It stunned me that prioritizing sexual safety could be viewed as a character flaw. (Picture: Liv Arnold)
‘Can I be inside you?’ Ozan asked while shampooing my hair in the hotel shower. ‘I’ll feel more comfortable if you use a condom,’ I replied hesitantly. I expected a straightforward agreement, but his response shocked me.
‘I hate condoms. They don’t feel good. Asking for one shows a lack of empathy. May as well use my hand. If a woman asks, I usually just leave,’ he stated.
Basic sexual safety framed as a personality defect baffled me. I insisted firmly: no condom meant no sex. This interaction revealed his true nature. We rinsed off in silence, he kissed my head, and left.
Initial Red Flags Emerge
This was not the first time Ozan accused me of lacking empathy. Warning signs appeared seven months earlier during a holiday. Walking alone at night to relax, I encountered him—tall, toned, with scraggy facial hair and a confident swagger.
We seemed to connect as he shared stories of lost friends, his health issues, and his sister’s illness. I listened attentively, but he asked nothing about me.
That night, he messaged about insomnia from wanting to hug me. I found it endearing at first. The next day, he suggested meeting at a remote spot shown in a photo. I proposed a café instead for safety.
His reply: ‘I’m still waiting to get paid. You have no empathy and live in your own world. No need to meet. I’ve lost interest.’ This marked his first character attack.
I explained my need for safety as a woman meeting a stranger. He ignored it. A friend reviewing the screenshots agreed his behavior seemed off. I should have ended contact then.
Hot and Cold Pattern Develops
Hours later, he suggested a shopping center. Despite the outburst, I agreed after deliberation. Then silence for three days—a pattern with Ozan.
Over two months in the area, he vanished for days with excuses like a friend’s arrest or illness. Meetings always led to pressure for sex. I explained my anxiety issues and unreadiness; if that did not suit him, I offered to leave.
This triggered more disappearances, yet he always returned. Rare soft moments occurred, like inquiring if he contributed to my mental health struggles.
On my last holiday night, we bumped into each other. Momentum led to a hookup without a condom—a regret later. Post-sex, he cuddled tenderly until afternoon, a new side. But he ghosted after promising dinner, later apologizing.
Hopeful Reunion Turns Sour
Back home, he maintained contact over six months, sparking hope. Returning to the holiday spot, mostly for him despite work claims, he visited my hotel. Poolside chats flowed with questions and laughter. Perhaps the chaotic man had evolved.
‘You can stay if you’re not expecting sex,’ I said. We slept, awoke intimate, and used a condom as requested. Morning shower led to his blowjob request.
I insisted on mutuality. He snapped: ‘Don’t be so selfish, women need to do it. It’s part of a man’s sex act. It doesn’t matter if you cum.’ Then came the condom empathy jab again.
Clarity hit: he showed no respect for me or women generally. Manipulative like an emotionally immature teen, not a schemer. He left, and contact ceased.
Experiences like this prompt growth. I have changed—and hope he has too. *Name changed.
