You can always tell when a man knows he fucked up.
He will apologize. He will try to make it right. He will try humor, flirting, bribes and gifts—anything that might ingratiate him with you.
Stay strong, my sisters, and stand your ground.
HDT knew he fucked up.
He tried with multiple apologies first, but I was still Marlee Matlin to the bullshit.
A drunk mouth speaks sober thoughts, as they say, and what you yell out in anger is what you have been thinking all along.
“Is this what you think of me?” I asked him. “You think I’m out here passing my pussy out like Communion wafers?”
“So I don’t even know why you would say something like that, then.”
I know he was feeling some type of way. They always do.
I’m going to say this in the humblest way possible (word to my queen, Cardi B), but if my pussy had a Twitter account, it would be verified.
This wasn’t the first time a man had gotten a taste and lost his shit over it.
But there was more to it than that, and it was a concern that I had expressed in private conversations with my friends.
He knew I was nonmonogamous when he took up with me. I wasn’t secretive about that.
Part of what he was doing felt like some sort of game or challenge. It was as if he needed to conquer me or be able to claim possession over me like I was some kind of prize.
It’s not the first time that has happened, either.
A lot of men view my nonmonogamy as some short of challenge—a battle they have to win. It is at once insulting and infuriating.
It is very much like men who think they can make a lesbian want them simply because she just hasn’t had the right man yet.
Nigga, please. Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit.
Once we moved past the apology stage, he moved directly into the renegotiation.
“I’m not trying to change who you are,” he said. “I just find myself wanting more from you than I originally thought.”
Me, not caring:
“Maybe I’m saying it wrong. I just want you to be my primary partner. You don’t have to stop being nonmonogamous.”
Me, still not caring:
When the renegotiations didn’t work, he moved on to humor and amorous flirting.
I eventually put his texts on ignore because it got to be seriously annoying.
And then came the bribes.
I went to New York City in November for The Root 100 event. It was freezing cold. I, a Los Angeles native, never owned a winter coat, because for what?
I complained about the cold.
I returned home to a brand-new bubble jacket and a pair of Uggs.
Gifts from my Amazon.com wish list started pouring in. My Cash App stayed busy.
Here’s a little something because I was just thinking about you.
My attitude toward him had completely changed. He was cool, but he wasn’t what I thought he was, and that lowered his rank in my book.
When he showed up in L.A. on business just before Christmas, I agreed to meet up with him.
He had a suite at the Ritz.
I showed up looking fabulous, worked his ass out like aerobics (because, if I’m being honest, the dick was entirely too bomb) and then left the room while he was sleeping.
He sent a text the next morning.
“Damn. I woke up feeling like a trick.”
That’s because you are.