I fondly remember a brief relationship I had with a boyfriend who treated me as if I was a total stranger after sex.
For instance, after a round or two of ravenous, depraved intercourse at some seedy lodging one afternoon, I got into his car and he lovingly asked me where I wanted to go. I told him that his place looked like a good destination. His expression changed and he popped his head backwards in astonishment, then glared at me as if I was drunk. I became suspicious but I didn’t want it to show, so I just whined that he had never taken me there before.
He laughed and shook his head then asked me to be serious. I assured him that I took our relationship seriously, and even offered to show him the few essentials I had already carried in my bag. He then bowed his head and held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, with his eyes shut as though in furious contemplation. He sighed deeply, then looked at me and told me that he would not take me to his house, and that if I had nowhere else to go, he would have appreciated it if I had left his car. This he said with a measured tone while he deliberately enunciated each and every word clearly like a teacher. I knew it. There was no doubt that he was harboring another me in his nest. He pretended to be shocked when I accused him of keeping her a secret when I could as well be having her, and completely lied that he didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. In fact, I was impressed and blown away by his Oscar- worthy performance when he pretended to be an Uber driver, warning me that he would call the police if I didn’t get the hell out of his taxi.
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