Fuck You, Ralphie.

That was an overreaction. It's an overreaction now. It was an overreaction when I texted it to him Sunday morning shortly after midnight. And I knew that. Still, I sent it to him because I was pissed. And because he deserved it.

A few weeks back, Ralphie let me know that he would be back in town for his school's fall break and his birthday weekend. And that he really, really wanted my cock.  I was thoroughly excited by this news.

Between school work, rugby, and apathy, I've basically stopped chasing after sex recently, so I was looking forward to getting it on.

We talked briefly Friday night as he was driving home and he told me he would come over Saturday night. Definitely. Probably. Kinda, sorta, maybe... depends on his parents, yadda yadda yadda. He'd let me know.

Saturday night rolls around.  I had spent the day playing rugby, followed by a nice hot shower and a nice long nap.  I knew he was having dinner with his family around 6ish, so around 8:30, I fired off a text asking how dinner went.  No reply.

A half hour later, my roommates asked me if I wanted to go out partying with them. I sent Ralphie another text, asking point blank if he was going to come over.  Still nothing.

Around 9:40, he sent me a text saying he had just gotten out of dinner, but wasn't sure what was happening for the rest of the evening.  I replied saying alright, and asking him to let me know when he would be free.

Two hours later, I still hadn't heard from. I had spent all of Saturday evening waiting for him, and he hadn't even deigned to give a straight up yes or no.  I called once or twice, nothing.

I texted him again, a simple "?"

He replied "I'm watching a spooky movie now. I'm going to fall asleep probably. It's not *that* scary."

"So you're not coming over?"

Nothing.

I wait. I call him. Nothing.

I text him again "Either text back or answer your phone"

"No not tonight"

"When were you planning on telling me this?"

Nothing. I wait 20 minutes, silently stewing.  He knew I had been waiting all night. I had told him.  He must have known for most of the night he wasn't coming over. He never bothered to tell me. Not until I prompted him over and over again and after I had already wasted the entire evening waiting for him did he let me know he wasn't showing up.  Was it carelessness? Just an indifference on his part towards me? Or was he being malicious?

The more reasonable part of me wanted to point out he had spent all evening with his parents, it was silly to think that he might free enough to reply, let alone to hang out. I should have just gone out partying.

I ignored that inner thought and though I knew it was a bad idea, I started typing on my phone:

"Fuck you. If you didn't want to come over, the least you could have done is told me.  That would have taken less effort than ignoring me.  Instead, you spent the past two weeks telling me, in detail, how much you wanted my cock this weekend, and led me to believe you wanted to come over.  At no point until 20 minutes ago did you tell me you weren't going to come over.  I spent this whole Saturday evening waiting for word of your imminent arrival. I called you, I texted you, and you gave me just enough meager replies to keep me waiting.  Why the hell did you do that?"

After that, I facebook messaged a friend, explaining to her that I was pissed and inviting her to go get drunk with me and shout at ducks or something.  She declined, but did offer me some comfort.

I jacked off, spilling the load I had planned on spilling on Ralphie on my chest, and then climbed into bed.


The next morning, I awoke to a text from him, explaining that he was with his parents all evening and he wasn't going to rudely interrupt them just to talk with me.  I apologised, asked if he was free to talk.

We did.  He's coming over tonight, Monday night, at 9 pm. Or so he says. If he doesn't... fuck. I'm dropping him.

But the thing that irritated me the most was that this actually hurt.  I've broken one of my cardinal rules. I've become emotionally involved with a fuck buddy. An adorably cute, sarcastic, sardonic, all around enjoyable fuck buddy, but still. I don't do drama. Or, I didn't. And now, apparently I do.