We settle back on the sofa and I relax despite knowing he’s not staying tonight. The earring I'd given him had fallen out during our fuckfest so I put it back in, smothering it with Germolene first as he says his ear is sore. At 11.30 p.m. he gets up to leave.
‘If you’re not too busy this week, I’ll come up and see you one evening’ he says as he kisses me goodbye.
‘Thursday?’ I suggest happily, knowing I’m busy Tuesday and Wednesday. ‘Maybe we’ll get a take-away?’
And he nods, hugs me and goes home. I sleep on the wrong side of the bed, the side he slept on earlier this afternoon.
Monday. I text my Man in Oman apologizing for not having been able to talk last night and I suggest he calls me back. He doesn’t.
I don’t hear from MLP all day, which is fine. (Fine used in this context is obviously Anything But.) I text him to say how much I enjoyed our lovely Sunday together but I receive no reply. He seems to have stopped texting me which makes me wonder if a) he’s deeply secure in the relationship or b) he's cooling.
Tuesday. I awake up with a heavy heart and a sense of loss. No particular reason. I imagine how I’ll feel when it’s over and it hurts. I think back to a conversation we had when he mentioned how much he’s looking forward to having a son. This means he’s got to meet someone, get married or not, get her pregnant, get a job, get a home, get a life and this must surely happen within the next 2-5 years. Every day we spend together is borrowed time and the longer it goes on, the closer we are to the end of it. I discuss this at length with my friend, Frannie, who reminds me that I may well tire of him before he tires of me. No chance. I know myself too well…
I notice a new ladybird climbing the door frame to my ensuite bathroom. I have deep faith in these ‘lucky’ ladybirds. It's good to have something to believe in.
A day and a half has gone by since I heard from him, so I mess about on toyboywarehouse.com to give myself a little confidence boost. A guy called Oxbridge has mailed me three times. I ask to see a photo and it's Phwooar! He asks for my phone number. I tell him I’m currently ‘seeing someone’ and will not two-time him, but I also say that being cynical and realistic, I don’t expect it to last. The longer it takes MLP to get in touch, the shorter Oxbridge's wait will be.
Driving over to spend the evening with friends, with MLP’s TWO DAY silence resounding in my ears, Oxbridge calls me. I can’t get it together with my Bluetooth and keep cutting him off. He keeps calling me back – nothing, if not tenacious. He is terribly well-spoken and although shy and reticent at first, warms up when I go into my accomplished older woman 'interview' mode.
We discuss the wonderful new energy developing in society whereby long-closed doors are now swinging open. No more must a woman wait to be approached, often by a man she’s not interested in. With websites like toyboywarehouse.com women can go shopping for a mate of any age, shape and size and take them home to try on in front of their own mirror! And if they don’t fit, they can send them back and try out another one!
I feel refreshed by this new contact who asks me to call him whenever I like. I text him later in evening to say my mind is wandering and he replies that he loved talking to me and that I sounded hot. Surprising really, considering the treatment from my so-called ‘boyfriend’ is currently somewhere north of Siberia.
Wednesday. The hollow place in my heart left my MLP’s lack of communication is partially filled by Oxbridge’s early morning call. We chat a while and he asks if he can call me again later. It feels wrong somehow...Mid-morning I cave and text MLP asking, as casually as I can, if he still intends coming over tomorrow night. If not, I’ll need to make an alternative arrangement, God forbid I should stay Home Alone for once. As he fails to reply, I text Oxbridge to say the sunshine is making me restless, I’m bored at my desk and does he fancy escaping for a coffee later? He says he’s sorry he can’t, so I console myself with a double helping of cheese on toast.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment