I’ll Have the Abusive Bitch with a Side of Hot Sex

For some reason, I am attracted to bitchy high maintenance women. I am drawn to their mean-spirited criticisms and inability to express love and adoration without mixing it with undermining doubt-inducing snide comments. After a great deal of introspection and spending some much-needed time with people who genuinely love and accept me for who I am at my core, it’s clear to me that I am not a masochist. I know I deserve to be treated with respect, yet I continue to fall into the pattern of putting up with verbal abuse in the hope that I’ll see the joy-inspiring, tender, sweet charm that attracted me to these women in the first place.

The pattern is very distinct. They draw me in with their siren song of similar interests – active lifestyle, adventurous attitude, deep sensuality, and medium-to-severe geekiness. They seduce me with their creativity and infectious sexuality. Then, once I’m hooked, we have incredible game-changing sex with multiple orgasms that crosses into the realm of religious experience. We instantly develop a deep spiritual bond, drawing us closer together emotionally, physically, and intellectually. As we build a strong intimate connection, I find myself helpless to resist the temptation to help them, whether that means giving them practical and meaningful gifts to improve their quality of life or making myself available to support them when they need guidance. I go out of my way to make them feel special, to make them feel loved.

At some point, though, they begin to take advantage of my generosity and kindness, without returning the sentiment with any semblance of balance. They begin to criticize me for not doing enough, for not being closer to their ideal, despite being actually closer to their ideal than any other man they’ve ever met. They forget all the wonderful things they cherish about me and instead focus on the growing list of things they don’t like about me. They ignore their own rhetoric about how I am the nicest, most decent, caring, supportive, sexy, and all-around magnificent guy they have ever had the good fortune to meet. They even lose sight of the rich intimate bond they were so eager and excited to build and nurture, choosing instead to betray that investment by actively manifesting the very outcome they claim to want to prevent.

Sure, the sex is still dynamite. In some ways, it even gets better, but mostly the closeness and richness is supplanted with cold utility. They know I can play their body, heart, and soul like a symphony, and they expect repeat performances with results-driven vehemence. They take everything and give little in return. The relationship slowly devolves into a cycle of use and abuse. Meanwhile, I maintain an optimistic perspective, choosing to rationalize their behavior as a phase or a mood, a season of temporary behavior they must not realize is hurtful and demeaning. I weather the storm, believing it will pass and the closeness will return.

As each instance of abuse flares up, I wait patiently, communicating to calm the savage beast of their insatiable ego and resolve the apparent conflict. They make minor compromises if at all, taking two miles for every inch I concede, leaving me feeling frustrated and confused. I hold on until what inevitably comes to a bitter end, where they lose all respect for me and attempt to push me to leave them. They refuse to leave because somewhere in the back of their minds, they are still deriving some appreciable value from the partnership, though they contribute no value actively anymore. I refuse to leave because I hold on to a futile hope that they will snap out of it and revert to the loving, charming woman with whom I fell in love, believing in the power of that deep connection to rise above the pettiness and light the way to positive resolution.

Eventually, a significant event occurs that catalyzes their escape from what they have come to believe as a failed relationship. They’ve done very little to bolster the success of the relationship, and they’re content to let it die because they’ve used it up. They’ve taken from it all it will bear, so they cast it aside like a used condom. I’m left wondering why things got so fucked up and how we transitioned from the deepest depths of intimacy to cold, distant contempt. After all, I tried. I worked. I gave it my all, and then some. I look past the simple reality that they simply didn’t try, didn’t work, didn’t give it a second thought. To them, it wasn’t effortless, so it must not have been meant to be. At least they got a lot of hot sex out of it. If that’s all they can take away from the experience, that’s acceptable to them.

So, why do I still love her when she was such a spectacular failure of a girlfriend? I guess I need a little more introspection and maybe a stiff drink. Or maybe it was that she was the closest I’ve ever come to ideal, at least for a while, and I believe that bond can never be broken, even after all the abuse.

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