#20 THE RED-HAIRED SEX GOD: HOW THINGS ENDED, AKA THAT TIME I WENT FULL BLOWN HOT-CRAZY SCALE
The time I played “Someone Like You” by Adele on repeat and went full-on “some bitches be crazy”
In June of 2011, I went hot-crazy scale. Read the previous post here if you haven’t already.
If you’re unfamiliar with the pop culture reference of the “hot-crazy matrix” see this very un-PC, totally sexist video below. I’d like to point out that many women are never on the “crazy” scale without the poor treatment of men. In my case, the back-and-forth confusion even after the film He’s Just Not That Into You (2009) came out didn’t give me the hint that was so painfully obvious. I didn’t learn my lesson, apparently.
I hadn’t seen Bramwell for a while and I stalked some Facebook photo comments (probably a regular occupation of mine) on Bramwell’s page and he told a couple of people he’d met on his summer trip to China that he had the house to himself for the weekend (total cringe moment).
I was on my way to a party at the Heathers (as I’ll call them – there were two of them, both English majors, both friends – or frenemies – who invited me to every party they threw but kinda maybe hated me even though I liked them?) so I decided (very uninvited) to stop by and see if he was home.
I knocked on his front door, even though all who lived in the house entered via the back door.
Despite what he’d said on his FB photo comment, he wasn’t home alone. His sister, her boyfriend, his friend, and three random people I hadn’t seen were there and they were getting tipsy to go to the bars (i.e. what we would call “pre-gaming”). His sister opened the door looking surprised as I sheepishly asked if Bramwell was home. The worst of it was how friendly they were to me even though I could tell they thought I was a “stage five” clinger by this point.
The weekend before I’d run into his sister at Wild Adventures (or WA), which was a theme park in Valdosta, and they’d made small talk and been friendly. Side note one: If you want to see what said theme park looks like, look no further than the popular blockbuster Zombieland (2009) which had a few scenes filmed there (wave to Jewel who was an extra). Side note two: Theo also worked at WA that summer. I’m sure I’d taken my baby sister Hannah that day (otherwise theme parks weren’t my jam unless they were the Orlando kind). I think Hannah and I went with mine and Theo’s friend, the one who later got married in Wisconsin (see paragraph 29 in the Person 3: Theo section).
Bramwell finally emerged from his room and took me through to the kitchen area just outside his bedroom. I could tell by his body language that this visit was unwelcome and unexpected. Everyone was friendly but with those kind of “why is she here?” and “this situation is so embarrassing/awkward” side glances.
I emailed the following to Brittany about our exchange:
I told Bramwell I'd come to say goodbye and that I wanted him to tell me he didn't want to see me anymore.
Heh! The fact he wasn’t seeing me was telling me he didn’t want to see me…
I'd said that I'd found it difficult to get over him because he'd treated me like disposable trash. I'd kind of alluded to the Charles relationship [the hot friend of his who later became a finance CFO that I’d met who had asked me on my best date ever – I’ll tell that story soon].
That “disposable trash” feeling would come back to me after my first husband left me unexpectedly. Also, Brittany knew I was seeing Charles and Bramwell around/at the same time and had smashed their names together in a sort of Brangelina mashup, which doesn’t work with the pseudonyms (Cramwell?).
I was ambiguous and said that I'd recently dated someone and things hadn't worked out, but it was okay because he'd treated me like I was human, like I was a person worth knowing, and we'd still continued to hang out and get lunch and he was still in regular contact with me and the transition to friends had been easier.
I told Bramwell that I liked him as a person and I'd really wished we hadn't gotten involved because I wanted to be his friend.
He said that he couldn't tell me he didn't want to see me anymore and it would be hard for him to be friends.
He said something along the lines of, "Look at you…You're hot. It's hard for me to stand here…" etc. So, that still implied that he had feelings for me.
I’ll never know if this was just appeasing me because he thought at this point I had actually lost the plot. Most people have seen the funny joke/meme/image of the hot-crazy scale. It’s like how hot does someone have to be to accept their bat-shit behaviour? I’ve never gone destroying property (I have always abhorred vandalism of any kind), setting fire to things, dumping someone’s stuff outside, keying someone’s car, or ruining their future relationships, showing up unannounced and/or being super insecure, needy, etc was my version of that. Plus, giving people emotional word vomit when they really didn’t want to hear it. (I’ve been on the other end of that too and I feel for you!)
He told me he'd started seeing someone else in China too. I guess because I'd admitted I'd dated someone else. And I said if you still liked me why did you start seeing someone else and he said because he thought what we had was over. But he'd made his pre-China visit seem so finalised. He'd made things seem like they were over. Anyway, I just said I'd wanted to be friends and he said that we could try and work that out, but it would take some adjustment and time on his end.
He gave me a hug and then he told me he was just too drunk to handle the conversation. In a way, it's good that it's finalised, I guess, but it still leaves things ambiguous. He wouldn't tell me that he didn't want to see me again. Though his actions had implied that. Was he just sparing my feelings?
At one point I was talking and I said I know that I seem crazy – I've never been like this with anyone – I know you think I'm stalkerish and that it's random my showing up. And everyone here (implying his sister and her boyfriend) gave me this look like I was that girl with the toilet paper stuck to her shoe (the what's she doing here thing I said before) and he said, “no, everyone loves you here.”
And they are always friendly, as I said. Okay, so he's seeing someone else. That's final. I got that. But you don't know the way he looked at me last night, Brittany. It was like he was still into me.
Anyway, I was talking and he said something like "I just love you." In his kind of tone where he smiles when he says it. It wasn't the romantic "I love you" thing, but his "you're adorable and I really like you."
Abort mission, Elaine. Stop emailing your friends. It’s just over. Move on. Yes, the sex was good, but my god you’ll have good sex again…
Like when we first met and he'd tell me, "You make me smile." I guess at least I have some closure, but I'm still confused. If he still liked me, why "give me up" when he didn't have to. He knew I was still into him. I know you say that these things are never my fault and that I always blame myself, but, if he thought I was so awesome, then why didn't he want me?
Brittany was always wise in saying that it wasn’t “my fault” exactly. Not that I’d ever internalise any of her perfectly valid and good advice. As an astute observer of the world, she was able to have insights that I didn’t at the time, even though she was only one year my senior.
I’d learn a year or so later when dating multiple people in Columbus and choosing which not to pursue further that not dating them wasn’t about them at all – how could it be because I couldn't know them fully on a snapshot judgement or a couple of dates. Most people’s behaviour is a reflection of what's going on internally and externally to them, often not about the other person at all but at this time, I was confused by his treatment of me.
I guess it's all on him; I know it is. I know it's his loss, but it's difficult to feel that way when I still like him so much. And I also have mixed feelings because I'm hurt because things started so wonderfully and ended so poorly and I definitely didn't appreciate his poor treatment of me. I deserve better.
Sorry to unload on you. I hope you have a fantastic day in Oxford, Stratford-Upon-Avon, and Coventry. Seems like too many places to go in a day, but I hope it works out.
Advice to young people, just run from this kind of thing. No amazing sex is worth anyone who makes you feel lesser. I didn’t know that then. People will tell you if they are into you. Maybe Bramwell was into having sex with me, maybe he did like me, but he got the cake without paying for it. He didn’t have to invest. Which is fine if that’s what you want. Sometimes I wanted the cake too. But as soon as you start feeling more for someone than they feel for you, you need to decide if that unbalance is worth the emotional cost. I didn’t know better than to pine over things that weren't going to happen. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to happen but I do know it’s possible to have flings and friends with benefits without being treated badly – not that he treated me badly per se but he was hot and cold and confusing.
I emailed Brittany and Darcy a lot over this time. They were both away that summer and I hadn’t gone to England that year because I couldn’t afford it. Probably after the literal money drain that had been Dorian (Stella Adler Actor), when I had little of it and he had a rich father, I wasn’t left with any extra cash to travel to see my family!
I listened to a lot of Adele that summer, a lot of “Someone Like You” like it was my anthem and Chester, Sam, and Ian were there to listen to my rants and roll their eyes at my stupidity. Sam had bought me the CD for my birthday along with the book One Day so maybe it was his fault.
I found this extract I’d emailed to myself:
I asked Bramwell why he randomly messaged me and he said because he was thinking of me. Why is sex with him more amazing than sex with any other man on the planet? It's so unfair. No one can give me an orgasm that feels as amazing and as intense as with him. I don't know how he does it. We have such amazing chemistry.
Future me would also be a sucker for people I had absolute chemistry with (like the blonde Jewish Doctor and my current husband, of course).
Our final farewell (NSFW)
That July 2011, I found an email to myself where I said I had called Bramwell after having lunch with my best guy friend Chester and I was surprised he’d picked up the phone. I’d also arranged to have dinner with a guy I’ll call Mr Target that day. But I needed to clean my house and do my laundry (as in my story about ATC, laundry was a big deal).
I asked Bramwell if he wanted to come over before I left as I was going to Florida to visit my Uncle Steve and stay with him at the beach. He said he was busy and would be free tomorrow and I told him I wasn’t available tomorrow so he said he could “probably swing by.”
He rang me after I’d got home and I was just about to get ready for him to come over, maybe put on a corset or something, but he said he was at the door. I answered the door and he kissed me passionately, removing my clothes and I started to remove his.
He asked if we were home alone and I said yes and he said he wanted to fuck me in every room of the house (sorry former housemates – eek). He started fingering me on the dining table – no worries, I’d wash the tablecloth – and then he started fucking me.
He picked me up and carried me to the kitchen but decided against it because the kitchen window looked out onto the street, so we went to the sofa where I climbed on top of him. Then, I asked him to take me to my room as I didn’t fancy someone walking in on us on the couch.
I said I wanted him to fuck me from behind and we had sex in various positions on the bed. The house was hot so we took breaks to cuddle and kiss and then kept going.
We had (grossly) drenched my whole comforter in sweat and we took a cold shower after. He was being sweet and playful in the shower, making me laugh, spraying me in the face with the showerhead and washing my hair. We hugged and kissed, pressing our cold, slippery bodies against each other.
(No, I didn’t remember all those details. Thankfully, or maybe not thankfully, past me detailed it in an email to herself. Shout out to Theo: here’s some erotic stuff for you.)
I found another email to myself, oh documentation that I was of my silly exchanges:
I told him that I liked him so much because he was charismatic, that he made everyone in the room like him, he was the type of person that had a magnetic personality, and he said that he was always worried no one liked him. And that he hoped he'd be successful and I told him I thought he'd succeed at anything he did.
Since I need a new place to live, I began half joking about being his roommate and he said that the room was in high demand. He said I'd be disappointed to be his roommate since he didn't fuck roommates. He made a joke and said, "I don't sleep with roommates, especially the gay ones. I learned that one from experience." I laughed really hard and he seemed amused that I was amused. I asked him, "How was that?" He said "My ass hurt for days."
I needed a new place to live because my graduate assistantship funding had ended and I was now jobless and broke and even the local bookstore, Books-A-Million, wouldn’t hire me because I wasn’t “going to stay.” Well, I kinda got used to eating and living somewhere, so I’d surely stay for that.
I asked him if he got pictures now on his phone and he said he did and he said that he saves the good ones. And that they come in handy when he wants to get off. I said that I had a hot picture of him and not to worry he was hard when I took it. He asked if I got off to it. And I said that I got off in the shower and that 100% of the time I'm thinking of times we had sex.
Anyway, basically he told me that I was the best sex he'd ever had and that he'd had the number one orgasm ever in my shower. And I was like really? The number one. And he said yes.
I asked him why give it up? And he told me that he liked me too much.
You may be thinking why did I ask? And why did he say that? Michael practically “SMH” and rolled his eyes when I read this bit to him. He has secondhand embarrassment for the cheesy lines past me fell for. He also said he would not be pulling a Marty McFly Back to the Future situation to meet past me (lols).
"Because I like you too much. I've told you this a million times, but you never listen. You always overthink it."
I said, "So you're a douchebag to me because you like me too much? That's fucked up."
And he said, "Yeah, I know. I don't get involved with people I like too much." He said that if he ever gets in a situation where he has to stand between a bullet again – or something – he doesn't want to have to think about what he'll lose. And I was like are you totally giving me a line right now? And he was like, “no, I'm serious. I like you too much.”
Who knows if this was the true reason? I’m sure it was more complex and more to do with the fact that our lives and life goals and even interests didn’t align.
I gave him his stuffed turtle that I’d been keeping which I sprayed with a squirt of Coco Chanel, my signature fragrance.
Then he found his clothes strewn about the living room and got dressed. He hugged me and kissed me a lot before leaving. As he was leaving, I told him to come back and give me another kiss and he came back and said that I had to kiss the turtle first, which I did and then he kissed me.
I said, "You never answered my text about christening my car" and he said, "We can do that." Then he left.
We never did have sex in my car. From my experience of having sex in a car, I have no idea why I ever wanted sex in a car again as it’s very un-sexy. Then, after that whole situation, I emailed him this pathetic exchange.
I can't sleep. I'm feeling melancholy. I've been reading One Day and it's making me feel like I'm wasting my life. I'm sort of waiting around until I can defend my thesis, jobless, on the brink of homelessness or the prospect of living with my mother in BFE and definitely not moving towards a career of any sorts. I definitely expected better for myself. There are so many jobs I want, I just don't know how to get them – writer, editor, magazine stylist, fashion merchandising, publishing rep, climbing the corporate ladder. I just want to do something I enjoy (like 99% of people) and something that I find meaningful. I guess we all feel that way.
Sorry, mother. I love you but you also didn’t want your adult daughter moving back in! I was living on very dwindling savings.
Well, I guess I did become an editor for a big corporate and I didn’t become homeless – Brittany helped me move to Columbus.
I was only on the brink of homelessness because I had stopped getting my grad assistantship stipend and my ever-diminishing savings could barely pay rent and if it wasn’t for my Mum and stepdad that summer, I’d not have been able to eat.
I was a master’s thesis and defense shy of my graduate degree and that was nowhere near finished (and would take another year in between my next teaching gig) even though I’d finished all my classes.
It probably wasn’t finished because I spent grad school partying between taking and teaching classes – and having sex with unavailable men…and not writing my master’s thesis which meant it wasn’t ready to defend.
And then there's you. You and your "I like you too much" "you don't listen to me." Well, if you like me "too much" why can't you just like me? Because if you liked me, you'd just accept it, wouldn't you? You'd just deal with it and like me. I'm not asking marriage. I'm just into you and your amazing sex. But since you so clearly aren't interested I'm in the process of moving on and I wonder if you'll even care when I do move on. Maybe you will. Part of me hopes you will, but the not nice part of me hopes that you won't – I wouldn't want you to suffer – but knowing you (somewhat) you won't suffer, you'll brush it off.
Idk, I can't shake that feeling – those ten days we spent together – it felt so intense and so fun and I wish life could be like those ten days. You seemed to let me in. You told your family about me – or at least your sister – and then you shut me all out of it, stopped returning my calls, and treated me like a stalker.
The thing is people’s baggage is about them and not you. I didn’t learn that until later. The way people treat you is a reflection of them. When I was first dating my first husband (before we became official and before we’d slept together), I went on a date with an absolutely lovely person where we had dinner at an expensive restaurant; he was charming and funny. We finished the night at a bar where he told a joke that culminated with me slamming my hand down on a ketchup packet (part of the joke) but I told him a few days later that I was seeing someone else. He may have been the loveliest person – maybe he’d have been a better match – but I had my designs on someone else. I hope he didn’t think it was anything he did. Sometimes you have two or more choices and you gravitate to one over the other(s). The people I’d hurt and dismissed – it was never about them.
And all my friends felt I was crazy. Even the people who ask me out on occasion wonder what hold you have on me that they can't touch. Why I'm so into you even when you practically take a shit on me. I don't even know myself.
I just like your ease of manner. Your magnetism. The way you attract a room. Your confidence. Your smile. Maybe it's all a facade, but you do it so well. And I hope I'm a bit the same, but when you treat me like I'm some lech you can't get rid of, it makes me feel like I'm a bit pathetic. But I feel more than that: friends tell me I'm smart, engaging, pretty, magnetic, all those things I think you are.
Why am I even writing this? Damn reading.
As in One Day made me reflective – thanks, David Nicholls – and maybe thanks literature degree that meant I couldn’t just enjoy a book without overthinking it.
Makes me feel like writing and you inspire me. Writing to you is like having dialogue with a brick wall. I know there's a person behind there, but he certainly doesn't show it to me unless we are together. When we are together I feel more connected with you (doh statement!), but I can't break through any other time. Even if you just sent me a line or two every few days, that'd be friendly, like we are friends or something. But I don't suppose we are. I don't know what we are. I wonder if you ever talk about me in casual conversation. What do you say, "My friend Elaine..." But you probably don't. I do talk about you. The stories you tell me, the ones that make me laugh, I share those with people.
Some people impact our lives more than we impact theirs and that is okay. Some people spark something in us, speak to us, and inspire us. Some people make us miserable and that should be left in the past. This fling was somewhere in the middle.
I clicked on your page and saw pictures of you with your face pushed up against some girl called "Laura" and I wonder if that's the girl you were seeing or fucking or whatever you were doing with in China.
Bloody Laura! I have zero recollection of what Laura even looks like.
But I suppose that doesn't matter. You did tell me last week that I gave you your best orgasm and I'll be happy with that knowledge for a while, even if it's not true, but it might be because we have pretty amazing sex. So, if you're up for it, I'll be home Thursday, but I'll be busy probably until Saturday or Sunday, so you should come over then. I want to fuck you in my car – at night – because the day's too hot, on the front lawn (I never have gotten anyone to do that with me), and in my shower – can't ruin a good thing. And I totally cleaned my room. It looks really awesome.
I also never fucked anyone on the “front lawn” which was this massive expanse of grass surrounded by palm trees at my university.
More than likely none of this will happen simply because I've put it into words. You answer the phone when I least expect it. Like the other day when you came over before I left for Jax, I didn't expect you to answer, but you did and you were friendly and cordial and I definitely didn't expect that. Sometimes I expect that tone I hate the most, that tone you used with me a couple of times when you snapped at me in person or in text and writing this makes me wonder why I even bother.
Jax = Jacksonville, Florida.
I guess I'll see you around. Maybe.
Maybe…
I later wrote a fifty-word story about the last goodbye with Bramwell for a literary magazine submission that the Jewish Doctor helped me edit one night in bed after we’d had sex (oddly). No wonder he fucking dumped me too (lol). The piece didn’t get accepted because it described a moment and wasn’t a story at all – and it was a bit shit!
He held you. Your body was still naked. His was now clothed. Moments were measured and finite; this embrace would be your last. Minutes before, you lay intertwined. Your wet mouth pressed against his shoulder blade. His hand clasped yours as you wrapped your arm around him. He let go.
I’m not sure I saw him around. First Kiss, my gorgeous housemate’s ex-boyfriend, the Bosnian (from the International Boys’ House across the street), Mr Target, Patrick Bateman, and the Air Force guy came into my life after that (and over twenty other people I kissed but didn’t sleep with), all barely beginnings so there was nothing to recover from when they became endings.
The final (final) ending…
Eventually, after innumerable very, very pathetic displays at garnering Bramwell’s attention, I ended things. Via text. I basically told him that he knew I liked him. He’d never want me as his girlfriend. Despite the fact he was amazing in bed (hence the nickname RHSG), I’d had more frequent and reliable fuck buddies and I was wasting my time.
I signed off with an “I’m out.”
Did I want to send this text? No. Hell no. I loved being around him. I loved having sex with him, but I also loved the thought of having my dignity back.
I have no idea why he gripped me so much but I did finally break free. Whilst I was only twenty-two at the time, his twenty-eight years seemed much older and wiser.
Unlike so many of the people I’ve written about, we did not stay in touch. I think he’s married. His sister married her sweetheart and they have children but I also didn’t keep in touch with her. I’m FB friends with him and all those people connected to this story at the time but he’s not active on FB – and there’s no point opening an almost decade-and-a-half can of worms. What does it matter? I eventually found my Brown-Haired Sex God in Michael anyway.
After having the clingy oh-so-suffocatingly-into-me high school sweetheart, the guy who discarded me after pursuit, the married professor who showed me men could lie and cheat with ease (he had been kind though – coming soon), the CFO who was delightful but had a girlfriend (also coming soon), the high-up tech company developer (Theo) who was also wonderful but seemed happy to be friends and did not pursue me (but he did invite me to a lot of things), and then Bramwell, who had seemed into me but determined not to let me get close (which was the same situation as with ATC), and the neighbour I’d fled from (up next), I was confused and floating on an iceberg. All this taught me was that the whims of men were unreliable and I was too clingy, too intense, too much to find a real connection that wanted to stick around after the initial stages.
Next up, that time I dated and then ghosted my firefighter neighbour. Bit of advice: never date your neighbour.
Don’t forget to check out the other nineteen posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place.
Was there ever anyone you chased oh-so-desperately and made a fool of yourself over? Or can you relate to playing the heartbreak record over and over?
