I’m a silly cunt sometimes

I’ve fallen for my housemate. I’m a total idiot, and should have known better. He’s called JB, he’s lovely, and had I met him in a different life, who knows? It could have been different.

The night I came to look at the house was so much fun. I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it, but I knew he was at home waiting for me, and in the quickly darkening evening I could see him sitting on the sofa  playing on an ipad and drinking red wine. All the signs were good that this was going to be somewhere I’d be happy living.

I can hear his voice so clearly, welcoming me. “Hello”. He was excited and nervous - we’d met once before at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and as we all left, JB and I danced to the train station. I found him on facebook, and found his art blog. He remembers me as his first following. We seemed to be quietly noteworthy in each others’ lives.

He showed me the house. A study (yay), with room for my sewing machine. filled with books. Heaven. A lobby, beautifully decorated to exactly my taste. A lovely bathroom and a new kitchen, just put in. He showed me the room, it was great. We went to the kitchen, and he gave me the key. It was that easy. He poured me some wine.

We chatted. We talked our way through three bottles of wine, and I was having a great time. We agreed on so many things, and agreed at how stupid those who didn’t agree with us were. I told him I was polyamorous. We watched Youtube clips and laughed together on the sofa. We let our bodies touch. I don’t really remember saying this (although definitely not out of the realm of possibility) but apparently I said “so is fucking part of the deal?”. Ugh

So we kissed, we really made out. He took me upstairs, I ripped his (and my own) clothes off. We touched, I sucked his cock. I remember a hazy and not very enjoyable 69 (those things scare me - too much chance for a nose up the bum) and then him not being able to keep it up. I remember waking up a lot, and feeling very thirsty. It was a little weird.

A few days later I came to show my four year old nephew the house. JB thanked me for being cool. I felt cool. I like fucking people and although it wasn’t my most successful drunken fuck, I had enjoyed myself. I moved in.

We started a weird friendship, a slight romance. We enjoyed each other so much, and began to fool around most weekends. I was fine - I was really ok with it all, and JB was so clear that a real relationship between us wasn’t really an option.

I ignored him. I wondered what it would be like if we were together. I thought if I pretended hard enough, he’d change his mind. He kept saying how excellent I was, and I thought that meant he wanted to be with me, and was coming around to the idea.

He wasn’t. I know that categorically, after starting to cry when we agreed we should probably stop the kissing, the fucking and the cuddling up to watch TV, I confessed I was upset because I loved him. Accidentally loved him. He was (is?) shocked, and as gently as possible told me that I would never make it into his heart.

I’m retreating now, trying to get some distance without being mean (although my lesser self wants him to be as hurt as I feel), but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I want him.

Towards You

I'm now home after one of the most incredible weekends of my life. I don't know that I can explain what happened, but I feel different to the person that I was before, and yet exactly the same.

The train trip up to Cambridge was nothing spectacular, I found myself willing the time away. I made it to King's Cross earlier than anticipated and it gave me time for a quick snap of platform 4 and 3/4 before jumping on the train. A quick call to J to say I made the earlier train brought nerves wooshing into my stomach. To hear his voice again reminded me that he was still very much a stranger, and the last two weeks of crazy pining had been all on my own, and the intimacy I'd imagined was going to have to be created between us all over again. His voice you see, was so incredibly his, that I couldn't quite believe that after all the time I'd thought about seeing him, in 45 minutes I was really going to.

The train to Cambridge was worse. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there getting excited for about 25 minutes. For the last twenty, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more that I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic. 

We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be J's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of J had begun!

They Come Back, They Always Come Back

Time. Time time time. It passes, doesn't it? After six 30% lovely, 70% fraught months together, M and I have parted ways. It was for the best, although that doesn't mean I didn't the odd weeping session or two. I did like him an  awful lot, but I guess I always knew it wasn't going to work. Ever.

S and I have slept together again. Last time was better, but still not great. He lost his hard on, and while that doesn't bother me really (not my fault!) I know it's because we shouldn't really be fucking. T has expressed a bit of angst over it - S and I work together so that's not wholly unexpected - and then I dealt him a bit of a shit card, because I mentioned we'd fucked and T wasn't expecting that. To be perfectly clear, I thought that I had let T know. I'd never expressly said it, but that's because I was trying to be gentle and I thought it was implied. I'd asked for a day when the flat would be free....but lesson learnt. I'm not out to fuck people if it's going to hurt T.

I've learnt the pattern with S though. It used to get me down as I missed him, but now I see the absence is from distraction, or indeed life. I'm more settled now, happier and more solid with T, so I barely notice the time. I've watched S a couple of times over the last few weeks and noted that I had missed our chats, and mentally noting that he looked really hot lately. I'd also noticed that the short-sleeves-and-tie-combo has gone out the window, something I like to think I played a part in. After we fucked last time, I jokingly mentioned that only Real Estate Agents can pull that look off, and I think the poor darling took my words to heart. I'm not really sorry - it's for his benefit after all! (sarcasm font please!)

I literally thought of S this morning, brushing my teeth getting ready for work, and that it had been a while since we connected. Immediately following that thought was a revolutionary thought for me - the title of this post - he always comes back.

M2

On Friday night I really had the most blissful time. I met up with a friend, M2, who I’m sort of getting quite close to. I’d felt quite attracted to his lovely quiet beardy amazingness for a while, and then embarrassingly told him how I felt whilst unknowingly forcing him to sit in direct eye-line of a pair of my dirty knickers. That’s how cool I am.

Anyway, we had moved on from that, and he had actually said that he felt the same way, but he has a new girlfriend and it couldn’t go anywhere. That was fine, I mean, I know my relationship is open, but I’ve got to respect that others’ aren’t. With great power comes great responsibility etc. So on Friday we went out for a drink after work. Phew. 

I met him at his offices and we walked about 15 minutes to this completely out-of-the-way-only-locals-go-here-who-the-fuck-are-you-guys pub and talked about our childhoods, and our families and just generally caught up. It was bliss. He’s very good at listening, and also really good at holding back his own opinions. He will form a judgement, and wont tell you when you are most likely to be affected by it and then three weeks later, once you’ve come through it all, he’ll tell you his honest opinion. He just wants you to get there on your own. It’s sort of frustrating/refreshing. I appreciate it most of the time. 

We then headed back to the High Street to meet up with a friend of mine from work. M2 and I had gotten to that lovely 2-pints-in stage of intimacy and I didn’t really want to meet my friend, J. I looked at him and thought ‘I really want to kiss you’. But I didn’t do it (or say it, which is perhaps more remarkable). It was fine though, and we had a quiet drink with J and then 2 very loud drinks before J went home. M2 and I carried on and got a curry (delish) before heading back to his place to partake of it’s deliciousness. 

We ate on his sofa, quite drunk by this point, and then sat chatting. I don’t really remember what we talked about for the most part. He then pulled a cushion onto my lap and put his head there, and we talked about his story. I started to run my hands through his hair. He then asked mine, and I don’t really remember what I said, except for the time my Dad woke me up at about 6am one morning when I was 18, saying that my Mum has asked him to leave and he was going away for a while and didn’t know when he would be back. I told M2 how I hugged my Dad and then he left. M2 said how sad that was and I agreed. It felt so sad. He then took my hand and kissed it. 

I kept running my hand through his hair and he would take my hand and kiss it from time to time. I stroked his face and he kissed my hand again. I felt this enormous tenderness for him, and it felt so intimate just to be sitting there, with him falling asleep on my lap. He eventually fell deep into sleep and I dozed for an hour or two before extricating myself, briefly tidying up and then kissing him on the cheek and leaving. 

I don’t know how much of it he remembers, I hope as much as I do. But I don’t really need it to go any further than it did. It was just the unexpected tenderness I got back, you know? For the first time, I wasn’t even hoping for it and it came my way, from someone I truly respect and have gotten to know the old fashioned way. 

I really think he will be a great friend of mine. 

Good Friday

So Friday didn’t really go quite as I’d planned. I think the upshot is that I’ve kind of totally misjudged S, and yesterday that became apparent.

He’s actually just someone that is coping with a break-up that has left him a bit shattered. He is non-responsive sometimes, and will avoid confrontation at all costs, but his confidence is at an all time low. Poor sod.

He came over, and we chatted for a little while, before he pulled me over towards him and kissed me. We have really different kissing styles, and to be honest I felt his was pretty tongue-centric. It was ok, just took some getting used to. We got naked, and started fooling around, when he slipped a finger straight in my arse - that was a complete fucking shock! It was ok I guess, but just surprising as I’ve never known anyone that has gone in straight for the kill like that. I had mentioned that I liked it, but I guess I hadn’t really articulated that it didn’t feel that good just on it’s own, more as an addition to regular fucking. Oh well.

I sucked him off for a while - he really has the most tremendous cock I have ever seen. It’s fucking huge and whilst not scary looking, ever so slightly intimidating because of the sheer girth. Far out. Then he went inside me, and it was really really tight. It was hard to feel anything really, because it wasn’t moving around very (due to size!) and then he came after about 30 seconds. I rode him for a bit more and then wanted to change positions, where it then became apparent that he was going to need a bit of a breather.

We fooled around a bit more, and then he suddenly stopped and said ‘I’ve just lost all my confidence - I am really sorry’. I tried to soothe him and brought him into my arms and he started to cry. I felt such compassion for him, it was awful to see him feel so bad. I don’t know whether what we’re doing is good for us, or whether it’s actually hurting him. I’d like to think that physical pleasure would give him succour, and that the friendship would become stronger, so he could then rely on somebody else a bit more, but I don’t know if he can do that. All of a sudden I know that I can, and I know that my emotional state is actually not the problem anymore.

Poor darling, I do just want him to be ok.

March 2012, Never to be Forgotten, Never to be Repeated

I won’t pretend like I’ve not had the occasional thought that maybe I have made a terrible mistake, opening my relationship up. It has really made me realise that we all have this huge capacity to feel. Not even love or lust, but all kinds of emotion. I didn’t know I could feel so much!

I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself right now, because for all the excitement I’ve had in March, I am still on my own on a Saturday night, and just as alone as I was a month ago. I’ve had these amazing and surprising connections, and yet I still feel like none of them have really even touched me. I feel no closer to anyone.

That’s actually not true. The reason I keep coming back to, and that reassures me that this wasn’t a fuckup is that I am closer to T than I have ever been. We’ve been able to share much more than I thought was possible at this stage of our relationship.

I just feel sad right now.

Monday Night

So I went to meet N for our tete a tete. The one I had ever so slightly been avoiding, whilst trying to appear casually no-avoiding and just busy. Not entirely sure it works that way, but oh well.

I went to his flat, and N opened the door wearing, surprisingly for him, a t-shirt. He was also wearing his custom black trousers, and braces which he’d left draping, rather than hoisted over his shoulders. It was a sweet look.

 He made me a cup of tea and ask for a hug, to get rid of any awkwardness. I guffawed about, proclaiming there was none, but I’m pretty sure I shot myself in the foot there, because when he went to kiss me, I did the super elegant thing of converting a full on pash into an clumsy kiss on the cheek. Elegant as always.

We sat on his sofa and chatted. We chatted about T and I, and also about N, and what his life was like. He looked me in the eye and said I was the only person he’d been attracted to in the last six months. I swore, and he told me it turned him on when I spoke like that. It was so straightforward, it was shocking. Much more shocking than any of the coy texts or flirting I got from S or M or even T. He told me what he wanted to do to me. He told me he wanted me to go to Paris with him. To stay in his hotel room. He told me he wanted me to call him Sir. That bit made me laugh/cringe, I have to say.

In a way, it was very appealing. It obviously had some appeal, because despite myself I felt myself being drawn into this dream, this fantasy, when if I’m honest I knew I didn’t want to get into even as I walked to his lovely flat. I said ‘yes', when what I really meant was ‘I don’t know’. The deal for me was sealed when he kissed me, and I felt nothing. It wasn’t even horror, or disgust or anything negative. It was simply the pressure of his large moist lips on mine. And that was all.

I haven’t kissed many people but I know it’s not supposed to feel like that. But I was weak, and I let him kiss me and I kissed him back. But down deep I knew I couldn’t give him what I wanted and more to the point, I didn’t want him. In the end, I don’t want a lover that I will never love. That’s not what this journey is supposed to be about.

I don’t know why I find it so hard to follow my own advice, and realise that when it’s not right, it’s not right. When you don’t follow that gut instinct is when you get into trouble. N would never hurt me (at least not in a way that we hadn’t agreed) but I felt the weight of his feeling to be so oppressive. I’ve often longed for someone to tell me that I am beautiful, and attractive and that they’ve never met anyone like me, and that after I leave they say how lovely it was to kiss me. But I never realised how unhappy it could make me, when I don’t feel the same way. It’s only a blessing when it’s reciprocated. How do you tell someone that it’s not you, it’s them? That you just don’t feel the same way, not because of something they’ve done, but because intrinsically you just aren’t attracted to them.

Three days went past, and the more time apart made me realise I couldn’t go through with it. It was making T unhappy, and I felt trapped and scared. I knew the longer it went on the worse it would get, and the more damage would be done to our friendship (in that I would play the avoiding game - that one that I am so good at). So on Thursday I called him and told him that the ‘yes’ I had given on Monday had become a ‘no’. It had always been a ‘no’, but I guess I just needed to work that bit out on my own.

That Friday Night, about 11pm

I don’t know what it is with gay bars, but I am seeming to get quite the track record with meeting straight men there who apparently like me.

I’d had dinner with Tom and M2, a friend, and we’d all had red wine and roast beef and listened to music that made us feel happy and giddy and like we didn’t want the dinner to be over. M2 had to leave and after he’d gone T and I looked at each other and sort of did a sighing thing. We had always entertained M2 ensemble, rarely alone and the time we spent with him was like a courtship, plying him with funny stories, food and wine in the hopes of winning him as our friend.

I couldn’t bare it after he left and so told T I was going to meet up with some friends from work who were out for R's birthday. I didn’t have R’s number and although I had the numbers of other friends, I couldn’t be fagged texting to see where they were and assumed I would just make a delicious surprise entrance at the gay bar, where they were sure to be by now. It was a twenty minute walk there and I just fucking knew as soon as I walked in that they weren’t there. I casually looked for them, and then thought ‘fuck it’ and got a drink, sat at the bar and got my frosty bitch face on. I seem to think that ice queen is the look of choice when you’re standing alone at a bar.

The girls next to me walked outside, and soon after, he walked in. M. He looked at the place where the girls had been, then looked up at me. I hadn’t seen the grey hoodie you had asked for (although I have come to know it well now) and then I saw you cheekily sweetly ask the barmaid if it was behind the bar. I said I’d seen the girls leave but that I hadn’t seen them take your jacket. You said you were going to kill them if they’d lost it. They came back in, and immediately one pointed to the floor at your casually crumpled grey hoodie.

I must have failed completely at the ice queen thing, and rather unexpectedly succeeded at the ‘lost lamb who has been stood up’ look (although that wasn’t entirely the case) and your lovely friends started to chat to me, asking what I did and teasing you a hell of a lot. You said you knew me from somewhere and although I know your ex-girlfriend by sight you seemed to think we had had several meaningful conversations which I had conveniently forgotten. We all chatted and chatted, and I thought I got some vibes from you but wasn’t sure. You disappeared and the girls went out for a smoke. I was suddenly bored of the smoke, bored of being treated like a wee lass and wanted my friends. I faked a phone call and told your friends that my friends were walking up the road - when I walked to the entrance they were standing there. I went inside with them and got a drink.

About ten minutes later I saw you again, on your own, and suddenly felt horrible for abandoning you when you had been so nice to me before. You’d made it seem as though it was totally normal to be standing in a bar on your own on a Friday evening. That I was part of the gaggle of women that you’d come here with. I was feeling pretty lubed up from the vodka lemonades I’d been having (why do I even order these? I hate them, I just drink them when I get nervous and can’t think what to order) and so strutted over to you and started talking in your ear. Your friends came to say they were leaving and you stayed with me. We talked more and I can’t remember what we talked about, other than we were laughing and having a good time. You bought me another drink and my friend E came over to do a shot. It was a bit awkward, and I remember not wanting her there with us but also trying to make it look like I wasn’t completely flirting my head off (which I was) because E knew T. But she didn’t know the arrangement that T and I had come to. We did the shot and then blew E off. I knew it was on by this stage and took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. Into the dark shadowy bits.

God I am a sass-pot when I am drunk. I sure as hell don’t mess around and I am consistently surprised at my sheer fucking audacity, because I am so scared of repercussions when I am sober. Maybe it’s my authentic self coming the hell out to party.

I told you then that I had a boyfriend, but that we had an agreement about taking other lovers and you were visibly shocked. You were mostly intrigued though, and I remember dancing on my own in front of you and feeling so fuck-off powerful. Not over you, but over myself. I wanted something and I was going after it. You kissed me, and I asked you if you wanted to go outside to make out. You did.