I can always make good elsewhere. As it turns out I am far more attractive than I realized, Jack is far more charming, Dysphorian is very genuine and the combination is nearly irresistible. My self-awareness teeters on arrogance coupled with the self-justification so common in the cognition of bipolars that we are often confused as narcissistic personality disorder types. I almost suffered a small amount of cognitive dissonance upon discovering that I was in fact attractive… I had lived so long assuming that I was average and attempting to determine and gain self-worth by sleeping with as many women as possible, something that has rather become habit and still hasn’t gone away. Not that I would want it to. Women are amazing. I would have a Frank Sinatra breakfast everyday if I could.