This is the fourth installment of the story of my oh-so-delicious but truly dimwitted Ken Doll. Our love story began on a weekend away (part 1), it ended up being a truly amazing and sexy “date” (part 2), unfortunately the dates to follow proved that The Ken Doll was a doorknob (part 3). And now you’re officially caught up!
The Ken Doll never expected to fall for me. In fact, the Ken Doll wasn’t looking to fall for anyone. He’s used to having the upper hand in relationships because he is:
a) hot
b) busy
c) easily bored
But the poor Ken Doll met his match because I am
a) hotter
b) busier
c) even more easily bored
I’m also one other thing that the Ken Doll is not:
d) smart
Remember back when The Ken Doll was kind of being an asshole? Yah, you do! The Ken Doll is, was, and always will be an asshole. Meaning, he’s a womanizer (if by accident or on purpose). He showed his hand early on. I’ve met The Asshole many times and I can spot him a million miles away. I don’t get hurt by these guys because I don’t let myself get hurt by them. I use them in the same way they want to use me.
Despite his intrinsic asshole being, The Ken Doll fell pretty hard pretty fast. Did he really fall for me? No, he didn’t fucking know me. Was he super attracted to me and intrigued by me? Yes. I probably threw him off his game a little and he mistook this for love/lust/like… whatever. Anyway, needless to say he wanted me, exclusively.
The morning after our sleep over (aka our first date), we were both pretty high on endorphins. We were googly eyed and smitten with one another. This was the only point in the “relationship” where I genuinely felt excited. This was the closest I ever got to being “in like” with him. This was also the first time that The Ken Doll asked me out – old school style.
Him: “Elle, I want to date you. Be my girlfriend.”
Me: *eyelash batting and sexy sweet smile* “I don’t do relationships.”
The weeks to follow turned him in to an insecure weirdo. I’m entirely convinced that he used a GPS app to track my phone on more than one occasion (but that’s another story for another time). My lack of interest in monogamy was confusing for him. I never lied to him. When he’d ask for clarification on “what we were” I’d tell him the truth: Friends with Benefits. In his rough and tough sober exterior he’d tell me he wanted the same thing, but in hazy booze filled hours he’d beg me to be more. I never gave him false hope. He’d complain that I was too cold and I’d complain that he was coming on too strong.
He started to get paranoid. If he couldn’t get a hold of me he’d assume I was on a date. He’d get upset with my hilarious bbm status updates and internalize them: “I’m going to set shit on fire so I can meet some firemen.” He’d test me all the time:
Me: What are you up to tonight?
Him: Going on a date.
Me: Okay.
Him: Does that upset you?
Me: Nope, do what makes you happy, but I don’t really need to hear the details.
Him: I’m not really going on a date.
Me: Okay.
Him: I just wanted to see if it would upset you.
Me: I can see that.
Him: Seriously Elle, did it upset you?
Me: Seriously, no.
He wanted it to upset me. I get it. If I liked someone I’d want him to be upset if I went on a date. I really do get it, but I really didn’t give a shit (because I really didn’t like-like him). I promised him I’d never change and that our situation would not turn into something more. He held on to the hope that I was “putting up walls” that he could “break down.”
Finally defeated, yet not able to let me go he asked me one thing: “Elle, are you fucking someone else?”
Me: “I’m not.” (And I wasn’t.)
Him: “Just promise me you’ll tell me if you start fucking someone else because I don’t want to be with you in any way if you are.”
Me: “Okay, that’s fair.” (And it was.)
Then last weekend he went to Vegas. Sin City. Land of “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” If anyone should have been concerned about what was happening, you’d think it would have been me. But no. He spent his trip, IN VEGAS, wondering what – or more accurately who – I was doing. He should have been fondling strippers and fucking strangers, but instead his brain was percolating on images of my buck naked body smacking up and down against some hot stud’s equally naked body.
At 2:00 am I got a text from him that said, “I just don’t think I can trust you.”
And “The End” followed suit.
The irony of it all is that the whole time that I was “with him” I was being exclusive. I was being monogamous. I definitely wasn’t fucking other guys, but in truth I wasn’t even talking to any other guys. Hell, I wasn’t even thinking about other guys. But he’ll never know… Oh well…
Another one bites the dust.
Badaboom!
The good news is: my brief hiatus from being a cyber slut has ended simultaneously with an influx of new eligible bachelors. The current head runners are:
The Lawyer
Mr. Serious
A guy who I’ve not yet branded with some disparaging nickname
And…
The Ken Doll Version 2.0 with upgraded intellect
P.S. I wrote this story on Thursday with plans to publish it this week. I hadn’t talked to The Ken Doll since his return from Vegas where he ended things with me. Last night I got a text from him asking if was still going to attend a wedding in NYC with him… How do I end something that’s already ended?
