Girl Talk: I Won’t Be Another Notch On His Bedpost

It’s 12:30 a.m. on a Saturday night, and Matt—who you may remember as the guy who slept with 150 woman, but wouldn’t sleep with me—asks me back to his house to watch a movie. Although we’re not officially together, he’s become my non-boyfriend—we see each other at least twice a week. Dinner was lovely and after a few glasses of wine, I’m drunk and giddy. We don’t see eye-to-eye on many things. I’ll never understand his preference for 20-year-old waif models who could care less about his blasé attitude towards their hearts and emotions, and he doesn’t get my love of cute hipster nice guys who allow me to be careless with their feelings. But we always agree on this: we enjoy each other’s company. 1:20 a.m.: After pretending to watch a movie, Matt reaches over and kisses me. I’m surprised, since we have not hooked up in almost two months. His kiss is aggressive and sweet, but I’m weary—I don’t know where this will end. I give way to my apprehension and follow his lead as our non-relationship starts to head towards a murky destination.

1:30 a.m.: The door bell rings. “Are you going to answer that?” I ask, shaken out of my lusty trance.

“No, they probably rang the wrong buzzer,” he responds as he kisses my neck and looks me in the eyes with sincerity.

We continue to kiss, but my mind has started to wander. The odds of his doorbell ringing at 1 a.m. and it not being a young pop tart, wanting some of my non-beau’s time, were slim to none.

1:34 a.m.: The door bell rings again.

I stop kissing Matt, slightly amused by his new and extremely persistent guest. I smooth my clothing and adjust my hair. I might be drunk, but God knows I won’t let anger get the best of me. After all, can I be upset? “Are you going to get the door now?” I ask.

Matt sits up and looks at me clearly agitated by the antics that are playing out. “No. She’s drunk, She’ll go away,” he says, as if I asked him a silly question.

My annoyance starts to rise. I’m no longer mad at her interruption, but by his flippant behavior towards her existence.


I debate fleeing, but realize that I might run into said gal on the way out and do not want to embarrass her. I stare at Matt realizing that, for the first time, I’m actually seeing him for who he really is. “Get the door,” I say. “It’s wrong to leave her down there. It’s cold and she’s waiting on you, and you’re obviously here.”

For once, I’m glad to be closer to 30 then 20. Dating logic still seems to slip through my hands, but I can honestly say that I would never show up to a man’s house uninvited. Matt can tell that I am not going any further and finally decides to get the door.

1:45 a.m.: As Matt is downstairs, defusing the walking time bomb known as the inebriated young girl, I walk to the window and watch. She is young, pretty and leggy. Typical. But instead of flying off the handle, I just laugh. Not at the girl, but at myself. I could easily be in the same situation as my counterpart downstairs. The only difference between us is that I’ve refused to allow him to have sex with me whenever he feels like it. I’ve demanded more from him and, sure, he’s allowed me to get closer emotionally. But just like the girl downstairs, I want something more from him that he’s not able to give, simply because he spreads his heart so darn thin. I wish that I hadn’t had so much to drink.

1:48 a.m.: Matt finally comes back inside and lies down next to me. “That was a sign for us not to have sex,” I say. Sleep starts to creep over me, a defense mechanism telling my mind that it has had enough for one day.

“It wasn’t a sign,” he says. “It was a drunk girl coming over when she shouldn’t have.”

“Nope, that was clearly the universe saying no,” I respond. I roll over to face the wall and thankfully fall fast asleep.

7:15 a.m.: I leave Matt’s house with peace of mind. As good-looking and funny as he is, I know that he is not going to change anytime soon. With him, there will always be another girl ringing the doorbell. And I need more than that.

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