Yesterday this boy told me that he found me pretty. Today, he took me out for lunch and told me he was going to fall in love with me. I believed him so I went back to his apartment.
He hate-fucked me because I reminded him of a woman who smelled like lavender and loved him.
When he came, he dropped me off at the train station and said he would never call me again. He said that I had the potential to break him.
Today, this man gave in and took me out on a date. He canceled on me four times prior to this, but he finally gave in when I begged him to see me. For weeks before this date he wrote lengthy verses about how he was going to fall in love with me and how I was perfect in every possible way. I thought he was beautiful. I thought this was my Bridget Jones.
Today we met in a bougie bar surrounded by white people and expensive drinks. He talked to me about what he knew of my country (which was essentially nothing). He talked to me about what he knew of me (which was essentially nothing). I leaned in closer after the 60 minute mark and asked him to fuck me. He said I was too upfront and ran his fingers through his hair to underscore his point. He said he wasnāt going to fuck me because he felt guilty about this other girl. He talked to me about this other girl for 30 minutes. He called her boring and said he didnāt like her, but that he couldnāt stop feeling guilty.
He said I was too sweet and he couldnāt just fuck me and leave. He said it was my fault for humanizing myself to him (like he would treat me better if I wasnāt human in his eyes). Later he called for the cheque and paid for our drinks. I stood outside and smoked. He said he wanted a blowjob and that I could blow him at his office down the street. He wanted to play with my tits. He said I had pretty eyes, a small mouth and nice tits. He said I was soft spoken. He asked me to stand up straight. He held his hands against mine to measure the size of my hand. I told him to stop getting close to me. He leaned in closer and said I might want to kiss him but heās not going to indulge me. He ran his foot up my leg and he said we were standing too close.
Then he said, āyou know, in America it isnāt standard for people to stand this close when theyāre talking.ā He continued and said, āIn America women touch menās arms when they are interested in them.ā He leaned into me and touched my arm. He talked to me about American culturalisms like I didnāt grow up on that shit for 25 years. Like he was taking in this poor, young Indian girl and teaching her the right way to date white men. I was furious but I wanted him to stay longer and continue treating me like shit. I have colonial hang ups and ever since I left my parentsā home, nobody had treated me like shit in a while.
He walked me to the park where I smoked another cigarette. He was about to leave. I pulled him by his shirt and asked him to stay. He stayed for five minutes and told me it wasnāt my fault (I already knew that). He told me about the other chick again. He rubbed my back and offered advice for my next date. I told him to stop touching me and to leave me alone. He started to walk away and said, āThis isnāt one of your rom coms, kiddo. Iām not going to come back and kiss you.ā
I sat at the edge of the park bench and cried.
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