Friend Request Accepted

At some level, the problem was probably brewing from the very beginning. We met in college. It was the summer before my junior year. I was at a house party thrown by a bunch of friends. I was buzzed, not drunk, when this group of girls and guys I didn't recognize showed up. I checked out the girls-all three were pretty, not totally hot or anything, but nice. My friend Jeff, one of the guys living at the house, greeted the group warmly. Turns out, he had gone to high school with a couple of the guys-I guess I had met them before, I just didn't remember. The three girls were friends of theirs from college (a different college than ours, in the same metropolitan area). They were all from the area, as well.

I noticed this one nice-looking brunette cast her gaze at me a few times. Figuring that was enough of a come-on for me to approach her, I did. I introduced myself, she did the same, and I offered to buy her a beer. Since it was a kegger and the beers were free, it was a somewhat lame, yet tried-and-true ice-breaker. It worked predictably, and so the slow dance of party seduction began. She was very cute of face (I've always been a sucker for a cute face), with nice, thick medium-length brown hair. Her body was a little squat for my taste. Not fat, not even chubby. Probably 5'2 and 120-125 lbs. Rather petite, in fact. It's just that her boobs were quite small, and her upper body was petite, so the weight was primarily in legs and ass that, while still acceptably proportional, were showing the thickening of four years or so of college food and beer consumption.

Anyway, we got to talking, and drinking, and I learned enough to know I was clear: she didn't have a boyfriend, wasn't seeing anyone seriously. One of the guys she came with gave me a few irritated glances, but I learned from Julie (that's her name) that while she had known her for a while, and they had dated a few times, it wasn't serious. If he thought they were dates for the party, she sure didn't. He came by a couple of times when I was away from Julie, and kind of lingered around for a while a couple of times, but her attention was fully on me, and he soon got the hint. No major drama.

Before the night was too far along, I was making out with her on the love-seat in the second-floor living room. I got to second base, over her thin shirt and thickly-padded bra, and had a handful of her still-just-firm-enough-to-call-tight ass. She didn't grab my package, but ran her hands all over my shoulders, chest and (at that time still flat) belly. She could really kiss! I got plenty hot. Her actions were totally receptive to what I was doing, but firm in limiting the encounter to that level of intimacy. I'm not a dick, so I didn't push it. Instead, I enjoyed the hell out of what was allowed. Too much, in fact. I had fucking chapped lips for days afterwards.

Before she left with her friends, she gave me her number. I promised I would call her. She told me she was really looking forward to seeing me again; jokingly adding that she hoped that I would shave my goatee before we went out again.

I continued partying, stumbling back to my apartment down the block sometime in the early morning hours to sleep it off. I woke in the afternoon the next day (a Sunday), and had to haul ass back to my parent's house for some family gathering or another. I had a couple of bloody mary's at my folk's house, along with a few aspirin, and that seemed to take the edge off the hangover. I got home that evening in time to watch the Simpson's and then pass out. I made it through work on Monday, and thought to give Julie a call.

I really hadn't been doing much dating that summer. I had broken up with my girlfriend of almost two years, Maria, in February of that year. Well, she dumped me, actually. I hooked up with her mid-way through my freshman year of college. She wasn't my first, but she might have well have been. I had dated several girls in high school, hooked up with even more at parties and whatnot. I had even gotten lucky with two girls (one girl-my first-only once; the other five times over the course of my senior year-a friend with benefits type of thing). I fucked a couple of girls at the beginning of my freshman year, and then met Maria.

Maria was a really pretty girl with an olive complexion and a petite, yet curvy body. She and I met at a holiday party. She was a senior in high school at the time, but had a maturity about her. The spark was instantaneous. However, she was very slow in terms of physical intimacy. I didn't mind. We went out several times with me getting kisses good night, before I finally got into the heavy make-out phase. Before we even got to that point, she made it clear that we had to be exclusive. I agreed readily.

Maria wasn't a virgin when we met. She had a boyfriend during her junior year of high school-a college guy. He made all sorts of promises of love and commitment, and took her out and impressed her with his car and expensive dinners and the like. It took him a couple of months to get her into bed, and then the dinners and expensive dates began to slack off. She didn't mind, she was in love. Then, he started being a little distant, except when he wanted sex, of course. She stuck it out for another several months, making excuses to herself and any of her friends who expressed concern because she had convinced herself that he was 'the one.' He still said all the loving things when he cared to spend time with her and get into her pants, but the flowers, cards, nightly phone calls and dates (other than picking her up to go to his apartment to screw) basically came to an end. It took a toll on Maria emotionally and damaged her self-esteem. He started avoiding her phone calls, breaking dates, and was unaccounted-for several times during weekends. Her friends told her he was running around on her. She wouldn't believe it. He never got physically abusive, but he would manipulate her emotionally, turning every concern she had back on her-bullying her into accepting an increasingly unacceptable situation. Somewhere along the line, a condom failed (she wasn't on the pill-she was too embarrassed to get a prescription), and she would up pregnant. She told her boyfriend, and he basically disappeared. Maria is a Catholic girl-maybe not a strict enough one to avoid pre-marital sex, but enough of one to have serious problems with abortion. She finally broke down and confessed to her mother that she was pregnant. Her mom took her to a doctor. Tests were done and it was discovered that it was an ectopic pregnancy-to carry the baby to term would kill mother and child. So, Maria had a medically-necessary abortion. The whole experience shook Maria. She didn't date for about nine months after that-when she met me.

I would say that I grew to love Maria. She was great-beautiful, fun, kind, loving, great family, smart, tough, and like I said, she had a maturity that exceeded my own-born out of some hard knocks. We were together for two years. I actually took her to her senior prom, and we made love for the first time that night, when we spent the night in a hotel. I used a condom, but she was also on the pill-we weren't taking any chances. The following fall, she moved into student housing at a nearby community college, and we started spending the night at each other's dorms semi-regularly. We were close, but didn't smother each other. We talked, at least briefly, nearly every evening or night. We got together at least one night every weekend; usually staying at one or the other's dorm for the night (thankfully, we both had private bedrooms at our dorms). Sometimes, we would go to a party together (we were too young for the bars-although I had a fake ID (she didn't)), other times we would go out together or just hand in and watch a movie or whatever. Sometimes, we would make a day out of it. More often than not, we would get together at some point during the week-a night at the movies, a lunch date, or just hang out and watch some TV or do homework together. Nothing stifling, but we made sure we spent plenty of time together. The sex was good, and only got better. We didn't do anything too crazy-missionary position was our preferred method-but we got good at getting each other off orally, and we made the most of our times together. So, after two years of increased emotional intimacy with a girl I loved, and two years of an average of two lengthy sex sessions a week, I went ahead and blew it. For fucking nothing.

I was at a campus party the week before Valentines, Maria wasn't there. The party was at a house out in the suburbs. I didn't know the hosts-a couple of girls who rented the house and were friends of friends. Anyway, this one girl was hot-blond, blue-eyed, tall, thin honey. For whatever reason, she took a liking to me. I don't know why. I wasn't that good looking of a guy-average face, I guess, 6'0 tall, 195 lbs., muscular but not huge and not ripped (I was pretty ripped out of high school as a 180 lbs. linebacker, but the extra 15 lbs settled mainly in my belly, and I didn't work out nearly as much). But, I was, and am, smart and funny. Sometimes, I can turn on the charm. Knowingly or not, I was that night, I guess. Blondie noticed, and liked what she saw. Maybe it had something to do with the confidence I had in not caring about hooking up with anyone. Girls do seem to get off on that sometimes-they see my lack of interest as a kind of challenge. Anyway, she obviously warmed up to me. As the night wore on, and as my drinking increased, my inhibitions lowered. Later, a few of us were outside on the deck smoking some grass. Blondie came into our closely-huddled circle (it was cold outside) and asked for a toke. I gave her the jay, and she hit it. Back inside, I noticed the party was breaking up, but there were still several people there, including the dudes I came with. We drank some more and played a stupid game of suck-and-blow, where you sit in a circle boy-girl-boy-girl style, and pass a playing card around using only the suction you create with your mouth. If the card falls-because you, as the passer, stop sucking and start blowing before the next person gets her mouth on the card to start sucking, you basically end up kissing each other. And you have to take a drink. That's the game. Anyway, Blondie took a seat and pulled me next to her. It seems like every time we tried to pass the card, we failed and we kissed. I pulled back; despite being drunk and high, I didn't want to cheat on Maria. Again, I think this only motivated Blondie more. A little later, I was out having some more pot, and Blondie followed me. The other guys in the circle went inside. I was going to follow them, but Blondie asked me to stay and keep her company while she had a toke or two. I did. On her second drag, she grabbed me behind the head and kissed me, exhaling the smoke into my lungs. That turned into an intense tongue-kiss. Next thing you know, we end up back in her bedroom. We fucked. It was fine. I was really high and drunk-which can be a fun state to fuck in. And, I think she was technically a good fuck. She sucked my prick in a really aggressive and sexy fashion-enough to get me stone-hard. And, after putting a condom on me, she hopped on top and gave me a ride. She was really good, shifting into three or four positions, all on top, a couple Maria and I had never done before. Like I said, she was good, and she was hot-in a different way than Maria. And, I came. Afterwards, she tried to cuddle with me, but I just wanted to get away. After a suitable amount of time, I got up, got dressed, and went to the bathroom. I stopped back into the room and said I had to go. I went out and found my friends with the other roommate at the kitchen table-everyone else was gone. Sly looks greeted me. I told them it was time to go. My buddy Doug was the driver and was mostly sober. He drove us home.

The next day, I felt like shit. I spoke with Maria, and I was paranoid that she would detect something in my voice-namely guilt. She didn't seem to act unusual, however. I thought that this might pass without my having to admit what I did. I prayed that it would. I promised God I would never do it again.

I spoke with Maria again the next day, and I confirmed that I had made plans for dinner on Valentine's Day. Everything seemed okay, and I began to relax.

The next day, I tried calling Maria, but she didn't answer. No big deal, sometimes we miss each other. I left a message to let her know that I had called and that I loved her.

I didn't get a return call the next day. I called again, left another message.

I didn't get a return call the next day. I called again, left another message, asking her to call and leave a message to at least let me know she was okay and getting my messages. Since we started going exclusive, we hadn't missed three straight days of calls unless one of us was out of town-even then, it was usually only a couple of days without a call.

The next day, I had a message from Maria. Her voice sounded hallow, kind of shaky. "William-its Maria. Call me tonight when you get this."

I called her immediately. She answered, and in response to my inquiries as to her well-being she simply said, "Is it true?"

"Is what true, babe?"

"Don't make me say it. Just tell me, is it true?"

"What are you talking about, Maria?" A cold chill ran up my spine.

"The party last weekend?...." Oh, shit.

"Yes, what about it?" My voice was trembling.

"Shelly knows Joanne-they went to high school together." Shelly was Maria's best friend in a dorm-a really nice girl who lived two doors down.

"Who's Joanne?"

"The red-headed girl who lives at the house where your party was."

"Oh." The silence was deafening.

"So, it's true." Her voice cracked into a sob. My panic was giving way to an immense sadness for the pain that Maria was obviously experiencing.

"Yes. It is."

"How COULD YOU!?!?" I could hear the pain and anger over the phone.

"I don't know." I was crying now.

"I was drunk, and high." I continued, lamely.

"Not good enough." Between sobs.

"I'm sorry. I'm really truly sorry."

"Not good enough."

"What can I do?"

"I don't know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. But I hate you right now, too."

"Please baby! Give me a chance." I pleaded.

"You already had one, William, and you just blew it."

"Please Maria. Please...don't...do....this." I begged.

"I didn't do this. YOU did."

"It didn't mean anything. It never happened before, it will never happen again."

"I'm sorry William. I've thought about this for three days after hearing about this. I've already decided what to do. It's over. Don't ever call me again."

"PLEASE MARIA!" Click.

Cards, emails, phone calls, voice mails, flowers, all unreturned. After a month, I mostly gave up. She had made her choice. I put it all out there, as honestly as I could. If she bothered to listen or read my apologies, promises and explanations, it didn't make a difference to her. I had blown it. A few drunk-dials over the next couple of months didn't do much for my dignity, but then those stopped, too. I was depressed.

I told my family what happened, the short but truthful version. There was no way I could sweep the breakup under the rug. My parents didn't make it much easier on me-they loved Maria, but they saw I was suffering, and were as supportive as they could be while still reminding me that I had screwed up. My dad, a man of few words and strong convictions, said: "You screwed up big time, son. She was a great girl. Would have made a wonderful wife. I hope you learned your lesson." My mom cried. Then she hugged me. Then she went into guilt trip mode "I thought I had raised you better than to do something like that." Then she made me a pan of chocolate chip bars. And so on. My older sisters were actually more supportive. Anne, my oldest sister with whom I had always been close, took me out and got me drunk, listened to me spill my guts, and gave me a shoulder to cry on. When Mary, the sister closest to me in age, but with whom I had always had conflict, found out, she called me. "Well, Willie, you really fucked up, didn't you? What an idiot! When can I stop by and tell you just how stupid you are?" I told her I didn't need that, I already knew I fucked up. But, she insisted, and I made a lunch date with her for later in the week. She showed up, saw the despair in my face, and then threw her arms around me in a big hug. After that, we had lunch. She picked up the tab. She told me to call her if I needed anything. Except money. I laughed. That marked a turning point in our relationship-we became much closer. That was one of two positives that came out of my fuck-up. The other positive was that I had at least learned a lesson-a lesson learned only after inflicting too much pain, on me (deserved) and on Maria (completely undeserved) but a lesson I would not forget. I would never cheat again. I would prove that 'once a cheater, always a cheater' was pure bullshit. The guilt I would nevertheless carry for a long time.

I moved on with my life-focusing on school and work, but I wasn't ready to start dating again.

Until I met Julie. I was 8 months post-breakup with Maria, and Julie was coming at just the right time. In retrospect, I probably should have dated around more. That said, Julie and I didn't become exclusive right away. I called her that Monday after we met, and we set a date for that Friday.

I picked her up at her apartment, a really nice high-rise in downtown (Julie was a couple years older than me, with a good entry-level job in marketing). I had shaved my goatee. I sometimes wonder if that was a mistake. I didn't shave it because she had asked me to. Really. Well, maybe it was a spur for me, but I was planning on shaving it anyway. I never was really able to grow much in the way of facial hair. It has always been sparse and patchy. The moustache is an embarrassment, the sideburns feature a 1/4 inch gap from my hairline over the ear, and the cheeks are virtually hair-free. There is a 1/2 inch gap between the sad excuse for a moustache and my chin hair. I was always clean-shaven when I went out with Maria. After we broke up, I just sometimes let it grow, despite how gnarly it got. I don't know why-but not worrying about impressing some girl was certainly part of it. Anyway, I usually would let it grow for a week or two, then shave it. The idea of actually going out on a proper date was enough for me to shave it, anyway; despite what Julie had requested. Nevertheless, I sometimes wonder if I set a bad precedent by seemingly caving in to her first demand/request.

I took Julie to a nice little Chinese restaurant in the city that I knew of-it was kind of a hole-in-the-wall, but it was nicely appointed and had superior food at a reasonable price (important to a poor college kid). I remembered from our conversation at the party that she liked Chinese food. She was suitably impressed with my choice. We had fun. We had several things in common-both of us grew up in upper-middle/middle-income suburbs in the metro area (her's a little more upper-middle than mine), we both liked similar movies (a big plus for me-I love movies), we both enjoyed a wide variety of ethnic foods and eating out, and we both had a rather juvenile sense of humor. After dinner, at her suggestion, we went to a little wine-bar near her apartment. Not really my style-a lot of young professional types, and I was still a college kid, but it was fine. After a couple drinks, I walked her back to her apartment. She invited me in, and we had a great make-out session. No farther than that, though. I said goodnight, and went home.

I went out on a few more dates with Julie, and continued to have a good time. School started up a few weeks later, and I had a new outlook on life. I was done mourning Maria (well, mostly-I still thought about her sometimes, especially at night when I was trying to go to sleep; I'm not ashamed to say that I sometimes realized that I was crying into my pillow-much to my surprise), and was ready to move forward with my life.