Fuckboy state of mind

I guess it all started when there was no one to talk to during the night. I had my fair share of rolling around the internet chatrooms and forums, but that didn't do it for me. There was conversation, but it lacked a sense of excitement. The few girls I met online were all surrounded by dozens of other guys. That's not my style. I don't compete with others, I want an easy and a personal playing field. Tinder it was.

Admittedly, it was a bit shady and didn't quite feel right. Afterall, I was happily in a relationship and there was nothing especially wrong with my girlfriend. Just the fact that she worked nine-to-five and slept during the nights. Like a good girl. I felt wrong at first, but quickly convinced myself that I wasn't in fact doing anything wrong. Talking wouldn't hurt anyone. Right?

Left, right, left. Yes, no, yes. Countless girls being presented for me. I could decide whom I chose. Such power has rarely been given to guys like me. I mean, I'm not bad looking at all, but nothing above your average well dressed 20-year-old beginning of a man. I did in fact get a bunch of ”Matches”, girls who also liked me based on my profile. I got a little notification telling me, we've both swiped right for ”Yes” and were able to start chatting with each other. If one of us had the courage to do so.

I found a nice looking girl called Laura. She was an exchange student from Sweden. Your stereotypical tall, smiling blonde. I was sold the minute that little vibration in my phone told me she’d accepted me.

-Teach me how to smile like you and I’ll leave you alone, I opened.

After a few seconds she replied.

-Haha, I thought you americans smile all the time, she replied with a cute emoji at the end of her message.

-Your smile is different. It’s real. It’s happy. I feel happy inside seeing you smile.

I guess she was sold by my charming american small talk. Swedes, or I guess scandinavians aren’t really on par with their social skills. She joked about the absence of chit-chat in their culture saying it was probably because of the cold weather.

-It hurts to move your face in the winter. That’s why you don’t do it without good reason, she’d laugh.

Would all foreign girls be this easy? Not just foreign, I’d learn. All this while my girlfriend was tightly sleeping beside me.

It felt good. I’d get attention from other girls and she wouldn’t have to worry about it. I mean, what could I even do with these girls. I had set my range to over 50 miles, so there was no chance that my matches would be her friends or even at reasonable driving distance. Why would I travel to get some honey, when I had the queen bee right next to me?

Sofia

Talking to Laura was fun for a while. We’d talk for nights, but she quickly lost interest in me. I had told her that I was in a relationship. She wouldn’t believe me when I assured that I wasn’t looking for a side thing, but was in fact looking for friends to talk to. I soon realised that it just further deepened the hole I’d dug for myself in Laura’s eyes. I sounded just like all the guys that were looking to get some action behind their wives and girlfriends backs.

After my failure with my first endeavour in Tinder, I decided not to tell other girls about my relationship-status. That way, I reasoned, I could talk about things freely, without the judgement of random women of my age.

Then came Sofia.

Sofia was sculpted out of my dreams. Red hair, full red lips. She loved ballroom dances and animals. I would text her first in the morning and last at night. I woke up for her and never went to sleep first. She was the first girl to make me feel bad about my whole ordeal. My girlfriend trusted me and showed no signs of jealousy or doubt regarding my constant texting.

I pondered my options. I wanted to meet Sofia. I’d have an entire date planned for her. In return she was really into me, talking about meeting and hanging out. Sofia was even ready to drive to my town for the weekend. And she would. By surprise.

I’d be home, playing games. cooking and generally procrastinating. Then a sudden vibration in my pocket.

“I’m 30 minutes away from your place, let’s hang out. Love Sofia”.

My heart dropped through the floor. She was here. I couldn’t control my emotions. Could I actually go see her. Could we meet? Then again, could I not meet her. Could I just coldly explain my situation to her. Tell her I was just playing with her to make myself feel wanted.

No. I would meet her. I had to. She was perfect, she was the girl from my dreams and my girlfriend was working late night anyways, how could she find out? I replied:

“I can’t wait to meet you, this is amazing”.

So we met. The usual awkwardness in the beginning, but we quickly started to get along. She told me about her studies in the university and I’d tell her about my life. We’d grab beers at this hipster-bar that I used to take girls on dates before meeting my girlfriend. What surprised me most, besides her ability to keep up with my rather unhealthy alcohol habits, was how easy it was to be with her.

One beer became two and the two of us became more and more intoxicated as the night went on.

-You wanna know why I drove here, she’d ask me.

I gulped down the rest of my pint and replied:

-Because, you’re a foolish, foolish young girl.

She’d look at me for a few long seconds and say:

-Because, you’re special. You try to get to know my persona, before my bedroom. It’s different. You, are different. You have me dazzled.

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in for a kiss and she would not hesitate to return the favour. My heart kept beating faster and faster. I was gone.

We woke up in my apartment. I was a cocktail of shame and guilt. She didn’t know that I wasn’t exactly available and my girlfriend didn’t know that I hadn’t acted in accordion to my relationship status.

Our conversation with Sofia was rather short. I’d tell her the truth and she just sat there looking at me. When I stopped, the tears rolled down her cheeks. She told me I’d crushed her. I had seemed different, but hurt her like nobody before me. She’d leave. I’d remain. Sitting on the edge of my bed, smelling the stench of wrongful sex in the air. I hated myself, but I had no intentions on getting caught. There was no reason for anyone to know about it.

Hedonism

I guess Sofia opened a floodgate in my conscience. Girls would come and go. I’d spend less and less time working on my relationship. My Tinder was on fire, there was no seeming end in 18-25-year-old women in my city. Bit by bit the humanity and common courtesy faded off from my side of relationship with my girlfriend. She’d slowly grow concerned, but at the same time my interest faded. I would be cold and distant. I suppose I projected my self-loathing towards her.

I’d spend my free time away from her. We’d pretty much only see each other when I would drunkenly hate-fuck her just to run away from the feeling of disappointment in myself. I knew that we couldn’t last this way, and secretly hoped that she would just walk away from the relationship. I didn’t have the nerve to end it and there was no way that I would tell her about my action on the side.

As my self hate grew, her despair grew stronger. Our friends grew weary of me and in general I pushed away pretty much all the people from my old, proper life. Nothing really gave me a break from my disgust other than the hedonistic tendencies I’d picked up. Innocent young girls, dominative older women. I hated them and I hated myself, but the addiction wouldn’t stop. I drank more and pretended to care less. Whiskey drowned the picture of my girlfriend in my mind. Why had I started this? Why couldn’t I stop it.

We fought, we argued and then I snapped. I told her about my feelings. I told her about my actions. I wanted to hurt someone and she was there. I told I didn’t care about her, I made her feel small and disgusting. I didn’t even flinch. I suppose that I was the embodiment of the phrase “bad things happen to good people”.

-Why, she’d ask.

I shrugged and replied:

-You just don’t cut it for me anymore.

She left and I didn’t see her again. Needless to say, pretty much all of my friends that knew her left with her. Who’d wanna know the biggest douche in existence? Well, a bunch of easy and young Tinder-girls of course, but you can’t really build a social network with that.

I pretty much blacked out for a week. Drugs, girls and alcohol. I hated myself so much. I’d go so long and so hard that at one point I thought that dying wouldn’t even stop me. Then one day. I woke up again.

I’d clean my apartment and myself up. Sit through the hangover and return to work, from which I’d taken about all my possible days off. Sure, the self loathing and women wouldn’t stop, but that was a given.

Moving on

I kept living my life. I hadn’t heard from the people that used to be present in my life. I suppose nobody forces you to face your problems or the people you hurt. Long gone are the days of playing by the sandbox. If you’d hit another kid with your toy shovel, the nice lady that worked there made sure that the dispute was handled. As an adult there was nothing that made you go back and talk things over.

I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to confront my issues, so I just kept going. Life was good, I got into the university in my town and began studying the subject that I had dreamed of. What had the experiences in my life taught me? Pretty much nothing. I had become what I despised, but after all. There was no punishment that came with it. I could continue my life perfectly well. The only fights I had to take on were the ones with the demons in my own mind. The best part of  fighting your personal demons is that they drown when you pour bottle after bottle of whiskey on them. Every single voice in your head is silenced with a large marijuana-blunt or a line of cocaine. Thank you substance abuse.

I eventually slowed down, still haven’t been loyal in a relationship. The lure of indecency and betrayal is still too strong. It’s an amazing time to be alive and to be a man. All these easy to pick up dating apps and easy use selfie editing programs were rising my stocks out there. How can you know that the one you have is the one you want if you don’t try every choice?

The people behind mobile dating apps and picture altering apps are the worst thing to happen to the western relationship ideal. They should definitely be ashamed of themselves. Shame on them. With people like that and people like me out there I really hope to never have a daughter. Not that I would have something against girls, just that. It’s too easy out there.