I Thought The Sex Meant Something


I slept with you. You disappeared.

I’m not an idiot. I know what my blank phone means. You were only interested in sex. The rest of the night was spent pretending. Pretending to laugh at my jokes. Pretending to find my stories interesting. Pretending you wanted something more than the memory of one night with me.

Getting led on was the worst part. If you told me upfront that you were only looking for a fling, that you had no intention of seeing me again in the future, then I might have slept with you anyway. I would have weighed the pros and cons and came to a decision on my own. 

I hate being misled. It’s unfair to act like you are interested in forming a serious relationship with me and then walk away as soon as you get what you want. I deserve all the facts from the start. The reason you failed to disclose what you secretly wanted from me is because you were worried I would turn you down if I knew the truth. And if you were worried I would turn you down, that means you knew I wouldn’t be okay with what you were doing. It means you knew I was interested in something different than you were. You can claim innocence, but you knew exactly what you were doing and you didn’t care because hurting me meant getting what you wanted.

I keep replaying the night we spent together inside of my mind in search of red flags but there weren’t any. You covered your bases. You did a good job of making it seem like you were smitten by me. In the moment, I swore it was the beginning of love and not a spark of lust, but I was wrong.

I thought the sex meant something and you let me believe that untruth. You encouraged it. You kissed me on the lips. You held my hand. You whispered about how beautiful I looked. You made a porno scene look like a romance. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I’m not a prude. I’m not dead set against one-night stands and walks of shame — but I deserve to know whether that’s what I’m doing as I’m doing it, not after the fact. Not once I have already grown attached to you and told my friends about you and created a future for us inside of my mind.

You should have been honest with me from the start. You should have given me the freedom to make my own decision about whether I wanted to spend the night with you or not knowing it wouldn’t lead to a next time.

It sucks to know the intimate moments we shared meant nothing to you, but it’s even worse knowing that you purposely misled me. That you cared about having sex with me more than you cared about my feelings. That you were willing to do whatever it took to get me into your bed, even if that meant breaking my spirit.