Page 11 of Missile Tow
“I hear ya, buddy,” I muttered, staring at the sprayed-on words while simultaneously preparing nasty responses to Evan’s texts in my brain. But instead of defending myself with a response, I thought about how I’d felt when he left me.
Evan had blindsided me when he’d told me he wasn’t happy. Suddenly, everything I thought I was to him was being reported as insufficient. I wasn’t outgoing enough. I wasn’t sexual enough. I wasn’t earning enough money. I wasn’t amenable to opening our relationship so Evan’s sexual needs could be met.The laundry list spilled from Evan’s mouth like a busted dam. He wanted out.
“No,”he’d declared when I’d confronted him last year.“I am not seeing another person.”
“Then let’s get counseling,”I’d suggested.“I’ll work on the areas you don’t like, and we can meet halfway to find a resolution. Let’s not blow up our relationship so easily, Evan,”I’d urged.
“It’s too late. I’ve checked out.”
“Just like that?”I’d questioned.“You want out at the first sign of struggle?”
“I do,”he’d confirmed.“I’ve called the bank, and I’ll buy you out of the condo.”
“You’ve called the bank?”I’d asked, incredulity lacing my voice.“Just like that? No warning? No heads-up? You’re simply done with me?”
“We both need different people, Van. I need more of a go-getter, and you need a patient man. I’m not one to sit idly by and wait for someone to change.”
“Wait?”I’d yelled, my voice getting shrill.“You call this waiting? You decide, all of a sudden, I might add, that we’re done, and then tell me it’s over with no warning?”
He’d shrugged his shoulders and reached for his gym bag. I noticed his cell was buzzing and watched as he quickly tried to shove it in the bag.
“Who’s calling, Evan? Who are you leaving me for?”
“No one,”he’d defended, giving his telltale sign he was not telling the truth.
Evan couldn’t look you in the eye if he was bending the truth, hiding the facts, or otherwise, flat-out lying to your face.
“So, no counseling?”
He shook his head and shouldered the gym bag, attempting to step past me.“I need to go,”he’d voiced.
“You’re already gone, aren’t you?”I’d asked, feeling the rug being yanked from under my life, my plans, my future. Just like that, he was saying we were done.
I’d found a condo to rent in the same building. Not my first choice, but Evan had insisted we separate almost immediately. The neighbor was going overseas to work for a year and asked me to help her out. Super cheap rent and a great city view kept me down the hall from the new couple.
The new guy, the one these texts were about, moved in three weeks later. Evan had lied. I knew it. Things got to the point where I’d look out the door’s peephole before leaving my space. I couldn’t face the pain and the humiliation of seeing him with someone new so quickly.
And then our friends dropped me one by one. Of course, out of respect, I kept our relationship updates out of our friends’ lives whenever we spoke. Evan and I had promised each other we’d follow that rule if we ever split. However, Evan played with a different guidebook for ended relationships. He’d filled our friends with lies regarding my deficiencies and shortcomings.
One of my closest friends broke protocol and spilled the beans about what Evan was telling everyone regarding our split. Evan had intimated that I was a dud in bed and that we hadn’t had sex in six months. He’d added he’d heard my work performance was bad and I might get let go, risking his financial future since he stated he already paid most of our bills. Both blatant lies. We had sex nearly every day, and I gave him my paychecks to invest.
Sure, Evan was highly sexual. Twice a day was the norm for him. I enjoyed sex with him, but once a day was fine for my urges. We worked well together in bed, but he had zero romance in his genes. His approach was straightforward. Put it in. Pump for ten minutes. Talk dirty. Moan exceedingly loudly at orgasm.
“Wanna fuck tonight?”he’d ask.
When I said yes, he’d grab the lube, finger my ass, and then expect me to roll over while he pumped a load into me. Loads of nasty talk about what a slut I was, and howDaddywas going to rape my pussy.
“Yeah, bitch boy. Take Daddy’s big load, you whore,”he’d growl.“You love this huge dick, dontcha, boy?”
I’ll admit that in the beginning, the sex was hot. We were twenty-one when we met and had a ton of testosterone to take out on one another. He was so wild and dominant that it fed into my passive sexual psyche and really turned me on.
Trust me, I’m an active participant while being manhandled, but Evan only thought ofhisrole in any sex scene. I was to accept being satisfied because he was blessing me with his huge dick and energetic ramming of said dick into my hole.
If I wanted to achieve orgasm, I’d better jack myself off before or during his performance, always trying to accomplish simultaneous lift-off. As the years went by, I wanted to try new stuff. Maybe he could blow me to get me going? Maybe I could sit on his cock to mix stuff up? I suggested other positions, even role play. Perhaps we could make out and heavy pet our way to wild lovemaking.
Evan saw my suggestion of role play as him being inadequate for his limited bag of tricks. That should have been the first sign that things could become problematic in the future. His unwillingness to give and take in the bedroom pretty much summed up his role in our household. I loved him, though, so I took the backseat as he drove.
Now that he’d left me for another, he needed a narrative that fit his desired goal to move on. If he wasn’t getting enough sex, every gay man would recognize what a deal breaker that was and be sympathetic to his cause. And his fear I could lose my job simply painted me as unreliable in the career department. Nothing was further from the truth. My job performance reviewswere excellent. Sure, he made double my salary. But I made six figures and contributed plenty.
