I'm in Florida this week for a friend's bachelor party ... However, I flew down a few days early to a different city to meet up with a lady I knew from my school days. This lady, whom I will call Amanda, lived on the same street as I did when we were kids. Due to proximity and the fact that our moms moved in the same social circles, we were close friends throughout elementary and middle school. We began to drift apart toward the end of 8th grade when Amanda filled out and started gravitating toward the athletic / popular clique. Although I participated in club swimming in middle school and was on the swim team all four years of high school, I was a skinny late bloomer who never fit in with that crowd.

At the time, I didn't understand what was going on. Amanda would ignore me at school, but if we ran into each other at church or around the neighborhood, she was all smiles and hugs. She would also alternate between being very responsive to my calls and texts and then go long stretches without answering. I see now that her willingness to acknowledge me correlated with how much attention she was getting from other guys. If she had a boyfriend or a more promising orbiter, I wouldn't hear from her for weeks. If, on the other hand, she wasn't getting what she wanted, she always had me on standby. This meant that, by the time we were in high school, I was regularly called upon to listen to Amanda cry about the succession of jerks and players that she dated.

By this point, I had developed a crush on Amanda and thought that I could win her over by being a good friend (sigh, yes ... I know). One night, we were talking on the phone and she was telling me about her latest breakup with the captain of the soccer team. Figuring this was my chance, I said, "Amanda, you date all these awful guys who end up being terrible boyfriends. Maybe you're just going after the wrong type? We've been friends since kindergarten - I like you, and I think you like me too. What's wrong with me? Why not give us a shot?"

There was an uncomfortably long pause on the line. Then, Amanda said something I'll never forget. "Darth Turbo," she began, "you're a great guy and of course I like you. It's just that I see you as husband material and ... well, that's not what I'm looking for right now."

It was like a dagger to my heart. I didn't know anything about TRP, the CC, or AF/BB back then - but the idea that she would postpone a worthwhile relationship with a good man to waste time with players and cads struck me as nonsensical. If that was her attitude, then I couldn't view her as a serious relationship prospect. After that conversation, I began to distance myself from Amanda. She, evidently, had plenty of other orbiters and probably didn't even notice that I began giving only minimal responses to her texts and Facebook messages. By the end of our junior year of high school, we had effectively stopped speaking.

I had very little contact with Amanda for over a decade and a half. According to her social media, she continued to date players for the rest of high school and into college. She eventually married some frat boy, settled down, had two kids, and attempted to play housewife. However, about two years ago, every picture of her husband suddenly vanished from her social media. Hometown friends later confirmed that Amanda had divorced and moved to Florida for a fresh start. About a year and a half ago, we reconnected through a Facebook group for our 15-year high school reunion (now postponed because of the pandemic). When I told her that I would be in Florida this week, she suggested that I make a detour to her city. I agreed - knowing an invitation when I saw one.

I've had my share of ups and downs since high school. Shortly before graduation, I stared dating a wonderful woman whom I eventually married. She died less than two years after our wedding - a tragedy that caused me to largely eschew women and devote myself to my career and hobbies. I currently work as an attorney in a large East Coast city, have a multitude of varied interests, and maintain a trim physique. Amanda, though still attractive for a women who is almost 35, is noticeably heavier than she was in high school and relies on ever-increasing amounts of make-up to maintain her looks. As far as her career, she makes a comfortable though modest living as a real estate agent.

Amanda and I met for dinner at a restaurant overlooking the water near my hotel. The conversation was pleasant - mostly reminiscing about old times and talking about where everyone we knew ended up. After paying (separately), we walked along the waterfront back to my hotel. I told her about the fantastic view I had from my room ... she asked if she could see it ... and the rest, as they say, is history. I won't go into the vulgar details of what we did for the rest of that night and the following morning, but suffice it to say that many adolescent fantasies were fulfilled. I knew going into this that, given her current circumstances, there was a high probability that Amanda would throw herself at me. Turns out that's exactly what happened - and, at the time, I was happy to let her.

We had breakfast together before she left to go home. In contrast to the previous evening, our talk during this meal was strained and punctuated by long silences. Finally, Amanda asked, "So, where do we go from here?"

I looked at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she responded, "what does this make us? You said you were planning to move down here. Since you'll be around, does that mean you want to give us a chance?"

In that moment, I was unable to suppress a wicked grin. Amanda visibly recoiled, which caused me to re-arrange my features into a look of feigned sympathy. "Oh dear," I began as I reached up and gently clasped her hand. "I'm afraid you misunderstand my intentions. You see, Amanda, you're great and of course I like you. It's just that I see you as wife material and ... well, that's not what I'm looking for right now."

I'll never forget the look of pure devastation on her face. I crowed inwardly at my triumph - finally, after all these years, it was my turn to use and reject Amanda just as she had used and rejected me! I practically skipped through the parking lot as I escorted her to her car and waved her off. I was still glowing with the thrill of delicious revenge when I checked out of the hotel, picked up my own rental car, and drove to the small beach town to meet the rest of the guys for the bachelor party. Suffice it to say, I was immeasurably pleased with myself.

However, the euphoria has now worn off and I've had the chance to take a more reasoned look at my conduct. It boils down to this: I'm a fit, successful man who leveraged his superior SMV to extract sex from a lonely, divorced, post-wall single mom. I really shouldn't be that impressed with myself. I should also say that I haven't been a monk since my wife died ... but the few other partners I've had have all been actual relationships or consciously-discussed FWB situations. This is the first time I've ever led a woman on with every intention of tossing her aside when I was finished - and that realization makes me feel hollow and dishonorable. Lastly, by allowing myself to be guided by my penis and my desire for petty revenge, I've opened myself to all kinds of recrimination from Amanda. Our parents are still friends, and we both go back home for the holidays. Who knows how much trouble this will cause me in the future?

So, if a woman from your past ever contacts you asking to get together, take it from me: it isn't worth it. It might look like a great opportunity to settle an old score or get some easy sex, but it won't make you feel any better. It's best to just move on and leave the past in the past.