In terms of my years (19) Matt was my first adult relationship, but damn if it was not the most petty, insecure, Dawson's Creek bullshit. It's a reversal of roles that straight men are insecure about, but it's so common and it happened to us: he got emotionally invested (while I did not) and I wanted sex (often when he did not).
Matt was scheduled to graduate the semester I met him, while I was a sophomore on a four-year track, which stressed him out to no end. I think after a few months of hanging out together, being coupley, building some memories, and also needing urgently to figure out what he was going to do after graduation made him need to find some kind of security in me that wasn't there.
As I mentioned, I'd gotten into this relationship knowing full well this wasn't going to be my last in any conceivable universe. I had classic suburban girl ambitions of "marrying up" to start a family and be a high-powered professional with an equally patrician husband. Matt was never going to be that guy, lovely soul that he was. He was barely finishing his degree in anthropology and music theory with a 2.7 average, with no plans of grad school, no job he could count on, and a pretty obvious desire to keep living his current (stoner band-mate) life as long as possible.
Oh yeah, he was in a band; they were ridiculous (as in, worthy of ridicule). If this has you thinking of Andy from Parks and Rec, you're onto something, except that Matt was legitimately much smarter and deeper; the guy was just never going to figure out how to make money in this world, and...I knew I could do better!
Some of that is ex-post facto rationalization, but some part of me sensed this subconsciously as it happened; when he pulled me in, I pushed back and pulled away. I'll spare you, but it suffices to say there were many, many nights of endless blathering about our relationship, which was truly blather because though he never said it, he wanted commitment from me, and while I never said it, I refused to give it.
Toward the beginning of April, there were fights. Nothing crazy, no screaming matches, but we were reacting to each others' unhappiness in oblique, immature ways. It's the only way I can justify what happened, but trust me, I'm not the good guy here, I'm just hoping for some understanding...
It was one of those days in April where Matt and I had had a discussion the previous night and we hadn't come to any kind of resolution, but it was Friday, I knew he'd be around, I was horny, and I wanted some company and time away from my house. We'd agreed that I'd come by in the early afternoon and we'd maybe get lunch together, so I didn't bother to confirm day-of, and just showed up at his house all ready-to-go. By that, I mean I left the house in a dress and sweater to hide from my parents, but underneath my sweater, about 75% of my tits were showing in a halter, and underneath that dress was nothing at all. It was warm, so I took off the sweater as soon as I got in my car.
When I arrived at Matt's, I showed up at the front door in that dress, and knocked, expecting him to open it and let me in. However there wasn't an answer after the first knock, so I tried again, a little louder, and waited.
Much to my surprise and disappointment, one of Matt's housemates, Ro, answered the door, blinking as if he had just woken up.
If Matt is the shaggy, adorable, comfort creature, Ro (short for Yaroslav) was the exact opposite: Ro dressed in black (almost always had a black leather jacket on), and mostly kept to himself, like he had trouble talking (even though he didn't). Until that day, though I had been visiting the house regularly and seeing him quite a bit, I'd never seen him smile. He never made a lot of small talk, and didn't really bother putting you at ease. He was a few inches shorter than Matt, but with his black hair and narrow frame, seemed taller than he was, though he was only maybe 5'7 or so. He knew about Matt and me, and often politely just stayed out of our way and let us have the living room if we were already in it.
"Hey, uh...is Matt around?"
"No, I think he left like twenty minutes ago, but didn't say what for. Did you text him?"
"Well, no, but we talked about meeting..."
"I think he'll be back. Come wait inside." Ro stepped aside to let me in and I was surprised; that brief interaction was the nicest I'd ever seen him. Looking back, I'm sure the dress made an impression.
Once inside, he offered me water, beer, and weed. I took the water and wanted for Matt to come over. Ro stayed and chatted with me. Maybe because at the parties there were always a ton of people and loud music, I actually got to know him a little. The other two roommates were at work and wouldn't be back for awhile, so Ro and I just talked. After twenty minutes, he said he wanted a beer and that time I joined him.
Almost an hour passed from when I got there to when Ro suggested a joint. "He's probably around, but he won't mind if we get started without him." Hard to argue with that logic, and I was really getting a taste for weed at that time.
Maybe worth noting at this time that Ro was the supplier for the house and all the party rats that came by: he dealt in weed, shrooms, and acid mostly. Sometimes he would bust out coke, and at one party, he was handing out E like candy, but seemed mostly interested in the hippy shit (maybe because Matt was buying most of it).
That weed, combined with the conversation, had me sailing a bit. Being an amateur, not only was I a lightweight, but over the past few months, I had basically conditioned my brain to know that when I'd had a beer and smoked some weed, I'd be getting some dick. It's too cheesy to recall the specific things he said or did, or that I did maybe without any prompting from him, but I will say this: I noticed him checking me out from the beginning, though I have to admit, it's not his fault.
It wasn't mine either: I'd never expected to wear that dress for anyone except Matt; I'd worn it once before and he adored it, groping my tits and remarking that it was like there was nothing there. It wasn't a slutty cocktail gown or anything fancy; it was just thin, summery, and showed off my curves way too well. Matt fucked me doggy on the other side of a fence that day because he just couldn't wait. Now Ro was there, getting an eyeful, but (I could tell) trying not to be creepy about it. Still, we both knew how my nipples were popping, and we were just too polite to say anything.
I was aroused and frustrated, to put it simply. More importantly, I was also sick of Matt's bullshit. It was maybe some sort of test when Ro scooted close to me on the couch, and I didn't back away, but looked even more intently into his eyes. "Let's shotgun this last one," he said.
I agreed, and of course it was just an excuse to kiss me. It was purely physical, and highly reminiscent of those first magical times with Matt. Sparks, chemistry, insert igneous metaphor here. He went right for the tits, and it made me shudder with relief; I'd wanted to feel groped for what felt like so long. We made out for only a minute and then he pulled the string of the halter, letting the dress fall past my tits. I held onto them with one hand, pushed him with the other, "Wait. Come on, Matt could walk in."
"We'll get you out my bedroom window," and with that, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me down the hall to his bedroom. He was small, but the dude lifted me like I was nothing and I fell limp in those hard-ass arms.
