Have been playing text tennis with Mr. P-S for nearly two weeks now. He has been out of the country on business.
Can't wait to see you. Xx
Can't get you out of my head. Xx
Always a kiss at the end of his messages. The Ex Boy never put kisses. The Ex Boy never told me he missed me; infact he was more than happy to go a few weeks without seeing me, with a distinct lack of contact.
Yet, here is a man, far older than me, who is in another country who can't wait to get back and spend time with me. Don't worry, I'm not that naive, I am more than aware he is after a little more than companionship. But, it feels amazing. Everything I have to fight so hard for to get from Ex Boy is being offered up to me on a plate, and to be honest, I feel like lapping it up.
The night he got back into the UK he called me:
"Sweetheart, are you coming over tonight?"
"Er, little problem, I don't know where you live. . . ."
"Be outside your house in fifteen minutes. I'll send a cab to pick you up."
"A little presumptious, seeing as I haven't said yes yet. Plus I don't want anyone seeing me get in a cab this late."
"So, be smart and walk half way down the road. Ok, see you in half an hour. Oh, and bring a swimsuit...." he said laughing, as he put the phone down.
Haven't heard from Ex Boy, since the night I phoned him drunk.
I'm so tired of trying with him. Tired of trying to be the perfect girlfriend. Tired of trying to get him to love me. Tired of feeling inadequate. Tired of him sleeping with other girls. Yet, here I am in the back of a taxi, on my way to another mans house, and all I can think of is how lovely it would be if Iwas on my way to his house. Madness. I think they call it love, or something.
Reminding myself that Ex Boy seemed incapable of loving me, I remembered just why it was I was trying to move on.
Ex Boys incapacity for love is somewhat of a lie, as he has told me he loves me, and the fact that I felt it: when I laid in his arms all night ; in the look he gave me before he kissed me; in his car, where we'd had many a country detour when we couldn't keep our hands off one another; and finally in every memory of the last five and something years with him -five, very on and off years. But none of that was enough, and the situatuation is far more complicated than the above simplified sentences would suggest.
The Ex Boys Shortcomings:
He never expressed anything to me.
He never took me anywhere. The extent of this particular shortcoming was so extreme, that I remember feeling happy when we went to the shop together one morning, to buy eggs. How sad.
I'm not exactly sure if this should be listed as a shortcoming or not: he had a thing for having sex in odd places. Nearly always in places where the odds were we would get caught - which of course we did. I'll tell you what's not funny: getting caught in a layby by two middle aged police officers who felt it necessary to make a list of safer places to have sex - a bed being the first obviously.
He never told me how he really felt. It was asthough I was expected to know it; and over the years I did get to know it -which is probably why it lasted as long as it did. That and because of my massochistic nature.
He never complimented me, would show me little attention in public, was insensitive &c. &c. the list goes on.
In the back of the taxi, my mobile phone began to ring. Jane calling flashed across the screen.
"Hey, oh hang on two ticks....yes I think it's down the end, yes, if you can pull in on the right. Yes in the drive."
"Who are you talking to? Where are you?"
"Sorry, just directing a cabby. Just going to see the Man."
Jane was a friend of many years, who I had told select information to about Mr. P-S - after she went mad at me for the year age gap, I thought it best not to tell her about him trying to coax me into phone sex. She didn't agree with the situation, but would "support me" none the less.
Jane: "You're going to his house?"
Me: "Yes, don't worry though. I don't think he's the predatator you imagine him to be."
Jane: "Don't be so naive. Let's look at the facts here. The man is old enough to be your father, and is IN FACT FRIENDS with your father."
Me: "Ok, look, I really don't want to get into this now. I'm sat outside his house, and am starting to wonder what i'm doing here."
Jane: "Then go home. It's obvious why you're doing this. You're just wanting someone to pay you attention, and I don't blame you after the way that idiot has treated you..."
Me: "I have to go, he's coming out his front door..."
Jane: "Ok, ok, but quickly what are you wearing?"
Me: "Trousers, and a top. Standard. Why?"
Jane: " Oh, it doesn't matter. Babe?"
"Yes?"
"Please be careful."
Shortly after arriving at Mr. P-S's house, I found myself on his sofa waiting for him, whilst he got a bottle of wine from his kitchen. I couldn't help but think about what Jane had said on the phone. "You just want someone to pay you attention." - She had a point of course. There was no denying that. But it was more than that. At that time, I could have embarked upon a relationship with other men. In fact, there were about six or seven who were perfectly nice guys -all early to mid twenties -who had asked to take me out.
Why was it then, that I was sat in the living room of a man who was double their age, when I could have been out with one of them? Simple. What I really wanted, was stability. It was this, that I knew I would never get from anyone near a similar age to myself. I wanted to take care of someone, and for someone to take care of me -although at the time I would not have admitted to this.
Whilst in his living room, I noticed photo's of him with his children. This was probably the point where I should have found my shoes and made an exit (I was 17 remember) but, my instinct was not to run. I felt safer sat talking to him than I had done in a long time, and because of that, I wasn't about to go anywhere.
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