#52 THE AIR FORCE GUY WHO ALMOST RUINED MY MARRIAGE: THE GUY WHO CROPPED UP THREE TIMES
A charming stranger from my past who I saw again after I’d gone on a date with my future first husband (and he knew about it)
Before I left Valdosta, Georgia (my uni town), as I’ve written before, I was in this in-between limbo where I hadn’t finished my Master’s degree thesis (all the coursework was done, though), I was working at a dead-end call centre job, and I had no real direction. I was unhappy, although I didn’t realise it. Lost in a sea of endless possibilities and none at all.
I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t finish my Master’s thesis. I’d never failed at a project before and it was just 10-25 page chapters broken into smaller but related “papers” but it all seemed too much. The problem started when I began teaching alongside my degree. The grading/marking/lesson planning/prep was endless and I didn’t enjoy balancing that with my usual duties. When writing my thesis, I couldn’t find a clear direction and I didn’t feel like I was contributing anything to the “academic” conversation. I mean who really is at this level unless you’re doing a PhD? But still, to graduate, you have to say something new, even if nothing brilliant.
Even though after I did pass my defence – I paid to have at least ten copies of my thesis bound in pretty little volumes – I’ve still yet to re-read what I wrote. I’m not sure I ever will revisit it because even if what I’ve written turns out to be okay, it represents a difficult time in my life. But, hey ho, now I have the degree and a career and this odd chapter of my life is long behind me.
I’d defined my life up to that point by getting good grades, by being praised in academia. Not the top of my class or the cleverest but I worked hard enough and cared about the work I produced. I coloured in the lines. I’d even won the Graduate Department Award that year for literature (my amazing friend Kristy had also won for the rhetoric path in the degree), which I later found out is chosen by all of the department faculty, which made me feel good. Out of all the department, the two of us were chosen (#notsohumblebrag). My life was defined by being “good” at academia. But here I was, I’d finished my coursework and all I had to do was finish my thesis and I’d be free of it all.
I had that call centre job because my stipend had stopped from the degree and then one day I drove there and I just couldn’t face it. The prospect of the grey cubicles, the low light, endless phone calls with people who didn’t want to talk to me, and a place where I’d been told off for reading my book in between calls even though I never missed a cue. It was soulless, lifeless, and interminable and I didn’t care to be good at the job (one of the people I met there, a charismatic guy called Spencer, a bit younger than me, went on to go to graphic design or art school and is successful now doing amazing 3D model drawings of video games and architecture, etc — he did uni the smarter way by saving and not getting student loans or scholarships). I had previously worked at another call centre and had an amazing boss who hadn’t made it so bad (who I went on a movie date once years later with and I got so nervous I just had diarrhoea in the bathroom and he thought I wasn’t into him). This job didn’t have a bad boss or anything but I think I was selling car warranties and it just sucked.
Brittany, being a good friend and knowing how I was deeply unhappy, got me an interview as an adjunct instructor at the technical college where she worked as a full-time assistant professor in the Department of English in Columbus, Georgia.
Brittany was actually one of the only people in our department who after graduation had secured a full-time teaching job. But, later, Kristy would get a full-time academic job and even be head of her department and another fellow grad student, Stuart, would become a newspaper editor. Brittany was earning more than me so she paid more for our shared apartment, but then she had her own crisis and decided to quit this full-time job by which point, I was working three jobs (two uni teaching jobs and a side job at a law office as a legal assistant) and I was earning (marginally) more so paid more. She was feeling equally unhappy and unfulfilled but the shift was difficult for me, having less money each month suddenly. But she’d helped me out so I thought I ought to do the same.
I felt like a rat on a wheel, questioning if this would be my life. Anyone who has been an adjunct in academia knows, you’re the bottom rung of any department. You make one-quarter of the salary for half the workload with no benefits. No sick leave. No holiday time (unless you count an unpaid summer and unpaid winter break). No health insurance. And you get paid per class so you have to make whatever you earn stretch for weeks. You’re actually only paid per teaching hour so basically you do all the other bits involved in teaching for free – like grading papers, meeting students in office hours (if you are lucky even to get an office), and lesson planning.
In the technical college, I was treated like I was in a puppy mill and the department head was unhappy with whatever I was doing so she just didn’t renew my contract the next semester. To be fair, I was miserable because I was poor and struggling mentally. I was teaching two or three classes and I was on the edge. I’m sure I was a total dick to my students; although, one of my students who I had fond memories of reached out to me on LinkedIn not long ago and said I’d helped him and I did find an email exchanged where he’d thanked me for all the help I gave him so I guess sometimes I was kind (which I’m thankful for because I’d like to think that’s a fundamental part of my personality) – which is unlike the time I had a meltdown at my students via email telling them “it wasn’t rocket science” on formatting a Works Cited page in MLA (Modern Language Association) style – which I did get in trouble from my boss in the department about because a student reported me. I was a total dick at that point and it’s laughable now how seriously I took it when students didn’t follow directions (also why teaching was a terrible fit) or do their work to my standards.
I was deeply unhappy. I felt like a failure. Was I the problem? I had done everything you were supposed to do. I went to uni, I was working on a graduate degree, but I didn’t have a shining, grown-up full-time job, or any future prospects. I felt like I’d failed out of the gate. I didn’t know what direction to take my life or how to get there.
I did eventually finish my thesis when I was dating Captain Thor (unfortunately, I put his name in my dedication) but it wasn’t to do with him but Dr Elliott’s encouragement and the fact Dr Elliott was moving to Canada and I’d have to have an all-new committee if I didn’t finish. It was the push I needed.
Captain Thor didn’t help my confidence or looming sense of failure (more on that in the next few posts) in that he seemed to think I was “wasting my potential” without even checking his own privilege that had led him to where he was in his career.
The sex obsession in grad school in Valdosta at first had been a reaction against my high school sweetheart (HSS) and the cloying trapped feeling I’d had with him, a way to exert my own freedom and sexuality. In Columbus, I was searching for something, a distraction, not a partner or husband but the way some people find happiness in a bottle, I was trying to find it in an embrace (or at the end of a cock). (Thankfully, I never have been one to keep a bottle in the freezer or drink alone.) Spoiler: it wasn’t a healing experience but I did have fun (if my neurotic emotions didn’t take over).
Was I looking for a rescuer? I’m not even sure, but my ex-husband was that for me. He did that much. He rescued me from this cycle. I did find (temporary) happiness with him. He was charming, impressive, intelligent, and stable – and he seemed to know exactly what he wanted at a time when I didn’t. He wanted me. And that was intoxicating. He wheedled his way into my heart. He wasn’t my usual choice but my usual choices were getting me nowhere (of course, much more on him later) and a boyfriend I’d liked had just left me (Captain Thor) and I was again lost and untethered.
Even before and when I was dating Captain Thor and mostly staying at his apartment (but paying for the one I barely saw), I poured myself into the only thing that gave me some modicum of happiness and paid for a personal trainer I could barely afford, but at least it made me feel good. I searched for the wrong things and the wrong people with streams of dates and then Captain Thor and then more dates. Plus, I made good friends with Anna and Annie, my first real-world adult friends outside of graduate school and they meant a lot to me.
But this post isn’t about that. It’s about the guy I met before I left Valdosta and how he factored into the space before and after my marriage.
How I met the Air Force Guy
Remember in my posts about the guy who reminded me of Patrick Bateman? Well, PB was my first foray into online dating.
Air Force guy (we will just call him AFG) was another look at online dating. I was on OkCupid (how I’d later meet all my Columbus, Georgia dates and even Michael) and I must have seen this very attractive man.
He was 6’4”, muscular, dark hair, dark eyes, handsome, and had a sweet smile. What else did younger me need, I ask? (Therapy is obviously the answer but, hey, it all already happened.)
I have zero recollection (or notes) on how we actually met or what we did but I’m pretty sure it just turned into a hookup situation.
On 17 August 2011, our first message exchange was me saying “Hi. Come to Starbucks!” And him replying, “Ok 🙂 lol” Who knows if he ever did come to Starbucks? I should’ve bought stocks in S-bucks at this point with the number of times I’m plugging it in my newsletter/blog (Starbucks, wanna send me some money or free tea? I mean there’s not one remotely near where I live now but one can hope…). I’m sure we messaged on the OkCupid website first and then probably by text but that’s all I got for ya (which is very un-early-twenty-something-me)!
Then, a few days later, I told him I had an interview at that tech school in Columbus and if it happened, I’d have to move quickly over the weekend and start teaching that very next week. He was sweet and encouraging in the messages. And then he was like “Are you excited? Not too many people are getting offered jobs.” So, I wasn’t a total failure, it was just the economy and the fact I had zero job experience and had spent 6-7 years in academia instead of in the real world.
Then, we devolved into flirting where I told him his jumpsuit was hot and in late August, “My orgasm was super amazing this morning. I thought I’d let you know just in case you didn’t realise. My heart just skipped a beat thinking about it. Plus, you give good hugs.”
Then, it looks like by the following week I’d moved away.
I remember sitting next to him in my bed in Valdosta and him telling me he felt seen and that we had a connection. I remember feeling alone in the room.
But that wasn’t to do with him but my mental state at the time. He was a sweet, smart, warm person. He was charming in a genuine way with a big smile, amazing hugs, and a gorgeous body. He was good in bed, well-endowed, and would make me cum when many men didn’t bother trying. I always had a soft spot for him but I didn’t fully get to know him (like others before him). He wasn’t in the headspace for a relationship either but besides a few bits here and there, I never knew anything about him or his past.
We had a few more messages and in March 2012, I said I was dating someone new (Captain Thor) and he told me, “You’re pretty and sweet (and a good cook) of course you’re in a relationship. I’m just working on my retirement and making plans for the future.”
When he came to visit me in Columbus
In September 2011, I’d bcc’ed a bunch of people in an email called, “Change of address,” letting them know I’d moved to Columbus and what I was up to. I was the type of person who bcc’ed people in mass emails as if they gave a shit!
AFG replied back, “Hey, that’s awesome! Not much, other than Jesse [was this a dog? a girlfriend?] and my back pain...just bad luck all around over here. I'm glad you were able to get out of this town, not a lot of folks do. I'll hit you up for sure :)”
I told him, “Thanks for the reply.” And that I was glad to hear from him.
Grammy and Uncle Steve were the only other replies to my email and I told them both I was seeing the hot Jewish Doctor and the Auburn Professor but needed to choose between them and my uncle wasn’t impressed with my seeing two men at once and I told him they were just dates. Grammy said that I shouldn’t play so hard that my work suffers (now she tells me the opposite heh). I’d meet Captain Thor two months later so I guess it didn’t matter who I chose in the end! (All three of those posts yet to come.)
AFG and I would message from time to time but never anything substantial or flirty. I told him I was unhappy with teaching and he said he was planning on going to film school. I told him that my boyfriend, Captain Thor, was leaving me and I was sad about it but needed a career and to get my life together.
He said, “The good thing is we might finally get to meet up like we’ve been planning.” I naively said even if I had a boyfriend, we could still go to lunch. I said I’d be in Valdosta soon to bind my thesis (i.e. I’d finished it and I had to get my pages turned into a book so it could sit in the depths of my uni library never to be read).
I suppose in this way, he was right about our connection that time he told me in my bedroom in Valdosta. Had I ever admitted to anyone else – especially someone I was flirting with or slept with – that I was that unhappy (besides Noah)? Maybe not.
The next year in September 2012, not long after I’d returned from my New York trip where I’d ended things with Captain Thor, AFG said he would come and visit me. I told him I was looking forward to seeing him and that I needed to (surprise, surprise) tidy up my room. Two days later, he messaged to say he’d had a lot of fun and I thanked him for driving all the way to see me. I assume we saw each other but I don’t remember that particular visit.
The following month in October, he told me he was going to visit soon as he was getting his orders “any day now.” He said he'd come by when he was passing through. Then, I told him “can’t wait to see you” and he said, “I can’t wait to rock you all weekend and see that pretty smile among other things.”
The only problem was at the time, I’d just met the man who would become my first husband.
AFG drove to town in November, took me out to dinner at the Bonefish Grill (which is a place Captain Thor used to take me quite often), and I thought we could do the whole friend thing even though he was going to sleep over in my bed (and had made his intentions clear) but I hadn’t yet slept with the man that would become my first husband and I found AFG incredibly sexy and irresistible and we had sex. Probably that night and the next morning. Probably multiple times because he had a big cock and could make me come.
My first husband (then just someone I’d had a couple of dates with) was understandably hurt by the encounter but I hadn’t started sleeping with him yet and we hadn’t made anything official. And future first husband was seeing someone when we met as well – a Latina girl who he described as wearing her hair slicked back in a high ponytail that he liked – and he dropped her like a hot potato after meeting me (supposedly because how would I ever know) which I always felt kinda bad about.
There was no excuse but I was hedonistic and wanted AFG at the time. And for whatever reason my future first husband didn’t cut things off. The forgiveness did drive me to him in a way, how much he cared, how he knew he wanted me — it was all flattering. Even though I had wanted to love and be loved, in the end, it came suddenly, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to end the fun of dating and meeting new people, outside of friends of friends in grad school. The Columbus men were a whole new buffet of choices.
I didn’t fully know that my future first husband would be my choice until I met his family in Louisville, Kentucky and I loved everything about them and their Lebanese-American family dynamic. But that encounter with AFG hung over our marriage. First husband didn’t accept my wild past. He judged me for it. He maybe even mistrusted me and I was a lot of things and made many mistakes in that marriage but infidelity wasn’t one — I’ve always taken my vows seriously even if I’m not traditional in many ways.
That was that really for AFG. My ex stipulated that I cut off all contact with people I’d slept with in the past. I got married, moved to Germany, and lived my life, a life that was happier than those years of fun, hedonism, and struggle.
How we met again
In June 2016, AFG messaged me on my birthday. He said, “Hey. It’s been a while. How are you? Are you in Germany?”
I said I was in Florida and about to move to England because my husband decided to leave me and upturn my life. He said he was in Orlando for film school and asked when I was leaving. I was leaving in less than a week. He asked me to come see him. I said I could meet him for lunch at the airport before my flight.
We exchanged a bunch of messages. Reams and reams. Our hopes, fears, dreams, heartbreak. He opened up to me. He told me he was learning to talk more and express himself more and he’d never been good at that.
He said:
“I admired the hell out of you. Your passion for education, your independence, your intelligence, and your beauty captivated me. I thought you knew that. I did drive far out of my way after you moved for that new job. I remember saying you were dating people closer to you, but I just wanted to spend as much time with you as I could.”
I said I’d had no idea. I really hadn’t. I always thought he just saw me as a hookup. I didn’t even think about the fact he drove that way to see me and I didn’t know he would have dated me long distance if I’d just asked. I never did date anyone long distance. I only ever dated people who lived close by, which I guess is very limiting and exactly why I’m with Michael now (besides him being a good fit, he only lived five minutes from my Father’s house).
AFG shared a bit about this American girl he’d dated for two years when he lived in Germany who he’d wanted to marry before she broke things off, dated a drug dealer, and got hooked on drugs. She broke his heart but they’d been there for each other during tough times. I opened up about my heartbreak.
He told me, “You’re so beautiful. It melts me. It was one of the things that made me gravitate to you. I could never get you out of my thoughts (not that I tried to).” I asked why he’d never said. He said, “I discovered how deeply I felt when I saw you were married. I feel terrible because you married some guy who didn’t like the best part of you. Your personality is unbeatable. And now you look down on yourself because I left you to a monster. I thought he would make you happier than I ever could.” I said why did he think that and he said “I can’t explain PTSD in a day, let alone a message. That’s just the way I thought then.”
How sweet is that? Even if he didn’t mean a word of it, his kind words meant so much in that moment. I was utterly broken at the end of my marriage. I was left confused and didn’t understand why things had ended when things had been “so perfect.” But really I was delusional and had also made mistakes but either way, the end was difficult, but ultimately good for me.
I told him, “You came to Columbus again when I was first dating my [first] husband, and I told him I was going to go out with you and you were staying over, and that we had slept together and he wasn't happy. Brought it up several times in our marriage.”
I met my first husband at Starbucks (the third person I’d meet at Starbucks incidentally with the first person coming up next, Captain Thor, and the first person, the super hot Texas guy here) or, rather, my first husband saw me, remembered my car, and orchestrated a meeting (but more on that later).
As I said, I was still at the tail end of my “wild phase” with no view to settle. I fell in love with my first husband maybe precisely because he was so different from anything I’d ever had before. And he told me how he felt about me which was also different from anything I had before. The whole thing meant that I did want to marry him eventually but that weekend I wasn’t quite there yet after we’d only had a date or two and not even had sex. I showed restraint and probably didn’t sleep with him for two or three weeks, but that’s another story. It wasn’t to do with trying to appear as “marriage material.”
In our conversations, AFG was kind. He continually said I was a “goddess” and a good catch.
The conversation then went to him offering to drive to my mother’s house to pick me up and take me to the airport instead. It was a three-hour drive for him. He told me, “I’d only get one night with you, but it’s more than I ever even dreamed.” I sent messages saying I still felt married and felt conflicted and wasn’t sure if I’d be able to resist him. He said he didn’t expect anything.
Driving me to the airport: the last time we had sex
The flirtation made me sleep better than I had in weeks. I talked of my insecurities with how my body had changed (I had turned 29 just days before) and how my ex had made me feel ugly, fat, and not good enough (of course, more details to come in later posts).
AFG came to pick me up around lunchtime. He met my family who were friendly and supportive of this odd visitor who sat next to me on the love seat holding my hand affectionately (when only weeks before they’d been told my husband was leaving me). AFG was gentlemanly and polite. He complimented the lunch my mother had cooked.
He helped me load his car with my menagerie of suitcases for my move to England. My Mum and baby sis cried when we left.
I felt giddy and happy with this sudden change of emotion. From making myself so ill I landed in hospital with food poisoning and heartbreak, barely eating or sleeping to this high of temporary inflation was bizarre yet welcome.
He drove me to his apartment in Florida where I met his emotional support dog named Duke. It felt both alien and amazing to be touched. Kissing again felt like a head rush. My ex had barely wanted to have sex and – as evinced by every chapter of my Substack – I had a high sex drive and I had no idea how frustrated and lonely I felt in my sexual isolation. It felt almost like I was being punished for my past. I didn’t have a healthy relationship with masturbation so I was just frustrated and channelled that into lots of walking and exercise – and my amazing Germany-lady friendships (more on these later). Not that I’d have articulated any of this at the time because I thought I was happy – and compared to the lost times before I was!
AFG fucked me from behind in his bed that you had to reach by ladder. The sex was rough. I’d liked that in the past but I felt tender. Different. Conflicted. I hadn’t touched another man for four years – my first husband barely wanted to touch me and the four times we’d have sex per month (I was obsessed with tracking it) were always initiated by me but mostly I was rejected – and here I was having sex with the last man I’d fucked before I got married. Was I saying “fuck you” to my ex in a way he’d never know? Maybe.
AFG shoved his massive cock in my mouth where my eyes and mouth watered with the shock of it and fucked me some more until he came. I told him I’d stopped the pill when my marriage had ended so he came on my back. We showered together afterwards. No orgasm for me like the past or the promised cunnilingus until I “creamed all over his face.”
I felt grateful he’d driven three and a half hours each way, a seven-hour round trip, to take me to the airport, to see me again, for sex, for whatever. I can’t remember how I slept but I think I had enough sleep.
As I sat on his floor in front of his mirrored wardrobe with sliding doors, he complimented how I did my makeup. I was healed and traumatised, just like he was. War had torn his life and mind apart; marriage had torn mine.
I paid for breakfast the next day and gave him some money for fuel and cash for parking. I remember not knowing when I’d get more money in my bank, having no earnings, and knowing I had no money for a divorce lawyer (spoiler: I never got a lawyer and just accepted what my ex gave me as the person with the money has the power).
I didn’t ask if he was seeing someone. He was under a year shy of finishing film school and told me about his dream to move to Costa Rica where the fruit was amazing and the place was like a paradise, how he could have an amazing life for less.
A random detail I recall: you know how all the mean girls are now obsessed with the Stanley cups? Well, back then I was obsessed with my Starbucks cup. I bought a really lovely iridescent massive cup that I took everywhere with me and drank water from it. It was new. Something not associated with my time with my first husband.
I left that cup in AFG’s car. I never quite got over leaving that cup. I even tried to get in touch with him to mail it back and he never did. I replaced my Starbucks cups but none was as special as that one. Or maybe it’s simply tied to the memory of that time and letting go was what I needed.
A month after I’d moved, AFG sent me a message to apologise for being busy and not mailing the cup. I said it was okay and I was worried that my period was late and that if I was pregnant I’d terminate. He said he pulled out and that moving can be stressful and “make you late.” I said when we’d had sex I’d just finished my period so it would’ve been very unlucky indeed to get pregnant off pre-cum. (What I know now from my Natural Cycles App is that it would’ve been highly unlikely to get pregnant right after a period.) I took a pregnancy test and was fine. I got my period a few days later.
Before we parted, AFG sweetly told me to promise not to get married a second time before he had a chance to move close to me and be together. I said I planned to be single and have fun. I’m not sure if he truly meant it. But I was a dreamer anyway and it was a nice idea.
I owe AFG a lot in a way, for giving me that ray of hope in a truly dark time. When I was at my lowest, feeling invaluable and lost, he gave me a small light. He showed me I could be loved and valued.
I moved to England and I met Michael two weeks later.
The ending
I messaged AFG October that year to wish him a happy birthday and that was the last of our messages. He replied and I left him on read. Michael and I were getting more serious then and that dream was no longer for me.
AFG was the last man I touched before I got married and the first man I touched after that marriage failed. That felt significant and poignant at the time.
I’ll always remember AFG for the help he gave me, driving all that way to take me to the airport, the confidence boost, the kindness, the sex, the renewal. I truly hope AFG is out there doing what he loves. And Duke too!
Next up, all about meeting Captain Thor.
Don’t forget to check out the other fifty-one posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place – and the odd “present day snippet” of what I’m up to lately.
Have you ever met up with someone during three different periods of life? Or had a ray of hope after heartache?
I am low-key impressed you kept those messages AND they actually form complete sentences with a meaning. The two word messages from my exes are embarrassing, no life-changing truths shared. This guy seemed pretty cool all in all!