Sleeping with the Enemy

My weakness is also my greatest strength. Call it what you will–motivation, determination or the drive to succeed, but I am competitive. Whether it is love, sex or money (and not necessarily in that order), I need to feel like I am on top of my game.

This is probably the reason why I made it a rule in high school to never date a boy who went to the same school as I did. I’d beat him up in the bushes after school and not in the sexy dominatrix way. No, no, this would consist of real pain. Like the way an Asian mother spanks her child with a hanger type of way.

In college, I refused to date anyone within my circle. When I say circle, I mean the network of friends who I saw on a daily basis. That is, the entire Asian American population in New York City, and two and a half New Jersey-ans (but we all know New Jersey people don’t count.)

Up to about a month ago, I would not date guys in the similar field as me.

I finally gave in. At first, I was reluctant but after some hard thinking (3 vodka tonics and 1 tequila later), I realized how much I limited my already small pool of dateable guys–not to mention he was really hot. And the sex was great too.

As we got to know each other, we discussed our aspirations, goals and desires. I’m in journalism and he’s doing productions. They are complements of each other but nonetheless different. It was like a match made in media heaven. As we began dating, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. In fact, if I had only realized it sooner, I would have probably had a few more notches under my belt. It was nice getting to know a person who understood what I was experiencing.

Two weeks later on a ride home, the subject of work and future goals somehow recycles back into our conversations. I am half listening to what he’s saying because I am guiltily singing along to Paris Hilton’s new song on the radio. My ears, however, tune back to him talking when I pick up on words that sounded so familiar. So familiar. It was like a line read out of a book, a word for word quotation except the lines he was reading were actually words that came out of my mouth.

“Journalism is the way we communicate to the world. It is the single most influential tool to change ideas. I aspire to write.”

I’ve been plagiarized. The man had stolen my exact words. A man who has never remotely shown interest in what I was doing had an epiphany to work in my field. Suddenly, the high school me revived itself. The inner nerd awoken from its’ deep sleep and I felt the urgency to bring him to the closest bushes for a smackdown. I tried retaining the competitive side of me but with each day following, I’d hear a regurgitation of something I told him a few days prior.

And then the last straw.

He lands a job in my territory. I should be happy but a part of me wants to spank him on the behind (Again, not in the sexy way). I’ve let him in on all my inner desires, ideas, and plans, and he ran with it. I was sleeping with the enemy.

But as much as I’d like to pour milk down his back or shove him for stepping on my turf, the adult me says it was never really my ground anyway. It belongs to anyone who dreams. And as sappy as it may sound, if he is somehow inspired by my actions, then it is gratifying in itself that I’ve helped someone achieve bigger goals (although there is a bit of a twinge in my eye when I say that).

Bitterness is for old ladies. And I am not one, yet. Instead, I shall infiltrate his networks and capitalize on his gain. Yes, this is the ultimate plan. There is nothing wrong with some “playful” competition. He is the enemy no more and we can finally return to civility.

In bed, however, you can bet I will spank him twice as hard (this time in the sexy way) to release any repressed childhood competitiveness.

He told me he’s never been with a wilder chick.

It was competitiveness at its best.

Sandra Fay is twenty something living and dating in New York City. Her passions are food, rock shows, a new pair of skinny jeans, and overdosing on anything green tea flavored. She’ll answer all the things you thought but never had the nerve to say out loud. “Bearing the single label entitles a gal to date as many or as little guys as she wants.” Explore dating in the city–with the lights on.