Eleven Years in Jail

Recently Maddie (the dear!) posted a Purity Test informing us how many years we would spend in jail for assorted perverted acts. To my shame (but not my surprise) my nymphomanic tendencies landed me eleven years in jail. Thinking through the quiz was like a kick to the face. It brought up a lot of memories of the relationship in which I committed the majority of the misdeeds that led to my sentence. The more I think back to that time the more ashamed I feel, but probably not for the reason you all think.

Have I written about this before? Probably, and no doubt this recounting will differ from others, because I am an unreliable narrator.

I shall refer to my ex-paramour as (the Divine) Miss M. We were incarcerated at an educational institution together, and although we knew each other from classes we did not really run in the same social circles until I fixed my predatory gaze upon her. Shockingly I overcame my social anxiety and made the first move. We were all sitting in a hallway waiting to see our teaching staff or something, and her bubbly manner caught my eye. I introduced myself and tried to be her “friend,” and soon after I was trying to hang out with her a bunch. We took some classes together and our program was a fairly small group, so there were lots of opportunities for interaction. She seemed to have lots of friends and hobbies (including writing poetry), and she was pretty but not overly femme. She was also smart and opinionated, which drew me like a moth to a flame. (Sadly, she was not self-confident about her own intelligence, and since I was a go-hard grades-obsessed Marksist, it made her feel even more insecure.) She introduced me to chick music like The Indigo Girls that I feel nostalgic for to this day. She talked with me and joked with me over email. She spent time with me and did not demand that I get her fancy gifts and expensive dinners. She told me about her family and her cat and her thoughts. When I was in conflict and stress she comforted me. She was much better to me than I deserved.

Of course, there was a love triangle. One of our other classmates (and somebody I considered a friend) was also smitten by Miss M. I think it hurt him a lot when Miss M chose me, which is just another casualty of many in this tale.

It was clear that I was smitten, but nothing sexual happened for over a year. Then she held my hand, and later we were snuggling and kissing on benches. Eventually things progressed from there to overtly sexual acts, as if kissing is not a sexual act.

Even then I was aware of my intrinsically disordered proclivities, and so was Miss M. But that wasn’t really the biggest problem. The biggest problem was that I was an awful human being, especially to her. Think of all the ways a socially awkward, emotionally immature, deeply broken person can emotionally torment another, and I probably did it. I cringe in shame thinking of the things I did. One of the milder ones was talking in baby/toddler talk to her incessantly for several months, but it got much worse than that. Once I thought people I knew were watching me holding hands with her, so I snatched my hand away. I was guilty of threatening self-harm around her to get my own way. When she was sad I automatically assumed it was something I had done, even though her mother was ill at the time, and died of cancer soon after. Once she messed up in a way that was deeply embarrassing to her, and instead of comforting her I tried to initiate a Performance Improvement Plan. I was insufferable.

Of course, I was oblivious to all the ways in which I was hurting her. I clung to her and depended upon her emotional labor, and offered little in return. At first I was “funny” and “charming”, but that gave way to emotional manipulation and outright abusive behavior. (Spo-fans will be familiar with this pattern.) Once she left me a voicemail where she was crying, and I did not respond well. Once I felt guilty because she would take cabs home after our trysts, and so I gave her a big lump sum of money, which she interpreted as me thinking of her as a prostitute. That was not my intention, but it is not as if I comforted her.

Sweet baby Jesus that wasn’t the worst of it. I also hurt other people in the process. In our program was another fellow who was peripherally in our friend group. He was a bit of a bully and started calling Miss M a derogatory epithet, and in response I started calling HIS girlfriend a derogatory epithet, which was really hurtful to said girlfriend and which she did not deserve at all. The damage I did was immeasurable.

At some point I decided I would leave town, and it did not even occur to me that Miss M would have opinions about this. I don’t know whether that was the last straw or whether that straw came earlier, but finally she came to her senses and dumped me. Of course, I wanted sex afterwards, which added five years to my sentence for “sex with an ex”. I could not even understand why Miss M didn’t seem to be into it.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Thank all of the goddesses Debra worships that she dumped me. I was a terrible person to her. Despite all that we kept in touch for a while. She even came to visit me once in Lurkville. It hurt a lot to be dumped. I don’t think I really got over it for years and years, if indeed I am over it now. But boy howdy did she do the right thing.

It has been years — decades even — and we have mostly lost touch. I still send her a message each birthday, which she dutifully ignores. She did eventually get into another relationship, which had complications of its own. I don’t know much about where she is at now, but I hope she’s doing well and is happy. I also hope that the other people I hurt during that time are doing well. This is mostly wishful thinking.

As for the sex? In some sense it was fine, and in some senses it was awful. I was terrified of pregnancy, so not much penis-vagina interaction happened, and the first time it did I traumatized Miss M by bursting into tears of fear and unhappiness; I cried for half an hour. When we were sexually involved I far preferred attending to her pleasures than the other way around. I enjoyed cuddling, and I enjoyed boobies, and I enjoyed cunnilingus. But I was not a good lover.

In some sense maybe it was nice that I got sex out of the way, so that I did not spend the rest of my life wondering what it was all about. But it was never mind-blowing, and it was always tinged with guilt and fear. Certainly the experience was not worth the cost. If I could relive those years I would wish that Miss M choose her other suitor over me. He was a good guy and even if their relationship was not a long-term one (as if mine was?) it would have been less harmful to her.

Given my intrinsically disordered proclivities, was I genuinely attracted to Miss M? Who knows? She was pretty enough, and I suppose I found her attractive. Back before I was straight, there were certainly dudes who made me weak in the knees in ways that I tended not to feel towards ladies, but that doesn’t mean I did not find ladies unattractive in their own way. Even before I was straight I found the misogynistic gynephobia expressed by so many gay men offputting, and maybe this is why.

Miss M was not the first person I traumatized, and she would not be the last. To this day I am acutely aware of my emotionally abusive tendencies, which may be one reason I have not been in an explicitly sexual relationship since. But it is not as if I am innocent either. Among the few friendships I have, several (maybe the majority?) are with women, and those women just happen to be interesting and attractive. My predatory impulses have not diminished one bit.

So, eleven years in jail. It doesn’t seem like enough. I deserve several times that for the harm I have caused. I suppose we should all be hoping that there is an afterlife so I get my just desserts.