I knew the instant the words left my mouth, it was a mistake.
“Andrew could do it.”
I am aware that making comparisons between boyfriends is a BIG no-no. But making sexual comparisons is relationship BLASPHEMY.
David loathed Andrew. He was younger, stronger, charismatic, and my family loved him. He was also known for his large penis nicknamed Black Magic. Andrew, like David, is Jewish. When he was circumcised, the skin on his penis darkened, hence Black Magic.
Andrew is a very long, very complicated story. He was my college sweetheart. We had tons of crazy adventures. I can only describe him as being very loud in that funny, obnoxious, Jack Black kind of way. I always felt something was missing, I knew he was not the one.
I dated Andrew for almost three years. There were a number of problems in the relationship, and after a disastrous vacation, we broke up. I was in my first year of graduate school, and Andrew was in his fifth year of college (after changing his major). We were going in different directions.
“I don’t want to marry you.” I blurted it out. He hadn’t asked, but we talked about it. We had a huge argument at a Superbowl party the night before and it was the final straw.
He was silent for an awkward thirty seconds. Without looking at me, he nodded and said he didn’t want to marry me either. We shared our crocodile tears and went our merry ways. Two days later, I called him to get back together. I’m such an ass. He said he was too young to have been in such an involved relationship.
I was not happy, but in true ass format, I continued to sleep with him anyway. In my own defense, I don’t like to jump from one dick to another. I find it slutty. He told me that he didn’t want to date anyone else and that he still loved me. It made me think that sex with Andrew was safe.
It ended up a really bad idea.
A month after we broke up, a bunch of my friends went to a party at a hotel. I went with Andrew. He was’t himself. He was distant, chatting on the phone, and halfway through the night he got piss-ass drunk and passed out in our hotel room.
I thought I was being polite by turning the ringer off so he could sleep. A text message came through while the phone was in my hand.
“I Love You Too.”
At that moment, a psycho-rage took over.
My first instinct was to stab him in his sleep with a room service butter knife. I held back. I know we broke up, but I loved him. He said he loved me, that there wasn’t anyone else. LIAR.
I managed to calm myself down then went through his phone. I pulled up all the inbox and sent text messages and showed the conversation to my friends. I told them I was going to confront him. As any good friends would do, they came with with me.
Andrew was out cold. He didn’t wake up when I yelled at him. He didn’t wake up when I straddled him, grabbed him by his collar, then smacked him across the face (repeatedly). I calmed down, filled an ice bucket with, well ice, and some cold water then dumped it on him. That woke him up.
A huge argument ensued and a crowd of our friends gathered to watch the specticle. I think someone video taped it. I vaguely remember pushing a camera out of my face. I grabbed his phone from the table while he was denying everything. Andrew reached around to grab it. In our struggle, I accidentally elbowed him in the nose. Red ran down his lips and chin in a bloody mess. I didn’t want him to see my concerned. In a panic I smashed his phone against the wall and yelled, “fuck you,” as I left.
I’m really not a violent person. I much prefer psychological destruction, but things happen. That was pretty much the end of that. I was so depressed and cried for about two weeks before I sucked it up.
I went out that weekend and met a rebound guy. He was sweet, but weird. He had a foot fetish. On our first date he asked to see my feet then gave me a big hug in approval. We only dated for three months, I wasn’t feeling it. He was also Jewish, and said he wouldn’t marry a girl unless she was Jewish too. The religion thing made it a pointless relationship.
About ten months after my break-up with Andrew, I met David. Early in our relationship, while watching a baseball game at David’s apartment, my phone rang. It was Andrew, crying. The whore he was dating, dumped him. I found out he actually met her two months before we broke up and she knew about me (hence, the whore). To this day, he swears nothing happened until after we broke up. Yeah, right.
I have to admit, I enjoyed how upset he was. I savored every pathetic, little whimper that poured out of his mouth. I was so giddy about it, I made the mistake of telling David way too much about him, including Black Magic.
Andrew eventually went to California to hook up with some stripper he met on the internet or something. He said he wanted to, “sow his wild oats.” He called me a few weeks after he returned to New York. Andrew thought we would start dating again. He said he got everything out of his system, and was ready start a serious relationship with me. He was too late, David and I were already serious.
Andrew and I became friends, we went to dinner a few times. He tried to charm me into leaving David, but I could never trust Andrew after he broke my heart. That didn’t stop him from pursuing me anyway.
He showed up at my parents house, (when I wasn’t there) and cooked dinner for them. He drove my sister to night clubs so she wouldn’t have to take a cab. He kept an indirect presence in my life, trying to win favor with my family. It worked, they loved him.
David loathed Andrew. He was jealous over Andrew’s relationship with my family. David wasn’t stupid, he knew Andrew kept an eye out for trouble between us.
One year, on my mother’s birthday, a bunch of friends and family went to happy hour. My mother invited Andrew and I arrived with David. Awkward. It was a fun time, but the night ended with David and Andrew politely arguing over who was going to pay the bill.
As I said, awkward.
So you can imagine, the words, “Andrew could do it.”
Blasphemy.
