GHOST
Ghosting.
Another term coined by online dating.
Most know what ghosting is, but for those viewers at home who don’t, ghosting is another word for a man or woman being a fucking coward. They’d rather not have an adult conversation and be honest. Or maybe they’re just a lying asshole who, once they’ve had their fun, show their true colors, and that color is bullshit.
All in all, ghosting someone is when someone cuts off contact with someone without giving said person any warning or explanation for the silence. The ghostee feels powerless because they aren’t given the opportunity to express their feelings to the ghoster, aka the chickenshit.
It is emotionally cruel because it is done with intent.
The ghostee is then left with questions that, in most cases, remain unanswered, and therefore, this experience may trickle into future relationships and cause trust issues because once a ghostee, always a ghostee.
How do I know so much about ghosting?
Well, I’m a ghostee.
Shock.
Horror.
I know.
I should know better.
But clearly, I don’t.
And that’s why I wanted to write this book because ghosting happens far too often. I cannot believe the number of people I’ve spoken to whose story reflects mine. How many broken hearts are out there because of ghosting.
Shall we go back to the day it began?
It all started with a wonderful dating app.
Don’t shake your head at me. I know, I know. But it started for research purposes, and I promised myself I wouldn’t get hooked.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with dating apps, they’re all pretty much the same—window-shopping but for humans. Humans for a night or humans for a lifetime—it’s your call.
Those who scroll through the endless photos of strangers are looking for someone to vibe with. Someone to talk to. Or someone to fuck.
The dating world is truly at your fingertips, and whatever you’re in the mood for can be delivered to your door.
Very much like ordering junk food via Uber Eats at midnight might satisfy the cravings. It’s convenient, quick, and easy, but come morning, you’ll regret that midnight snack because you know it isn’t good for you.
It leaves you feeling like crap and questioning whether you should go vegan instead.
We can be that fussy because if someone doesn’t match your height requirement or you’re not vibing with their latest threads, then it’s a swipe left for your next potential human.
It’s that simple and shallow, I’m afraid.
For me, any man holding a fish, had smudgy photos because his camera was covered in a film of filth, or if I had to decipher who he actually was as all his photos were of him and “the boys,”
then it was a no deal for me. I want simple, sanitary, and originality. None of these things are that.
I found a few interesting men who inspired me to write. I wish there were a formula. But there isn’t. I just know when I’m inspired, and when I am, I act. Most men were apprehensive about being “studied,”
and I could not blame them.
However, some were interested and provided great insight. I didn’t get attached because I was there with a purpose.
There’s one thing I should mention—I am not perfect in any way, shape, or form. Who would have guessed, right? I would rather self-sabotage love than be broken by it. I wish it got easier the older you get, but for me, anyway, it hasn’t.
So this is the mindset I have whenever I meet someone new.
This is why I felt I could write a book about dating and not get attached. I wasn’t here to catch feelings. I was here to write and hoped my experiences resonated with others.
Nothing was eventful about the day I matched with him.
I didn’t wake and feel like something monumental was about to occur. And that’s when most things do. It’s the things that catch you unawares that leave a lasting impact.
Like he did.
His name?
Let’s just call him Ghost.
I was scrolling through my likes and looking for that something, something. After a while, each face kind of morphs into one, and it’s only when my spidey senses start tingling do I know. And that’s what happened with Ghost.
Instantly, I liked his vibe.
He had a nose ring. Painted black nails. Tall. Dark hair with a wave through it. Beautiful smile. Inked. Worked in the health industry. His profile wasn’t detailed, but I liked his prompts. He seemed rather insightful and funny. The more I looked at him, the more I liked him.
So I pressed the little green heart and matched with him.
When I match with someone, I usually send them a message. I know, unheard of. To actually engage instead of matching and then never talking.
Seems weird, right?
But this is more common than actually conversing with people you’ve matched with—I don’t get it, so don’t ask me why.
I said hi.
He said hi back and asked how my day was.
Good grammar and punctuation. So he was already miles ahead of the rest.
Conversation with Ghost was easy from the get-go. His big energy had a positive vibe. He told me about his job. I liked that fitness was a big part of his life because it is in mine.
He asked what I did for work, and then we talked about our tattoos. He asked me something that caught my attention, and that was which of my ink was most meaningful. When I told him the anchor on my wrist as it’s in honor of my father, he showed care and interest.
He shared that he always finds room to improve on something or look for something to strive for, as he loves ambition and dedication.
Everything he was throwing down, I liked.
Not one mention of a dick pic.
So I asked if he wanted to talk on a different platform as the dating apps gave me PTSD.
I sent him my handle, and he added me.
It was that simple and uneventful.
We spoke for a bit, but I didn’t really feel anything other than interest in the beginning. There was something about him that I liked, though.
He was very positive, and he took the time to send messages that weren’t one lines. He wrote paragraphs. And to a writer, someone who uses their words and not an emoji or a GIF as a response, well, that is akin to talking dirty.
We got to know one another briefly, and again, it wasn’t anything remarkable. Just another guy I met who I found interesting.
That was until I sent him a picture, and he sent one back.
He was at work, and I don’t know what it was, but seeing the person I had been talking to for a little while made me think, okay, so now you’ve got my attention.
He had that something, something.
His energy just shone.
His smile was big.
His hand tattoo extended to his wrist. Those were my favorite tattoos of all. The piece was so interesting. The longer you looked, the more you saw, and I guess that’s what happened with Ghost.
He would send me regular messages during his break, which I liked. But I know from experience no one is more persistent than a man who wants to sleep with a woman. It’s like their primal instinct is switched into overdrive, and the love bombing commences.
But I didn’t think he was love bombing because his messages weren’t filled with love or smut. They were genuine. And kind. And funny.
The event that turned things around was something I do remember.
It was a Friday night, and my Bunny, who I love with all my heart, asked me to go on an adventure with her. Of course I agreed.
This adventure took us to a land far, far away. When we arrived, I instantly got serial killer vibes. We waited and waited, but alas, another disappointment befell my bestie. She too has been a casualty to love, but she continues to believe in something that has done nothing but cause her pain.
She is the strongest person I know. She is my heart when mine stops beating.
During this time, Ghost sent me a text, and when I told him what we were doing, he said all I needed to do was say the word, and he’d come save us.
Not going to lie, I swooned just a little bit.
I have the Superman logo tattooed on me as a reminder that that’s what I want in my man—for him to be my Superman, and I won’t settle for anything less.
So when Ghost offered to be my Superman because I told him early on that was what I was looking for (and he looked like Henry Cavill, no word of a lie) I was hooked.
Ironically enough, like Bunny says, they always come back (think zombies wanting to eat your brains to replace theirs) and the same night, a guy I spoke to who had a girlfriend but failed to tell me when we were talking randomly messaged me. It went without saying that all contact ceased the moment I found out he had a girlfriend.
But he was back a few months later, like a dog in heat. He still had his girlfriend, but she was away. I don’t need to draw a Venn diagram. You get the picture.
This deplorable but typical behavior of all cheaters made me appreciate Ghost all the more.
He texted me throughout the night, checking in on us to ensure we were safe. He offered to come meet us. He also offered to meet me at my house whenever I got home. He couldn’t stay the night because he had work in the morning.
Before I could say I was not a booty call, he added that he wouldn’t come in. He just wanted to meet me and give me a hug. But he also offered to meet somewhere halfway if I didn’t feel comfortable giving him my address.
He just wanted to make sure I was okay.
And I believed him.
The shitty experience Bunny and I just underwent (apart from the hundreds of rabbits we saw in the field of dreams) made me appreciate Ghost so much because he cared.
He waited until I got home, messaging the entire time, and when I was safe, he bid me good night and said we would speak in the morning.
And he stuck to his word.
That simple gesture of kindness lured me in because, as sad as this is, kindness is a rarity today. So the fact that Ghost showed me something that should be expected behavior made him stand out from the rest.
From that day forward, I grew more attached.
We spoke so much.
Thousands of words bounced between us as we got to know one another, and to an author, that was our kryptonite.
He confided he was in a ten-year relationship and married for two of those years. That she didn’t want to try new things, and he didn’t want to miss out on all the beautiful things life had to offer.
I too confided in him about my marriage, and I guess our pain bonded us in a way.
He offered snippets of himself, and those pieces just drew me further in. He suffered from crippling depression, which he shared with me early on. He said he wasn’t happy for a very, very long time, but I made him happy. That his energy was slowly becoming addicted to mine.
And I believed him because his messages spoke volumes.
The things he said to me were heartfelt and honest. They were filled with his fears and dreams. We spoke incessantly at night when both of us finished work. It was like message ping-pong—back and forth, back and forth.
There were no games.
No waiting a few minutes between messages because you didn’t want to seem too eager.
I knew what Ghost wanted, and that was me.
He organized a date. I was impressed when he researched bars that served different mojitos—my favorite drink. Ghost took charge, something I liked in a man.
Another reason I liked Ghost was we didn’t veer into the smutty talk until later. He was more interested in getting to know me than asking about sex.
I respected that.
But when we finally did, it just made me fall harder because I liked everything he said. The things he said to me were so hot. I was select in my tastes, but he was on the same page with everything I said I liked or wanted.
He drove me crazy.
He didn’t ask for anything in return.
No naked pictures.
No late-night sexting.
No dirty phone calls.
Nothing.
We merely spoke about what we liked in the bedroom because we both agreed communication was the key to great sex.
Being attracted to someone physically was only a small part of what I looked for. I needed all the boxes ticked.
Intellect.
Heart.
Soul.
I needed all of these factors before I even contemplated going on a date.
Ghost had them all.
So if we vibed sexually, I knew I was in trouble.
And so did he.
He was an alpha in every sense of the word, but his kink was that he liked to please. He confessed to sleeping with quite a few girls, but said he, too, was fussy. He was all about people’s energy, and if their energy didn’t mix, then neither were they.
Even though we had now ventured into the forbidden land of sex talk, we never engaged in sexting. It was merely two adults discussing our likes and needs because it was apparent this was where our relationship was headed.
He messaged me every single morning from the day we met, wishing me a beautiful day.
I really loved that.
He was wedging his way into my world, and I found myself giddy the moment I saw his name light up on my phone, alerting me to a message. He was so thoughtful. Always asking how my day was and then went on to give me a rundown of his.
During this time, we sent one another maybe three or four photos, not many at all because our attraction wasn’t based on looks, but we connected on an entirely different level. It wasn’t shallow. We didn’t fill our time with small talk.
What we spoke about was real.
I got hooked and hooked hard. This had never happened before so quickly. When I say I’m fussy, I mean it. I know there is no such thing as perfect, but Ghost was coming close to it.
He had a degree in literature. Wrote screenplays. Acted. Loved cinema and theater. And he was as big of a nerd as I was. We both were interested and involved in fitness and art. It was just another thing we had in common.
He wasn’t afraid to share his life experiences with me—the good and the bad. I did the same.
I told him about the relationship I was in with Mr. J prior to him, hoping it would help him understand why I might grow distant at times. When I got too close, I ran. He said he did the same thing and promised to chase me if I ever ran.
He made it clear he didn’t want me talking to anyone else as he was my “new guy.”
He was possessive and so damn dominant—I didn’t stand a chance.
Ghost was so honest and expressive. He gave me so much. He would apologize if he didn’t reply promptly. He never left me on read, something I really appreciated. He answered every question I asked and was sure to give me time.
He told me his friends had encouraged him to join the world of online dating to get out there and meet new people. But he confessed he didn’t think it would take this long to get over his ex. I shared my experiences with him and said most times, we don’t get over anything.
We just learned to deal with the pain.
His reply was him waving a big red flag. But I didn’t see the warning signs because I didn’t want to.
I try to be as expressive as I possibly can. I don’t want people to think I’m dull or careless because it’s the opposite. That was so beautifully written and so well said—holy shit. I was going to ask how does one move on, but I think you’re right. One doesn’t truly move on. Their lives just go on regardless of the memories and pain. I think the most important part is remembering why you left. You’re so strong for doing it, and look at you now. You’re absolutely killing life and making so much progress. I’m waiting for my turn to catch up. It’s a long process, I know, but life’s going to make me wait. I need to work for it more. I hope you have an amazing day full of love and happiness!
This message is an example of what Ghost would send. It’s not a word-for-word account but a summary of the shit he would send.
To understand my story, you need to read the messages sent between us to see why I fell the way I did. This isn’t love bombing in the traditional sense, this is someone opening up their heart to another human being.
He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me and had never wanted a girl more than he did me. He said the attraction he felt for me and how much he wanted me was something he never felt before. That our connection was on a whole different level.
I liked that because I felt the same way.
We were traveling full speed ahead when I probably should have slammed on the brakes. It felt right at the time, but perhaps it was too much, too soon?
Our date was a week away. But I grew impatient and wanted to see him earlier. I often wonder if this was my first mistake.
I spoke to my friends and asked their advice on inviting him over. It went against my whole not sleeping with a guy before the first date rule I have, but Ghost was different from anyone I had ever met before.
So perhaps a different set of rules should apply.
Which is why I asked him over after work.
Bunny was worried because inviting a stranger over to one’s house before meeting them in public was an HBO special in the making. I told Ghost this, so he sent her a text message. It was so sweet and confirmed that I had made the right decision.
Hey Bunny, sending this for my girl. I promise to keep her safe.
Even Bunny swooned.
This was spontaneous, and although I do live my life this way, it’s the total opposite when it comes to men. I like to plan and prepare.
I got ready, my heart in my throat the entire time.
Ghost went home after work to shower and get ready. He said he’d be at my house at 10 p.m.
At 9:58 p.m., there was a knock on my door.
I remember this moment so clearly because certain moments in your life are imprinted forevermore.
Meeting Ghost is one of those moments.
I opened the door, and when I saw him…I knew I was in so much fucking trouble.
The man I had been talking to incessantly was here, on my doorstep, and he was so much more in person. He smiled, and a dimple hit me in the solar plexus.
I was done for.
He didn’t even say hello. He grabbed me by the throat and pushed me up against the wall, kissing the ever-living fuck out of me.
He stuck true to his word.
It was a move that every book boyfriend has done in your favorite story.
Once I believed he wasn’t going to murder me in my sleep, I sent Bunny a text. Ghost smirked when I told him I was given strict orders to check in, and when I thanked him for messaging her, he said it was a request he never had before. But he liked it because it showed him that my friends cared.
My nerves soon appeared because now that the realization that he was real, and everything he said he was, I knew that my feelings were also real.
He was beyond gorgeous as his pictures did not do him justice. And I know he liked what he saw because the moment I put my phone away, he threw me onto the bed and showed me what a true alpha he really was.
We kissed unlike strangers, and that was because we had dissected one another prior to meeting.
I knew his secrets. And he knew mine.
So when the physical attraction was just as strong as the emotional, it resulted in the most explosive sex I’d ever had.
He kissed how I liked.
He smelled so good.
And he did things to me that I’m sure are illegal in at least ten different countries.
After all was said and done, he kissed my forehead, dragged me onto his broad chest, and said, “Come here and mold yourself to me.”
He wanted the closeness. He wouldn’t let me go.
After the things we did for hours, he still wanted that closeness because it wasn’t enough.
I pressed my palm over his heart. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
He smiled, and that was when I saw something that killed me—his teeth. They were so cute. I appreciate and see beauty in things that most don’t notice, I guess.
He seemed caught off guard by my comment, but not in a bad way. Rather, he too could feel that our shared connection stemmed deeper than we both anticipated.
We spoke for hours after. Everything we spoke about through text, we now discussed face to face. It really was something else.
I think most would agree that sex with anyone for the first time is hit or miss. We’re learning about the other person’s body, their likes, and if the online connection can be felt physically. It’s always different vibing with someone in person.
But with Ghost, it was even better than I thought it would be.
It was getting late, and he kissed me one final time. He peered down at me, those black nails of his caressing over my face.
“So our date…we’re meeting at seven? Or eight?”
I was shocked he still wanted to go on our date, but he took my shock as rejection.
His brows drew inward, and a look of concern passed over his beautiful face.
“Yes? No? Yes?”
he asked, hovering over me, worried I had changed my mind.
I didn’t know why, but his insecurities touched me.
He was handsome, smart, and so clever. Yet here he was, my Superman, worried I would say no.
I replied the only way I could—I looped my fingers around the back of his neck, and toying with the strands curling his nape, I kissed him.
It was all the answer he needed.
It was late when he left. He kissed me good night in the doorway, and it was apparent it was hard for both of us to say goodbye.
When he left, I texted Bunny. Of course I told her everything. But then I grew sad. What if he didn’t feel what I did? Men are different than women after sex. It’s a scientific fact.
I began to panic and regret my choices.
But that was when my phone lit up because Ghost had sent a message.
I’ve made it home safely. I hope tonight made a good impression. Sorry, not sorry for making a mess.
My heart swelled because this message meant so much. Bunny was impressed.
She said he’s a keeper because a one-night stand does not text the moment they get home.
I replied.
Thanks for coming after working all day. You made more than a good impression. I can smell you all over me.
Seeing you was supposed to help, not make things worse haha. I can’t really read you, but I hope you felt what I did.