My boyfriend betrayed me. I am still with him.

Let me explain.

I met my short, white, animated-personified, jewish boyfriend on Okcupid. Ok, he found me. In his first email to me, he said, "wow, your personal profile is so warm" but the reason he decided to write was because I didn't want kids. Right. It had nothing to do with my pretty face that got his dick's instant attention. I gave him that knowing that he might not write again if I was short and curt in my reply. He replied. And each time he got my attention. He wasn't trying too hard or seemingly getting impatient to see me in person so he could do the penis test following which he could stay or vamoose. Then one day he said, he loved Ganesh--the pot-bellied, elephant-nosed Hindu god. I was in. I bought him a Ganesh for our first meeting. His first kiss was a thank you but it had nothing to do with gratitude. It was predatory. It pulled at my vagina. turning it into knots like the challah bread. There was fire here waiting to be lighted. We sat on bench in Central Park that first evening. I looked at him and without a thought called him beautiful. He sidled as close to me as was possible. I reached to touch his scruffy chin. He twitched like a happy dog. When I stopped because the angle of the my wrist was getting stressed, he protested like a happy dog who wanted his pleasure to continue. At the train station, he took my face in his hand and called me pretty, softly, gently, imperceptibly. My vagina squeezed again. And I simply nodded before walking away from him.

This is how it began. But it got better. I mean the sex got better and better and better and better. We didn't copulate. We made love, rather he made love. He lighted a candle. He put on Rufus Wainright's Imaginary Love. He went down on me like it was his only source of water in a desert--for straight four hours. He said he had only done it once before--in school while on acid. This it time he was high on my eyes. I loved that he loved sex as much as I did. I loved that he called himself post-orgasmic or that he enjoyed me the best when I was gushing like a geyser during my period. I didn't understand how a guy didn't come during our marathons was okay with the fact that all the pleasure was mine! I was asked not to be guilty about the inequality of pleasure in inverse. I tried. I accepted, delightedly. Then I demanded it and he gave every time with such boy-like pleasure it left me teary-eyed, at the brink of love.

He came to Austin during the December break. He stayed with my family for 10 days. He cooked dal and squash soup to die for. Except for my brother, everyone else liked him. On new year's eve, I wrote in my note: I hope he is my "one," please let him my one. I prayed.

He left for NYC on January 2. On January 6, his email suddenly lay miraculously open before me. Do not ask how or how. The inbox was open. I couldn't help but do a cursory look. There it was. An email to Bachelorette.com outlining his resume and a conversation that said "betrayal."

My hands shook, my mind scrambled, my vagina sewed shut. I called him to call him out. I ended it. Just like that my one had become someone. What followed was endless minutes of deconstructing him and reconstructing him as a ruthless con-artist. While everyone tried to dismiss him as a blip on my romantic radar, I had no words. I had nothing to defend him with. He led me with nothing. One moment he was going down on me twice a day for 4 hours each and the next I had become an ex--just like that. I had mixed his lust for me as love. He hadn't. He couldn't taste me enough and then he had enough.

I came back from Austin, sat on my bed and cried like my heart had finally broken into a million pieces.

So how am I still with him? Am I being serious? Seriously? Yes, seriously. Next weekend, I am going to end it. I have needed his lust to carry me through my break-up with him. I healed from his betrayal while having him go down on me like he had never left my crotch. I reeled him in knowing he was a man and as a man was weak if I just knew how to play him to retain my sanity. I am sane now. I know I am what I got. If I keep him in my life, I will forever look over my shoulder waiting for the next time he blind sides me. And I know he will. I will suspect it even if he doesn't, especially if his dick falls off his curly mass of hair. This is no way to live. It is a sure way to die. And I'd like to live a bit longer. Not in the hope that he changes or I find someone else. I have no option. He gave me no option. I had to come back to me. My only home.