18. Misunderstanding
Wednesday, 5th of April 2023.
I found myself on my knees on a huge leather carpet in the shape of an animal. Franc was standing in front of me, his face devoid of any emotions. Big dick covered in a condom being pushed down my throat, and then his constant commands: Look up, you slut. Look to the right, see how big it is in the mirror? Spit on my face, then slap, another slap and gagging from this damn condom irritating my throat. And just two days before I received flowers from him.
*Back to my perfect dream*
After our amazing first date we were talking constantly. Every day when I woke up, there was already a "good morning" text on my phone. Every morning he was sending me a new song, mostly Russian and not in my taste, to be honest, so I was sending him one back, too. Something more interesting, let's say. We got to know each other more, talked literally about anything. All in all, we were good. Very good. Unfortunately, I've decided to repeat my mistake of having the second date at my place with the cursed spaghetti bolognese and La Dolce Vita. He preferred to meet at his place instead, and I didn't push it.
Either way, any date at anyone's place means sex, let's be real. Maybe only lesbians are way too busy packing their stuff to move in together at that time, but guys are animals. And as I'm constantly crying that "All they want from me is sex, they never truly care about me", I'm not innocent either. I'm always very curious to see what they're packing, and just a slut. So I came over to his place with wine and ingredients for the sauce and my body shaved where it needed to be shaved, because I knew what will happen.
Right in front of his building I got confused as to which entrance should I choose (there were few), I walked back and forth until I got a notification on my phone, a text saying: You need to choose the right one. Turns out he was watching me from behind the window this whole time, but I didn't even look up or texted anything back, what he did seemed a bit weird to me. Didn't have time to do anything else, I could only enter the building, as he instructed me, and when I got in and took off the coat, he hugged me wrapping his huge arms around me (a wonderful, wonderful feeling) and then kissed me. We started kissing a bit too intensively in my opinion, but he didn't plan to stop. He pushed me against the wall and the kissing started getting more and more exciting.
After a moment I tried to softly push him away, but I could as well try to move a statue away, as he was much bigger and very strong, as you can imagine. Finally, he stopped and we smiled at each other, the second date could finally begin. If the first date was so great, what could the second one have in the store for me? See, I didn't get scared yet, maybe just a tiny bit concerned. Have I read all the signs correctly, I would have known what to expect, what all of these little things meant, with whom I was dealing. Unfortunately, I started romanticising him in my head already and the guy from the first date was still on a pedestal.
We cooked together in his tiny kitchen, or more I was the one that did all the cooking - all he did was constant hugging and kissing me, grabbing from behind, whispering some cute words in my ear, singing, dancing around the kitchen. It all reminded me a bit of the Russian, as he acted similarly on our second date one year ago, just not to such extent. But it was as great and as misleading as then. I noticed Franc was constantly filling up my glass while he barely touched his own, so needless to say I got tipsy quite quickly, while he remained sober.
When the sauce was done, and I could leave it for two hours to slowly cook, Franc took my hand and led me to his bedroom. That's when I got to know the other Franc. I sat down on his bed and he sat down on the chair in a distance. Started rubbing his crotch while staring at me, but now there was no smile on his face. Then he came to me and did what he thought I liked, in reality doing everything I hated and was scared of. I didn't like to learn that I actually have this trauma. I thought not thinking about that one episode with Michael more than a year ago and pushing this memory into the deepest depths of my mind will do the trick, obviously it didn't.
When Franc started being so dominant with me, I froze again. Didn't know what to do, was too scared to say anything. I was even more frightened of him, because we already talked about it. We chatted once about our fantasies or things we like to do in bed (as they all need to have this knowledge before getting to work). I told him the one thing I hate are the slaps on my face. That I like slight domination, but in a delicate way, just when a guy knows what he wants and how to do it, not in a sadistic way, that he would tie me to a big, wooden X and beat me as much as he wants. But men do not understand. You tell them you like slight domination, they think you want to be brutalised and treated like a slut.
He got a bit too dominant for my taste and started slapping me on my face, so all this time I had in my head: I told you I hate it, why do you keep doing it? That wasn't the guy I just met. He was completely changed. A few minutes ago he was smiling, dancing with me and singing, now his face was just like a mask. No emotions, only this emptiness in his eyes. What the hell just happened? Then he was throwing me on the bed and lying on top of me, kissing nicely and softly touching my face with the fingertips. In that moments I was running back to the kitchen to mix the sauce and think of what to do.
Of course, every time I went there, he followed me, didn't leave me alone even for a second. Once I took a cup, used it for cooking, put it back. He told me: Can you put it a bit further from the edge? It may fall down. I didn't see there any cat that would push it, but okay. Then after another session in bed, when we were showering, after we were done, he took a window squeegee and rubbed off the remaining water from the glass wall of his shower cabin. What kind of person does such useless thing?
Sleeping With The Enemy popped up in my head. Julia Roberts being married to a perfect guy who gave her everything, but then was beating the shit out of her if towels in the bathroom were not hanging evenly. I started thinking that's exactly what I got myself into. Started already imagining myself in the future, not working, because he'd prefer to have me home, cooking and cleaning for him, being isolated from friends and family. That's how I started seeing Franc. As someone who knew how to sell himself on a first date, how to do this great impression on someone, how to make them feel special and just adored only to get them hooked and addicted to him. Additionally, he came about seven times that night. Seven. While I didn't, even once.
We ate, he complimented my pasta, we tried to watch the movie, but then he got the boner once again, and we were done with this legendary movie for good, didn't see even fifteen minutes of it. Then we went to sleep and at night when he woke up, we played again. And once more in the morning. The spell was broken, Prince Charming turned out to be simply a hypersexual, dominant, cold blooded asshole who knew how to spread honey on my ass just get to me. He didn't though, my most sacred rule wasn't broken that night and he didn't receive (what I ironically call to make others uncomfortable) my flower. But he received my everything else, unfortunately.
In the morning I quickly showered and left his place, didn't look back, went straight to the metro station and to work. I had to hold back incoming tears, as I was really close to just crying there in a public place. But let's be clear here - I didn't mourn what he did. I mourned the fact that another special someone turned out to be the wrong person, to put it kindly. I had such expectations, such hopes regarding this guy. He seemed like a perfect candidate to break the spell. Why did he have to be another sex freak who watched too much porn and thought he can be this dominant monster in bed? I almost cried because once again I almost had it and it was taken away from me right before I could really taste it.
As if someone kept giving me the best meals in the world, allowed me to try them and then immediately took away the plate. That's what this whole process feels like, basically. You meet someone supposedly great. The first date is amazing, the whole act of getting to know each other is also not annoying as in most cases, you enjoy every moment of building up this relationship, you invest your feelings, time, hopes and then poof. Gone. You need to get over it once more. I don't suppose something like that is very healthy for our hearts.
When I got to work, he texted me, asking if I'm already there, but I ignored it. After maybe one hour I sent him a long message saying that I don't think we should see each other again, explained what happened last night from my perspective, how and what I felt, how scared I was the whole time, that I'm actually still scared of him, and if he is that kind of person who constantly needs these extremes in bed then I understand, but I'm afraid I won't be giving it to him, so good luck in the search and other bullshit. I thought I ended it, but it wasn't the end.
He didn't want to end it, and me neither, to be honest. That message, as in most cases of such messages written by dramatic people like myself, wasn't the end, but more like a way of checking him out or kicking the ball to his court. He could either agree to end it, or start the conversation about working on the problem. He could work on his hypersexuality, me on my trauma. So he texted me back, sent a few messages, actually. That it's not like that, that he doesn't have the need for such sex, it was only his ex that was very submissive and he just got used to it all, thought I like it too, especially that I didn't protest or say anything. He was right there, but.
It all reminded me a bit of blaming the victim of rape. If she/he didn't scream or protest, it wasn't rape, according to this logic. But at the same time, he couldn't have any clue I'm not enjoying it all if I didn't even frown. How could he? And he even told me that night that if I don't like something, I have to tell him. But again, that's like putting the weight on the other person, not the one that wants to try going to the extreme. So I blamed him back then, but in reality the blame wasn't on his side. Except maybe for the slaps, as he knew I hate them.
What I learned that day is that I have trauma after playing with fire once and getting burned. Now a guy gets rough and brutal with me, I freeze and get an internal panic attack. My friend, who's a sexologist, said that this is one of the reactions of someone who was sexually abused. Maybe it scarred me for life and from now on I will need to be more honest with a potential partner, to avoid this "little misunderstanding" in the future. Probably. With Franc it didn't end that day, anyway. He came over to my place the same day in the evening and we continued to have this slightly cracked, but still mostly great beginning of dating. He got back the title of my wonderful Prince Charming who was still able to apologise for what he did wrong and I continued being in such awe of him. Franc was special.
He was the first guy that actually helped me realise I'm the fucking problem. Narcissistic, dramatic, overreactive and so manipulative. On the other side, he was highly narcissistic too, and hypersexual and love bombing me at first, he hated confrontations and I love them so much in relationships. Combo that created one of the shortest and most intense relationships.