Dating the wrong person can bring out the worst in anyone. For me, this person's name was Jerry. And my crappy behavior is 100 percent my fault. He was nothing short of a gentleman. Which is probably why I had such a distaste for him. 

Simply put, I did not like him. At all. I had zero attraction toward him, especially his round belly that seemed to never stop growing. I found his voice annoying and his ideas, idiotic. His haircut was a cross between Jimmy Neutron and Dracula. His hair was so bad, I felt embarrassed being with him in public. I mean come on, at least get a different barber!

You may be wondering why I dated him. My answer to that is straightforward. I was wrong.

I was recently burned and Jerry was convenient. We first kissed during an alcohol infused, blacked out evening. When my mind transitioned from black out to brown out, I found myself in his car, his mouth uttering the words "Where I'm from, kissing means you are dating." I went with it, even though my heart and head were telling me NO!

Truthfully, he was a sweet soul. He cared about me, showered me with compliments and gifts (this combination happens to be my kryptonite). He would send me sweet texts during the day and call me every night. Sometimes I answered. Mostly, I let it ring. 

On paper, he is exactly the type of person I should have been dating. If he was someone I was actually interested in, it would have been great! But in reality, I just could not stand him. There is no real rhyme or reason, just a matter of taste.

I would only allow him to see me once a week for two hours at a time. I'd let him come to my apartment and we would watch whatever I wanted on TV.  He would try to have conversations but I shut them down, pretending I was heavily involved in whatever shitty reality show I had on. The faux TV enthrallment served two fold. One, I didnt have to speak with him. Two, I didn't have to touch him.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, he was awful in the sack. I mean, he couldn't even finger! He would flutter his fingers around in how I imagine a baby butterfly flaps its newly formed wings.  

This went on for a few months. In totality, we had slept together maybe six times. Things came to a head during the last bout of attempted sex. After two minutes of dismal penetration I asked "Are you almost done?  I'm hungry." 

I ended it after that. I knew I was hurting him and dated him solely to have a boyfriend. I truly hope, wherever he is, he's happy and found someone to care for him.