Islands In The Stream

“Brian” and I met online, and the first few times we met in person, everything went great. He was fun, articulate (which was a nice change!), and the sex was spectacular. We lived a couple of hours apart, though, so we didn’t see each other often, and just kept things casual. All fun, no pressure. After a while, we agreed to a weekend at a B&B in the San Juan Islands. There was a great deal of hinting about what would transpire in the evening hours on this little trip, and he was very enthusiastic when I told him I planned to stop into a lingerie store before we left. I made the reservations and let him know how much the B&B, ferry, and gas would probably be, as we had agreed to go Dutch.

With cash in wallet and lingerie in overnight bag, I picked him up and we headed out. I should have smelled a fish when he made no move to cough up anything for the ferry, but foolishly assumed he would pay the return fare. I should have smelled a whole barrel of rotten fish when conversation was stilted and awkward the entire time. Naive little me assumed he was just nervous. Or, ever the optimist I was, excited.

Lunch? I paid. Whale-watching tour? I paid. Gas? I paid. I finally–and passive-aggressively–asked if he wanted to split the cost of dinner. Come to find out he only had about $80 to his name, and part of that had to put gas in his tank on Monday. So in terms of money, I was pretty well f**ked. Even if we didn’t stay for the duration of our reservation, I’d still have to pay for both nights at the B&B. The total tab by the end of the weekend was well over $400, not counting the lingerie I’d bought before we left. He coughed up about $30 for lunch on the last day.

Oh, but it gets better. The first night, we had some lackluster sex. He didn’t seem at all interested in the lingerie HE had picked out, and made no effort to cause any orgasms besides his own, which didn’t take much time or work… The second night, he went into the bathroom to take a long bath. For at least two hours. While I was waiting in bed. By the time he came back, I’d fallen asleep. He fell asleep too…on the floor at the foot of the bed. He didn’t touch me for the rest of the trip, and I can’t say I was terribly broken up over it. It dented my ego a bit, but I was ready to claw his eyes out by this point, so it was just as well.

We drove home in silence the next day, which was pleasant for a two-hour ferry ride and a two-hour car trip. A few months later, after I’d met my now-husband, I received an e-mail from Brian’s girlfriend asking who I was and about the nature of my relationship with him. Turned out she had just told him a few days before our trip that she was pregnant. I apologized profusely, told her I had no idea about her, etc. Fortunately, she’s a rational, sane individual, and knew what a sleezeball he was. Eight years later, she and I are still friends. Neither of us have heard from Deadbeat Brian.