63. The Guy

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

We were diving deep into my dating history in my previous letter, and I know that when you read it, you got those chills of “I know exactly what you did.” And… you are right. When my therapist challenged me, at 18, to talk about the sexual assaults I had avoided speaking about for 2 years, and confronted me:

And yes… exactly as you thought — I went home to plot a plan. My best friend, that same neighbour girl we spoke about, Fire Tiger Aquarius, was a single child (kind of, long story for another day) and as such was always craving company. Her house was always full of people, and she would often call me just to be there when she showered or couldn’t fall asleep. My parents lived on the 4th floor, still do, by the way. And her parents lived in the penthouse on the 9th floor.

After I stormed out of the therapist’s office, that Fire Rooster Sagittarius, I came straight to her. I said, “I need a dick, call a party.” She never asked for details. Honestly, she was the loudest of my friends who called out my “vagina cobweb situation” and mocked my virginity. 30 minutes later, her house had about 15 people, many of them guys.

There was this darker guy. Behind his back, we called him the vampire because he had two very protruding teeth. He was tall and skinny. I didn’t ask myself if I am attracted to him. In fact, at that point I didn’t even know how atraction felt like. We got together.

Wanna hear a funny bit? Lol, that one actually makes me crack up to this day. My dad, a Soviet-grown guy who didn’t quite know how to deal with the whole sexual freedom (of which he approved, he didn’t want us to wait till marriage, though he never quite said that in so many words. It didn’t sit well with his “freedom at all costs” philosophy, but he didn’t quite know how to go about it), so he never let me go to sleepovers at anyone’s house. Never. Except that Fire Tiger Aquarius, who was my neighbour, knew the parents.

Every time I would ask to go to a sleepover at a friend’s, he would say, “At a friend’s, or a boyfriend’s?” (In the warland language, a female friend has a different word than a male one, and he meant a female friend.) And since I was about 12, I would answer him with confidence, “When I go to sleep at my boyfriend’s, I will tell you.” When I became 17, he could not stop me from sleeping in other people’s houses, but this conversation would repeat itself every time.

And so that guy, who was disgustingly traditional and had to call me his girlfriend, and swore to me that he would not touch me at night when we went for a sleepover at his house, and I decided to go for it. He had to go to the army the next day, and he didn’t want to stop talking now that we had flirted the whole evening, and my cleavage did its job.

We got to his house, and I told him, I just need to call home. So I pick up the landline and dial. My mom answers. I say, “Mom, is Dad home? I need to talk to him.” She goes and calls him. Now, I never talk to my dad on the phone, so I am sure he was already shocked. He picks up the phone. “Yes?” — “Dad, remember I said that I will tell you when I am going to sleep at my boyfriend’s?” Silence. “Yes,” he says eventually. “I am sleeping at my boyfriend’s,” I said and quickly hung up before he could say anything.

Damn, the balls I had, eh? I am sitting here cracking up just remembering that. But hey, cowardly or not, at least I kept my word, lol.

Anyway, that night he tried to be “noble,” but I knew what I wanted. And… I was drop-dead gorgeous then — skinny girl, big soft breasts, curly full hair and green eyes. He had no chance. So I fucked him.

Funny enough, we broke up the same week because the moron decided to feel offended when I sat under my parents’ building with my best friend, who is gay by the way, not that it matters, after dark and talked for hours. “How do you think it makes me look when my woman is seen sitting with another man outside in the dark?” I raised a brow with a smirk that dared him to call me “his woman” again.

“I have an easy solution for this problem,” I said simply, “Don’t call me again.” It was easy with him because I didn’t develop emotions. He was just a dick I needed to use to make a point to my therapist. And it’s not like he didn’t enjoy it.

I marched into my therapist’s office for the next meeting, sat on the chair and calmly said: “The virginity problem was dealt with, can we move to more interesting topics now?” He stared at me for a long moment, and then, with that glint of exasperation and respect for not being pushed, he nodded, and we didn’t bring the sexual assaults into the conversation until I became a mother at 26 and could not deny anymore that it, indeed, affected me.

I want to believe that each person who came into my life taught me something. What that vampire taught me, I only learned after I met the Water Pig Sagittarius — my next boyfriend and the first man I truly loved, and the only man I have ever been attracted to.

And what the vampire taught me was that having the equipment means nothing if you don’t know how to use it, lol. I didn’t even know how Meh was the sex with him until I had a proper partner. So I didn’t even think of sex for that whole year until I was almost 20.

One day, my best friend, the Fire Tiger Aquarius, called me and invited me to the beach. “There’s this guy I like, and I want to go for a night swim with him, but I need a wingwoman cause he is coming with a friend.” Now me? The loyal creature that I was, I would go to hell and back for that girl.

We became friends because she was the first girl to talk to me in 3rd grade, when I just started school. I wore foreign pants, and my mom would chop my hair Elvis style because she would get so overwhelmed when I had lice (and I was curly, which is a nightmare), so I was bullied from the very first day. The whole class shunted me. Except her and another girl. They found me on a recess while I was hiding from the stones the boys were throwing at me, and started talking to me.

Over the years, her family kind of adopted me to a point. Her parents were basically tolerant of me hiding in their house at all times from the chaos at my house. But I was stiff and inflexible, I got along with no one, was opinionated, and pretended to know it all at all times (because I had to be the grown-up at all times), and she still stood by me. As I said, she had my loyalty. So I said yes before she even finished the sentence.

It was rather funny, really. We came to meet the boys at the beach. There were 3 more girls with us and 2 more guys. That guy, let’s call him creatively Guy, whom she was into, had a next-door neighbour named Guy. But there the resemblances ended. Her Guy was tall and talkative, baby face and long limbs — not my type at all. The other Guy…

He was shorter, barely a few inches taller than me. He had that perfect triangle of shoulders-to-ass ratio that I saw even before he pulled his shirt off with all the other guys and left it at the car as we descended to the beach. The guys walked in front of us, and I saw him move, and the ant tattoo on his shoulder (the symbol of Prodigy that I was really into those years). I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

And then he turned, just for a second. He looked at the bra of my bikini, a round bouncing double D in a black hugging clasp of silk, and smiled at me because I caught him. I saw his chest hair, and I felt that someone turned a furnace in my solar plexus. A wave of primal heat climbed up all the way to my ears, and it took me a long moment to hear my friend talking to me, above the noise my heartbeat was making.

“Remember I told you about hot chest hair?” I murmur to my friend. She goes “mmm?” I gesture with my head toward the shorter Guy. “That,” I say, barely able to hide the hunger. She takes a look at him and shudders in clear disgust. “That’s why we will never fight over boys,” She said with a smile, “Cause we don’t like the same things.”

The evening was usual for me. As they all got drunk, I drank only a little. I could outdrink all of them together; I often did. My russian blood and anxiety made me almost immune to alcohol at that age. But I wanted all my marbles with me. I was feeling something alarming and unfamiliar, and by this point, I learned to fight just a little against the “available dick alert”.

So when the idiots, as always, jumped into the sea in the dark, I was the one standing on the shore counting heads at all times, ready to jump into the water to save any of those morons — even though I don’t know how to swim, lol. The Guy sat with me on the shore, and we talked for hours. As all Sagittarius, he was fun to talk to. He wasn’t shy about declaring his intent, and that same night, he invited me over. It was clear to both of us what we wanted.

But, traumatized as I was, I was frozen. I walked myself into his bedroom and stood there like a pillar of salt. Hearing the hammering in my ears. He was so busy admiring my body that he barely noticed I was petrified. He undressed me, he kissed me, he made love to me and set me free. If not for that man, I would not be the person I am today. I will forever be grateful to him. He is still a good friend, and we catch up sometimes.

I was a broken human in many ways, and some things great sex cannot fix. He was a musician, raised by a musician and had a very wholesome soul. A free spirit. When my darkness started seeping out over time, and then when I got into the army, and all shit broke loose with my mental health, he stood by me as long as I was in the mud. But as soon as I left the army, he admitted he lost the love for me for quite a while, and we broke up.

Years later, when my firstborn was 2, and he knew I was miserable — we were friends as I said — we sat in a coffee shop and he said plainly: “Leave your husband and I will raise your child as my own.” But he already failed me once, and I wanted 4 kids while he saw his life completely different. And most of all, I gave my word to my marriage. He held me the way a starving man holds the woman he desires, and I stepped out of his embrace as if ripping my skin off me.

Do you have any idea how it feels, feeling that kind of adoration even if its just for your body, and then going back home to a man who told me — and not once — that the only way he can fuck me is doggy style because I got so fat with after the pregnancy that I positivily make him “lose his hardness” when he looks at me in any other position?

It’s late. It’s 24:20. I got swept into memory lane. 
Seems we will have to postpone the rest of my dating life remembrance for another day. 
I love you, I feel exposed and… slightly dirty, to be honest. 
That last memory of my ex’s words… sigh. 
I love you, 
Dream of me tonight? I could use a hug. 
Always yours, 
Oxy. 
May 16, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?