When Friendship Turns Fixation: The Story of Guillermo and the Boundaries He Couldn’t Respect

Author: Sofia Pantazi, October 1, 2025 | Source: Anonymous

Some friendships blur lines, but others cross them entirely. This is what happens when someone mistakes kindness for consent and comfort for invitation. When “no” is never enough for a man who needs control more than connection. This is the story of my former friend, Guillermo, a man who simply couldn’t accept that I only saw him as a friend.

A night out with Guillermo in Pigalle, February 2024. Photo: Anonymous

A Night of Music and Missteps

We met one night at a small, cozy club called Paradisio, a place that plays funky 80s tracks that make you forget it’s 2025 until you step outside and reality hits. I spotted him across the room: skin the color of mahogany, afro hair, glasses. He looked like a young Eddie Murphy, and maybe that should have been my first red flag.

We were introduced through a mutual friend. Guillermo was charming, loud, and endlessly talkative, with a thick American accent despite being half-French. He had spent time in Canada, which probably shaped his way of speaking and his overly confident manner. He was comfortable around women, maybe too comfortable.

The first thing I told him was that his glasses looked funny but nice. He laughed and said, “I wasn’t going to say anything because you have a boyfriend, but that dress looks hot on you, girl.” I laughed it off, thinking it was just friendly banter, and we danced. At first, I even thought he might be gay, until I saw him flirting and kissing women later that night. Definitely not gay.

When he bought my friend and me a rose from a street vendor, I thought, What a nice guy. If only I had known how wrong I was.

Will Smith in

“The Fresh Prince of

Bel-Air”,

1990.

Photo: Pinterest

A Friendship Turned Complicated

Over time, we began seeing each other in the same social circles. We vibed easily, and I found him to be someone I could talk to about almost anything. At the time, I was going through a toxic relationship and a brutal breakup with “the most French of French men.” 2023 was chaos. Heartbreak, confusion, and loss.

Guillermo became a safe space, or so I thought. One night, after a few too many tequilas, I kissed him. It didn’t feel safe or meaningful, just a distraction from the pain. But when he wanted more, I froze. I told him I wasn’t ready to sleep with anyone, especially not so soon after a breakup. The truth was, I wasn’t attracted to him.

He got up, visibly frustrated, and went to smoke by the window. Then, without hesitation, he pulled his pants down and asked, “You’re sure?” as if his size would change my mind. I froze again. What became a strange inside joke later now feels sickening to recall. It wasn’t funny. It was perverse.

Looking back, the woman I am today would have run out that door. But at 21, I was naïve and desperate to preserve a friendship that should have ended that night.

The Repeated Lines He Crossed

We kissed two more times on two separate nights out, and each time he hoped for more. Each time, I rejected him. The last time, he asked if it was because of his skin colour, trying to guilt-trip me into something I didn’t want. I told him no and even showed him a photo of aa person with the same skin colour I had dated before. He dropped the topic.

After our first time kissing, I found out he had a girlfriend. He admitted it to me, but always said “she isn’t the one” and that things were on a low pit. I regret kissing him while he was taken, even though he was the one cheating. It wasn’t in my character to cross such a line, and I’ve blamed myself ever since. But when you don’t love yourself, you attract people who reflect that same chaos back to you.

Months later, I met someone new. April 2024. Someone who treated me with respect. Someone who made me want to wear colors again. Someone who loved me for who I was. The love of my life. I told Guillermo, with whom at the time nothing else had happened since a long while, and he seemed genuinely happy for me. He even wanted to meet my boyfriend. For a moment, I believed friendship was possible.

Until July 2025.

The Final Straw

By then, life had moved on. I was busy. A good job, a beautiful apartment, and the love of my life. Guillermo and I still spoke from time to time, though not as often. He came over one afternoon to catch up. It felt familiar, but something about him had changed.

I knew Guillermo struggled with ADHD and depression. He also had a cocaine addiction, something I discovered the day I caught him using in my kitchen, pretending he was going to the bathroom. I pitied him more than anything.

That day, he told me about his recent trip to South Korea with his girlfriend, a failed attempt to save their relationship. She later attempted suicide after their breakup. He cried as he told me, and I cried too. It was heavy, tragic, but also revealing of the turmoil he carried within.

As the night went on, the wine loosened his tongue.
“Is it my idea, or did your ass get bigger?” he said with a smirk.
I brushed it off, replying lightly, “Maybe the squats are paying off.”
Then came another comment: “Do you have endometriosis?”
I was stunned. He said, “Because your body shape shows signs of it, but don’t worry, a lot of women would kill to have your body.”

It was bizarre and invasive. Guillermo had a habit of diagnosing me with things. ADHD, depression, anything that might make me feel broken like him. Then he said, “I’m still surprised we never had sex.”

I told him calmly that I would never invite someone to my new home with whom I’d had a sexual past. That was part of moving on. Respecting myself and my relationship. He said I was probably right.

Later, we went to my neighbor’s party. Guillermo was flirting with every woman there, and his energy was off. Eventually, we all ended up at a small club in the 6th arrondissement. As I was walking toward the dance floor, he grabbed my behind without hesitation.

That was it.
I turned to him and said, “Do that one more time, and I’ll have my man punch the shit out of you.”
He apologized, claiming it was a “poke,” not a grab, as if that made it better.

That night, he did cocaine in front of me again, and the friendship died right there.

A classic meet-up with Guillermo, early March 2024. Photo: Anonymous

The Mask Comes Off

The next morning, I sent him a message ending our friendship. He made excuses, apologized, said he would miss me. I wished him the best and told him I had nothing but love for him, but I meant it as closure, not forgiveness.

Two months later, I learned disturbing things. During his trip to South Korea, he had left his girlfriend in a hotel room to make out with another woman. He had touched women without consent, been overly pushy, and spoken about me behind my back, saying I had “overreacted.”

Guillermo is 29. He kissed a 21-year-old. He manipulated, crossed lines, and rewrote reality to fit his narrative.

That’s not friendship. That’s narcissism.

And the truth about narcissists? They can’t stand losing control. They twist the story until they look like the victim. But I’m no longer that naïve girl who excuses bad behavior in the name of friendship. Guillermo showed me who he was, and I’m grateful he did before it was too late.

Two years was more than enough.