An example? Sure. There was a point in my life where I was sleeping with two of the most highly desired women in the company – both of whom were married. A woman who had a boyfriend but was willing to sleep with my friend in order to prove her oral skills to me, and paid for the room we did it in. And lastly, a smoke show single woman who expressed a “friends with benefits” interest and was also one of the most sought after women in the company – all while I was engaged to be married. (Well, sort of. I only slept with one while actually engaged, which made me end the relationship. The others were within 1-2 weeks post breakup.)
Oh, and every single one of them worked for the same company I did. They all knew I was engaged or had been recently, but did not know of each other. But let’s be honest. If they knew I was taken and still did the deed, would it really matter had they known? Personally, I don’t think so.
Wait… I forgot about the married woman who had been faithful to her husband, but wanted to sleep with me in order to be more comfortable sleeping with a guy she knew from school that she wanted to have sex with and not be nervous. Yep. Can’t make that shit up.
It’s safe to say I wasn’t in danger of winning any humanitarian awards. I wasn’t a sex addict, but I did gorge on it any chance I had. And if I got a chance with a woman I felt was well above my paygrade, I wasn’t afraid to risk it all to chase that sparkly trinket.
I ended up leaving my fiancé for what would turn out to be the worst choice I could have made from every woman I had ever been with. She would eventually rob me of my present and future. My relationship with her would generate so much psychological trauma that I’ve never fully recovered to this day. And I have been divorced from her for almost two decades. There are parts inside me that feel as though they will never be right again. I guess only time will tell.
As time marched forward and trauma piled on, the idea that I could properly raise a child of my own became even more ludicrous than ever. The lives I led. The choices I made. I saw no positive paths for a child that not only had my DNA but also me as a role model. I literally laugh out loud when I think about this.
Fast forward to 2010 from the beginning of this story. I was on the backend of my 3rd failed marriage. I tried to play father figure to three kids who suffered with severe anger issues due to their mother’s relentless dedication to being drunk every day, making terrible choices, competing with her daughter for the same boys, and leaving the kids to take care of themselves. Claire was more like a drunken, slutty roommate than a mother or wife.. By the time I left, I’m pretty sure all three kids hated my guts. They resented any attempt to parent them. I did my best, but all it did was cost me everything I had recovered between marriages. I wanted to get out, but I was trapped. She had bankrupted me. No money. No local family or friends to go to. Nowhere to escape.
Then one day one of my oldest and dearest friends sent me a message through Facebook. Stella was a friend I had known since back in my male-whoring days. She had completed her MBA from a prestigious university overseas and had moved back to one of my old stomping grounds. Stella was a business partner with a startup company that looked to be her way to retiring early. She was killing it and I was proud of her and the fact she considered me a friend.
Stella and I met online through the chat groups we were members of. We went on one date and hit it off extremely well. Matter of fact, I believe our first date was on the San Antonio RiverWalk, which is where I am now typing this entry from. Long story is saved for the book I’m trying to write, but let’s just say the weekend I met her, I also met another girl. Stella found herself in the friend zone because the other girl was a damsel in distress, which perfectly matched my White Knight Syndrome. (Neither of which I knew existed at the time) Stella moved overseas to finish her degree. My relationship with the damsel faded, but my friendship with Stella lasted long enough to make her one of my oldest, most trusted friends.
Anyway, I complained to Stella about my situation and her being the woman she is, set out to help. Before I knew it, I was going to live with her while studying her father’s business with the idea that I would assume it once he retired. She not only pulled me from the sewer, she gave me a safe place to stay and a potential future. Her sister gave me a job to help put money in my pocket while I was there. Stella, like her sister and father, had an amazing head on her shoulders. She wasn’t perfect. Stella had experienced more than her share of death and had developed her own abandonment issues from seeing so many people she knew die young. Even with that, she was surrounded by friends and family. She had everything that I believed I wanted, but was unable to completely comprehend or appreciate.
While living with her, my wife had enough space to do what she did best, cheat and still play the victim in the moment. Naturally we were done, but it would be a week or two before I went back to collect my things. Once again, Stella’s family stepped up and helped me. Her father allowed me to borrow his SUV to drive back and get my shit. We took one car there but I would have my truck for the return trip. Stella drove the SUV and I drove my vehicle. On the way back, her father had to pay $1,000 to get the vehicle fixed when it broke. He never asked for a dime to cover the repairs.
The dynamic of my situation with Stella changed after my wife’s betrayal. Prior to Claire’s adultery, I had been sleeping in the living room on the couch to avoid any kind of question regarding my fidelity. After the divorce was set in motion, I moved to the bedroom. It wasn’t anything sexual. I simply no longer cared what Claire thought.
Stella was a good woman from a good family who had a very bright future. I was a shit show from a broken family who had no visible future. We were not the same and she deserved a better class of partner, yet she wanted me anyway.
She knew I was damaged goods. We had several conversations about it. She knew I was unfit to be with someone, yet I believe the part of her that still desired to be with me pushed her into the blood-filled waters to try and pull me out. Once she was there, I latched onto her, even knowing I was not healthy and I was placing everything at risk. All she did was permit me to pull her down to where I was.
I was so incredibly broken and desperate to feel less hollow that I latched onto her just like I did my mother’s leg when I was 7. I knew she loved me. I knew I was safe with her. I needed that more than I needed anything else. If she loved me, maybe there was something inside of me worth saving? I know I didn’t see it, but if Stella and her family were doing what they were to help me, then maybe I wasn’t as terrible and broken as I had convinced myself of. Maybe there was hope?
Off The Rails 