The Overcorrection

If you’ve read my previous posts, I give you exactly one guess as to how I’m about to start this:

“I met The Overcorrection at a bar…”

Yup. Nailed it.

I met The Overcorrection at a bar just four short days after Not The One revealed himself to in fact be “not the one” and just two short days after I had sworn that I would be giving up men for lent. I was outside smoking a cigarette with my roommate when we realized we didn’t have a lighter.

Pause–> This is not the time to start lecturing me on the dangers of smoking. I know. I don’t live in the 1950s. For crying out loud, I had just given up MEN. Of course I started smoking again. I also started cheese again. Play–>

My roommate approached The Overcorrection and his friend to see if we could borrow their lighter, and the two boys started chatting us up. These boys were cute. These boys were funny. They talked about the music label that they owned and recorded for. I had just given up men in all forms of sex and dating, but I hadn’t given up human interaction with interesting people, so we chain smoked, drank our beers and talked for an hour or so.

At one point the boys went to go grab us a round of drinks and I turned to my roommate and started to say “he looks exactly like…” but she finished my sentence with “someone you would have sex with?”

Yes. Yes, this tall, dark and handsome boy looked exactly like someone I would have sex with.

Are you weirded out yet that I keep referring to them as boys? Good. Me too. But that’s what they were. The Overcorrection and his friend were 24 to my at the time 29 years of age. I would like to go on the record here and say being a 24 year old guy doesn’t inherently make you immature, incapable of a committed relationship, or a “boy”- not by a long-shot, but his shit eating grin, hoodie over a Ramones t-shirt, and talking about being a recording artist gave him an incredibly boyish charm. I had just come out of a “relationship” with a guy almost a decade older than him, and knew that when I had been 24 I had really only cared about getting drunk and getting naked, so when The Overcorrection would give me that dangerous smile and say things like “God, I would have given anything to have a teacher that looked like you in high school” or “the last woman I slept with was 33, so 29 isn’t old at all,” I knew he was trouble.

That night he asked for my number, and I told him that I had given up men for lent.

“So you mean like no dating for 40 days? I could get down with that,” he responded and leaned so I could feel his breath just below my ear, “I don’t need to take you to dinner to take you to bed.”


After much back and forth with me insisting that giving him my number would be breaking my rules, and him insisting that he would “be good,” finally my roommate jumped in and put my number in his phone. “She’s going to ignore you,” she said, “but we’ve got to go.” And then she dragged me reluctantly and thankfully out of the bar.

You can tell just by looking at this guy that he’s not one that has a lot of practice in having his sexual advances being rejected, but over the next 38 days he was blowing my phone up and it became even more obvious that me shutting him down was a foreign concept to him:

Day after we met:

TO: Hey beautiful, I’ve been thinking about you all day. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about you. When can I see you again?

Me: Call me after Easter. Goodnight!

TO: I need to see you before them.


TO: No?

2 days later

TO: I know you’re thinking about me. 🙂


4 days later

TO: I’m at the bar where we met and this boring girl won’t stop talking to me. I need to see you.

TO: Tonight. No funny business, I swear. I just want to see you.

TO: Nothing?

Me: Call me after Easter. Goodnight!

The only difference between hot/romantic and full on stalker is whether on not you want it. So let me just tell you that there have been cases before of nonstop texts from guys that obviously creeped me out, but in this case I wanted it. My GOD did I want it. But what I needed was to clear my head and stick to my plan. No men for 40 days.

When the 40 days finally ended, I became distinctively more responsive via text. I think went something like:

TO: Happy Easter 😉

Me: When are you free?

The night we saw each other for the first time since we’d met was electric. I went with a few friends to meet him and his friends at a bar and considering we’d had 38 days of foreplay, it’s a miracle we didn’t rip each others’ clothes off immediately.

I keep typing out what happened that night and it feels a little too 50 Shades of Grey for my taste, but suffice it to say any attempts to take things slow came to a complete stop when he threw me on my bed, wove his fingers through my hair, looked down at me and said “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re in charge. I’m in charge.”

Oh my.

Not even two months before I thought I was with the man who would be the love of my life: a thirty-something Republican who owned a home, made well over six figures, and traveled the world. But he wasn’t right for me, so now I was having the casualest of casual sex with a twenty-something who made music for a living and whose apartment was littered with Bud Light bottles, half smoked joints, and pictures of Jimi Hendrix and naked women. I had overcorrected and the only way out was to steer into the skid.

One morning I was leaving his house, still slightly buzzed from the night before, while he teased me about my (his words) “Sex And The City style brunch” I was going to. “You make fun of them for being ‘basic,’ but they make fun of you for being my slam piece,” I said jokingly. “Nectarine,” was all he said in reply before rolling away from me.

We joked that nectarine was our safe word.

Apparently for him we were fun but not just fun. I had no clue and no idea what to do. The attraction was palpable, and I loved hanging out with him. I really did like him, in fact to this day I still really like him (full disclosure: he’s the only one that actually knows about this blog), but it was never meant to be anything serious. One or both of us was on the road to getting hurt.

The same weekend he finally asked me to be exclusive was the night after I met Romeo. Even though I wasn’t sure what would happen, Romeo was love at first sight and unfortunately what was an easy choice for me was a real dick move to The Overcorrection. Over the first few months that I was seeing Romeo I would hear from The Overcorrection from time to time. He tried his old moves on me that had worked like a charm the first time through, but this time instead of “call me after Easter” I told him that I was glad we were friends and I wanted to stay friends, but Romeo was my person and he needed to respect that.

He did; he’s always been good to me and good for me, but not always in the most obvious of ways.