Updated: Oct 17, 2019
The origin story of How Bitches Are Made.
- The Epiphany -
Billy Osecco was the best sex I’d ever had which, naturally, meant he was the also the most insane person I’d ever dated. But, there was no way of knowing this when he first asked me out at an audition one day.
After some witty and self deprecating banter on my part, he told me to put my number in his phone and I complied. I left a few minutes later, eager for his call which, to my delight, came only an hour later.
Following our first date that very weekend, Billy came back to my place where I straddled him over one of my dining room chairs. We aggressively made out and started to unclothe each other. His body was tight, toned, and teetered on that ever so sexy edge of boy turning into man. It was like disrobing Spiderman. He could either save or destroy me and if I’m being honest, I kinda wanted him to do both.
Though I was already positioning myself to take position underneath him, I didn’t want Billy to get the wrong impression and think I was a slut. Especially when what I really am is a slutty serial monogamist. While I was cautious of scaring him off, I was perhaps, even more cautious about getting hurt or worse, feeling used. So, I knew the only way I’d be able to have his cock and eat it too, was to have an adult conversation about it first. Establish some boundaries before either of us plummeted down the rabbit hole. With my literal pants MIA somewhere near the kitchen, I pulled up my metaphorical big girl ones and said -
Rachel: Look. I’m only interested in sleeping with people I see myself having a relationship with. So, if you don’t want me to start treating you like you’re my boyfriend, then we probably shouldn’t continue down this road.
I felt as strong as the boner pressing up against my vagina through his jeans saying it. He looked at me for a minute, considered my proposal, then said -
Satisfied and albeit, a little surprised, I proceeded to let him penetrate me… and everything that transpired over the next few months was excused, if not entirely ignored, because of it.
You see, what I discovered shortly after that brief conversation in my dining room, was that Billy has what you’d call a Unicorn Penis. Like, a mythological beast you don’t necessarily believe exists until you come face to face with one yourself. It has just as much girth as it does length, with the added bonus of casually, but very decidedly venturing north. And just like any other magical wand, it completely transforms every vagina it touches. Mine was no exception. Although, if I’m being honest, it’s effect on me personally, was less of a magical wand and more like Jaffar’s snake cane in Aladdin. From the moment I looked into it’s eye I was completely hypnotized, lost in a trance that caused all my standards and boundaries to fly right out the window. I was 100 percent penis blind and therefore, putting up with copious amounts of shit I never should have.
Take for instance, when I confronted Billy about seeing other people. Despite the fact he told me I could treat him like my boyfriend, he never agreed to treat me like his girlfriend. He brought this loophole to my attention one afternoon, and I, somehow, not only accepted it, but respected it! Never mind how it directly disrespected me.
Then, of course, there was the whole gay for pay situation, involving a couple casting directors a certain producer, and most notably, a particular #Oscar winning actor. Oscar, as I’ll call him, wasn’t in or out of the closet at the time - he was more, standing inside it with the bifolds open. I guess he felt waiting for his past to catch up to him before publicly announcing the worst kept secret in Hollywood, would serve him best and be most tasteful. Anyhow, Oscar would buy Billy expensive furniture, have it delivered to his apartment, and leave flirtatious messages on his voicemail. Billy, who loved to boast about it, played one for me one day.
Oscar (slightly drunk): Billy… guess who? I was just talking about you to a friend of mine who’s having a party in the hills this weekend. I don’t know what you’re doing Saturday, or, more accurately, who you’re doing, but we both think you should pull out and come with me instead. Doesn’t that sound nice? Call me.
After hearing Oscar’s unmistakable voice dripping in insinuation, I couldn’t help but ask Billy what he might have done to have gotten all those gifts from Oscar in the first place. His answer was simply a knowing, squirrelly grin.
Aside from sleeping his way to the middle and his honest cheating, what really made Billy so memorable was the way our relationship ultimately ended. It all happened rather quickly.
Sensing he was still involved with his ex, I encouraged Billy to explore that relationship and relieve us of ours. I’ll be honest: I was trying to manipulate him using reverse psychology to give me what I wanted, since I didn’t feel I could actually ask for it. I have to say, it worked like a charm. He cut ties with her and decided to genuinely try and commit to a relationship with me. Then, just four days into our newfound bliss, he booked a job in Canada. I was crushed, and my disappointment was only met with his frustration for not being more excited about his success. Ugh, actors.
In an attempt to apologize for my hurt, I offered to help Billy pack up his things. And, because the lease on his apartment in LA was up just two weeks after he was scheduled to already be in Canada, I even took things a step further by offering to move the rest of his things out on my own in his absence. I suppose my rationale at the time was that doing so would not only remind him how great I was, but would serve as some sort of insurance policy should any other girl - or boy - throw themselves at him. If Billy was indebted to me, maybe he’d feel just guilty enough to keep a clear conscious. Because that’s exactly what cheaters are known for, right?
For a while though, it seemed to work. My place in Los Angeles was serving as Billy’s home base. His possessions were co-habitating with mine, we were Skype-ing every night for at least an hour, and his parents had even come into the picture, personally thanking me for making their son’s life so much better. Despite the fact he was living in another country, it was finally starting to feel like a monogamous relationship - and a serious one at that. Months of patience, understanding, and compassion were finally paying off. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.
But, by the time Billy returned in the early fall for a visit, things started to get a little weird.
Billy: You know that black out we had the other night?
Billy: I did it.
Rachel: What do you mean, you did it?
Billy: When I was staying at Brandon’s. I caused it.
Rachel: (trying to understand) ...did you guys crash into a light pole or something?
Billy: (losing his patience) No, Rachel. I’m the center of my own Universe, right? Which means whatever I think creates or destroys energy in the world around me. So, at the same time I had this incredible epiphany, the whole city went black… (he’s annoyed she’s not getting it. He has to spell it out for her) Because I was channeling all that electricity and rerouting it to run through me! I did it! I shut it down with my mind!
Rachel: So, you think you can control electricity?
Billy: (annoyed) No, Rachel. I don’t think, I know. How else do you explain it?
Drugs. That’s how. Of course, back then, so much as the idea never would have occurred to me. And, not just because I was a drug virgin, but because Billy was incredibly open minded. He was constantly trying on different outfits and going through different phases. Like, his Krav McGaw phase, or, his #Banksy inspired Graffiti street artist phase. So, the fact his skin was slightly pale and starting to look like something that’d been vacuum sealed without enough density inside the bag, never gave cause for concern. I simply assumed his new look and way of thinking were a result of some sort of new age philosophical phase he was going through. After all, he had just taken up Yoga. And he genuinely seemed happy. He had enormous amounts of energy and often took delight in the simplest of things around him with a bright and sunny disposition. Like, the time he marveled upon his discovery of purple cauliflower.
As time went on however, I began to suspect something was up.
(SFX of exterior city neighborhood ambiance. Two people walking down the street. Rachel shrieks when she sees a bee.)
Rachel: Nothing. It was just a bee.
Billy: (instantly irate) Jesus, It’s a fucking bee don’t freak out. Where did he go? Did you kill him? Fuck! We need them to survive Rachel! Goddamnit, you’re so ungrateful!
Then there was the time we saw a three legged dog on the sidewalk.
(SFX of being outside in a city neighborhood. Billy spots the dog with three legs)
Billy: (enamored, with an admirable laugh) Look at that little guy!
Rachel: Aww. Poor thing.
Billy: (annoyed) He doesn’t need your pity, Rachel. Why are you so negative all the time? That dog is running with his owner, he has a happy fucking life!
And the time my #RayBans were stolen after a Yoga class I went with him to.
(Sounds of Billy and Rachel packing up after a Yoga session)
Rachel: Hey, do you see my sunglasses? I had them in here with the rest of -
Billy: You probably didn’t bring them.
Rachel: No, I definitely did. I was wearing them when we got here. I think someone may have taken them.
Billy: Of course you do. Because it’s easier to blame some else than admit to yourself you lost them. Yogi’s don’t steal, Rachel. We’re Zen!
At this point I was starting to think Billy’s attitude rest on a hairline trigger because he was once again hiding something. So, while he was in the shower one day, I took to his phone to provide the answers I knew I’d never get from him directly. It wasn’t hard to guess his passcode. Just his favorite number four times.
In they poured. Texts from a girl he was clearly dating back in Canada… and that new Yoga instructor.
The truth was, I was relieved when I saw them. Like, finally getting a diagnosis for an unknown illness you know isn’t just in your head. Still, it hurt. I’d done my best to make things work. To accept his flaws without throwing them back in his face, to guide him on the right path without outwardly trying to change him. By all accounts, I had done everything right in this relationship. I had no regrets, nothing to be ashamed of, I could feel good about it. So, why didn’t I?
(sound effects of a shower turning off)
I quickly erased any sign that I’d been tempering with evidence, but a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, Billy confronted me. I confessed to my sin and confronted him with his. He neither confirmed nor denied my allegations, despite them being supported by evidence, but instead, broke up with me before I had the chance to end things with him first. He said he couldn’t date someone who didn’t trust him. I couldn’t date any part of him. Well, maybe one part, which is why I was more than willing to give it a proper send off when he proposed the idea.
(SFX of them fucking)
After our genitals had said their goodbyes, we found ourselves back in the shower where tears began to fall. I was heartbroken, disappointed, angry - not just with him, or the situation, but with myself. All I keep thinking was, “What’s wrong with me?” And just as the idea “I might be broken” was about to break me down, Billy beat me to the punch again.
(SFX of Billy sobbing in the shower)
Here’s something I’ve learned about life: whenever two people are in a room together, grieving or mourning, only one can cry. It’s not a spoken rule, more like a law governed by the universe. Fundamentality, it’s just impossible for two people to cry at the same time, because someone always takes on the role of nurturer.* The minute Billy broke down, I no longer could. Along with everything else, he’d taken that from me too. Never mind the fact he had broken up with me, or that I was the one who’d been cheated on and betrayed. Somehow, despite it all, he’d managed to make it so I was the one consoling him.
Billy: (still sobbing) I’m going to miss you so much. I’m so fuckin- God, I’m just like my father!
Too stunned to wrap my head around what was happening, I simply wrapped my arms around his naked, heaving body, instead. And, as if I wasn’t already stunned enough, the strangest thing happened.
Billy: (slowly starts to sing) You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. So, please don’t take, my sunshine, away. (breaks down hysterically)
Yeah! He was fucking singing. I looked into the shower head as if it were a camera with an audience peering in on my ridiculous life. Was anyone else witnessing this? What. The. Fuck.
Billy had never advertised me as his girlfriend in the entire five months we dated. But, just two days after his sold out, private, bathroom concert, Billy flooded his Instagram with pictures of a blonde #Rockstar model he was dating. Like most parts of her body, her name wasn’t real. In fact, it wasn’t a name at all - just a bunch of consonants thrown together, separated by one vowel that looked like she left her finger on that key of her keyboard too long. I don’t say any of this to spread girl hate, just citing facts that ultimately brought me to an epiphany of my own.
When I saw an image of them kissing at a #Bassnectar concert, a band I had introduced him to, I was surprised my heart didn’t so much as flinch. The expected feeling of a pin pricking against it’s tender lining, never came. The bag of air in my stomach was absent. Instead, the gut punched heart break I begrudgingly anticipated was replaced with laughter. Pure, genuine, laughter.
Because it was in that very moment I suddenly realized the exact kind of woman I wanted to be. Now all I had to do, was figure out how to become her.
#bitch #bitches #howbitchesaremade #HBAM #HBAMpodcast #podcast #fiercebitch #badassbitch #bossbitchn #empoweredbitch #powerbitch #female #feminist #feminism #empower #empowerment #whymenlovebitches #boundaries #boundaryviolation #cycleofHBAM
Credits: Rachel Melvin (Rachel), Blake Berris (Billy)
- The References -
BOUNDARY VIOLATIONS LIST
THE CYCLE OF HOW A BITCH IS MADE