“I Slept With Him to Prove Him Wrong”
Recently I spoke on the phone to my old friend “Cecily,” She told me a bunch of stuff about how she met her current boyfriend; it was pretty interesting, but I had to wonder if she had any scandalous trysts right before meeting this fellow. It turns out she did.
Two years ago, Cecily was living in Tahoe and dating her boss at the ski resort where she worked. He got mad at her about something or other, and broke up with her in a really assholish way. He got all huffy and petulant, and refused to be friends, even though they worked together and would have to see each other every day. Cecily apparently didn’t believe that the breakup was 100 percent for real, so she asked him if they were going to keep randomly hooking up all the time, as they had done before they started dating. For some reason, this question irritated him: He said “I’m never gonna sleep with you ever again!!”
A few months later, they found themselves at a Halloween party, totally drunk and irresistably inclined toward each other. Cecily was dressed as a punk, in a fluorescent orange mohawk wig, plaid miniskirt, fishnet stockings and black boots.
He asked her “do you want to come home with me?” She said yes, but clarifies that “I did it to prove him wrong.” She envisioned herself waking up the next morning and rubbing it in his face (his lack of perspicacity, that is): “So you’re not going to sleep with me ever again, huh?” Hang on a second, though. A few days have passed since I spoke to Cecily, and in the intervening time I realized something. Simply by asking her to go home with him, Jack had already disproved his original statement that “I’m not gonna sleep with you ever again.” If Cecily’s true goal was to prove him wrong, she did not have to fuck him; she could have achieved it just as effectively by doing nothing at all. Never trust somebody when they tell you what their motives were.
In any case, her morning did not go the way she planned. Jack had moved to a new house, and when she woke up there, “I didn’t really know where I was.” She was still wearing the mohawk wig, which may have contributed to her discomfiture. (Like all novelty punk wigs, it was of extremely high quality, or at least I assume that’s why it stayed on all night.) Confused and disoriented, she didn’t really feel like berating Jack, and instead “I scurried away.”
The most upsetting part of the story is still to come, though. I asked her what Jack’s costume was, and at first she thought he didn’t have one. Then she remembered that he was wearing “these stupid Chinese embroidered pants.” They were blue, with a dragon on them. He had borrowed them from someone else, so they didn’t fit him very well. At this point, I told Cecily I felt she should not have slept with this person. She agrees with me: “It was a terrible mistake.”