a story for all to learn from

Let me share one of the single worst experiences of my life... and let's try to find some humor in my humility. 1st of all, and the least painful thing of the night I assure you, the woman to whom I may actually be attracted led me along all night long with rising anticipation of our actually meeting and exchanging fluids, pulled out of our plans at the last minute; leaving me to text nearly offensive/offended ambiguous messages that I knew were bad as soon as I sent them; cringing with regret. Then, due to the lack of love in my present state of mind at the time, i decided to text an ex-fuck buddy. Y'know, late night, usually these things are just a "yes" or "no" matter. But, when I send word that I'm interested in satiating her sexual appetite via text message and get no reply. I wait a minute, yet cannot wait another before I text her a very vulgar message regarding the fact I so badly want this woman that I illustrate how the use of her image in my sexually perverse vault of memories is very arousing while in the act of masturbation and have recently used it as means to a self satisfying end. I still get no response and nearly am at the point of accepting another disappointing evening of drifting off as I lay pouting reproaching myself that I am not exerting this frustrated energy in a creative way, when I am excitedly jolted to the vibration of my phone with an incoming phone call: my telephone screen displaying the name of my desire. I pick up and instantly hear, "who is this?"... "Uh, it's Drew," I say, thinking that my desire has recently lost her phone and in doing so lost my phone number as well - with my texts of sexual perversion coming at her from an "unknown" source. "Drew who?" is her response... "oh, fuck." I think, "did she block the memory of me out of her mind?" - "Drew - Drew" I say, as if repeating my name will job her recollection of me. "Drew who?" she repeats and I give her my last name which helps nothing whatsoever, if only further frustrates her that she can't place me, and frustrates me that I'm not being recognized. She informs me that she wants me to delete her number from my phone, and, then, finally realizing that this must not be the woman I am seeking - embarrassment rushes from my head to my toes. Sweat comes next, followed by apologies. We hang up. I stare at the ceiling wondering who the fuck that possibly could've been. I scroll through my phone again and find to my surprise that there are actually two different entry's of the same name of whom I was trying to reach. I've never noticed that before, and I've sent far more vulgar and explicit messages to the correct name that I'm astonished this mix up hasn't occurred before. The phone rings again. Same name, but, again, not the number from which I want to hear. "Hello?" I ask meekly. A stern voice with overt uncomfortable accusation blasts in my ear. It was the voice of a boss I once had in a not too distant past. "Oh, fuck," I say. "Drew, what the fuck?"

"Uh..." and I try to explain to him the mix up: that this other woman has the same name as his wife and I never meant for his wife or him to ever become privy to my disturbing sexual fantasies - especially one that mistakenly involves her and I'm certain offended the sleep she intended to get that night right the fuck out of her. He paused, shaking his head I'm sure and trying to purge his own fantasy of beating my skull against concrete, then asked, "Drew, are you OK?" Now... the majority of this awkward interaction has been an obvious mistake (at least in my eyes) but to be asked if my mental health was at stake here caught me a little off guard. "What? Yeah, I'm fine..." then I tried to assure him that I'm not crazy by going back and re-iterating my apologetic feelings and then delineated the steps that was the reason for this atrocity: last year he had asked me to pick his wife up from the airport and had given me her phone number to do so. That was the only reason her number was in my phone and I don't even think I used it that day and certainly haven't used it since. "OK." he said, "If that's what it was." Yep. That's all it was. Holy shit. I'm sorry." He sighed and hung up; then, I'm sure, had a very discomforting cuddle with his wife as he imagined what kind of an affair his wife and I might possibly been having. And I'm sure he needed her to reassure him that nothing of the sort ever existed. I'm sure they both lost a lot of sleep and I'm sure they're telling people whom I know how fucked up I am and I will forever be suspicious of those with in his circle of friends that they may know of this tale. I can only sit, grimace and write this out to lessen the complex feelings of anxiety and regret boiling in my head. That was horrible and won't ever be over until I either kill everyone who was involved in the story or myself. And I don't plan on doing either so, I guess I have to live with the embarrassment. Damn it.