Yesterday I experienced quite an ordeal: I had my feelings hurt. Isn’t that something? I had forgotten I had any. It used to be that the only feelings I expressed were directly tied to bruised egos and broken hearts and blue balls. I could feel incensed and infuriated and shameful and guilty on occasion, but mostly there were just drunken highs and lows.
But what right do I have to feel hurt? I, who have hurt so many and done countless terrible, disgusting things (most of which I just can’t wait to go over in full detail with you, Dionysus), feel as if I gave up that right a long time ago. I didn’t think about how what I said or did might effect anybody else; that was completely irrelevant to me. All that was important was how things panned out for me and how they made me look and feel.
But it was a mild sort of solipsism, Dionysus. I usually didn’t go out of my way to fuck people over: It just sort of happened that way. You see, I’m not a sociopath or a sadist, just selfish. If what I wanted to do happened to be the most altruistic of deeds and made loads of people happy, then that was wonderful; If what I wanted to do made people cry or hurt or feel terrible about themselves, then that was just as wonderful. I did whatever I wanted regardless and passed off all I did as deeds bred of necessity. And a lot of times they were, Dionysus. At least you led me to believe they were: I did everything you told me to, mate.
Mostly I was just a gin-soaked ball of caprices, caterwauling catastrophes because the sound was sweet, if only to my ears. I had no idea what I really wanted, because I had no idea who I really was. Thus, I was a lot of different people who all wanted a lot of very different things and there was no way of predicting which one would be present at any given moment. Perhaps an anecdote is in order here to illustrate this point.
As I’ve stated, Isadora and I were deeply in love with one another and dedicated for life. I only had eyes for her, and she for me. I would have weathered a hundred storms, slain a thousand dragons, chased a million windmills for that girl. Or just help her with her geometry homework, which was essentially the extent of my chivalry. She was still in high school after all, Dionysus.
That pregnancy scare had really matured us and brought us to a new level of intimacy, too. Our teenaged bodies were like charged magnets, our hearts like matching jigsaw pieces, our curfews just romantic oppressors to be vanquished. And how we vanquished them, Dionysus!
What I’m trying to get at here is that I had absolutely no desire or intention to ever be with another girl for the rest of my life. Infidelity was the most outlandish and unlikely thing in the entire universe; My every waking thought was devoted to Isadora.
But I would soon learn a sad, cursed truth about myself, Dionysus: My good intentions would rarely be any match for a good erection.
I apologize for the vulgarity, but I’m sure you don’t mind and, to be honest, I feel like a rather vulgar sort reflecting on some of these things. I picture myself pulling phallic weeds out of a garden of blue roses while you just sit there and laugh, sipping gin and tonics from crystal tumblers glistening in the hot sun and offering me nary a sip.
But that’s fine by me, Dionysus: I don’t want any gin and I’m going to unroot these disgusting fuckers no matter what the effort or time or cost may be.
So back to my weeds: The Banana Man’s parents were out of town and were foolish enough to entrust the safety of their home to him. Turns out they fucked up big time with that judgment call, because for the entire two weeks they were gone, their nice suburban home moonlit as a flop house. There were at least twenty teenagers at all times who were drunk and high and into making really bad decisions.
Of course I was one of them, Dionysus. Fueled by my friend’s parents fantastic liquor collection and adjoining bar, I was rather enjoying myself. One of those nights, Isadora wasn’t around. I think she had high school the next morning or something lame, but she was there in spirit, Dionysus. Oh how I pined for her! How I longed for her to be there!
I don’t recall much of that night except that we were drinking Cosmopolitans and I thought I was F. Scott again except Zelda wasn’t around but this other chick was and we ended up in the hot tub and she looked at me just the right way and that was all it took for everything to go wrong.
All of the bedrooms were being occupied so we settled for the floor. I was a dog, Dionysus. I was an absolute and utter dog and despite my deeply held convictions, I found myself doing all sorts of things in a dark carpeted hallway with a girl I didn’t even know well enough to form an opinion on. Opinions were irrelevant: I didn’t care about anything or anybody or how Isadora would feel or whether one of my fellow revelers might wake up and make the mistake of trying to use the restroom in the hallway.* All it seemed to take from her was a certain look and all I needed was the realization that I could do it if I wanted to. And I did, even though I’m still not quite sure how much I actually wanted to.
The next morning I was a mess, Dionysus. I felt, for the first time, a feeling that I would, unfortunately, feel many, many times in the years to come: that penetrating post-cheating guilt. I cursed myself and cursed the girl and cursed the world at large for the proceedings. But the funny thing is, I still wasn’t worried about how it would make Isadora feel. My only concern was preventing her from finding out, as that would mean utter ruin (or going back to being single, which was the same thing pretty much). And besides, our love was eternal, etc.
But she never found out and nobody told her and I was able to convince myself that my one indiscretion made our bond stronger if anything; for now I had experienced sexual conduct with yet another girl, and I still fancied Isadora. Besides, wasn’t I the one who truly suffered, carrying such worry around in my chest like a scarlet tumor?
I also found that liquor was a suitable ambrosia for those who, like myself, desired to become part-time amnesiacs.
And so I carried on with renewed vigor, vowing to remain faithful to Isadora and to you, Dionysus.
Can you guess which one of you I kept my vows with?
</3 Sir Rateval Hurtlinge
P.S. I was so successful in convincing myself that this event never occurred that I only recently remembered it. A huge part of me wishes that I hadn't, naturally, but this exercise has nothing to do with self-preservation, so there is no suppressing it now.
P.P.S. I could never apologize profusely enough for my actions, but I'm sorry, Isadora.
*At least one did. I can only imagine the nightmares that poor kid had after witnessing that sight. Some things can truly never be unseen.