Sex or Sudoku?

The last thing I wrote was how I had loosely arranged to see Ex-boy. That was sometime before Christmas and it is now March. I have been out of action in as many months due to health - hence the reason I have not been blogging of late.

Anyway, taking off from where I left....

The start of Sunday the 5th was all quite normal and found me at work at Agent Provocateur.
The previous night had seen me finishing a long day at work; needing to unwind with a bottle of wine - looking back, long days at work, and bottles of wine in the evening were a recurring theme - anyway, I had a little too much to drink on the Saturday evening (a bottle of red to myself - greedy girl - on a near to empty stomach), which served to erase my thought process, which resulted in me phoning Ex-boy. The conversation of which can be found in all its (embarrassingly ineloquent) glory in the blog below.

At the end of our conversation we loosely arranged to meet one another the next day. Silly, silly words. Silly, silly words that fell out of my red wine stained mouth. Silly, silly words that fell out of my red wine stained mouth, and that I paid little attention to before passing out fully clothed on my bed.
Upon waking on the Sunday morning, and looking in the mirror, I stared at my face in disbelief, and noticed how my mouth looked like it had consumed the contents of ink pen.


'I really need to stop drinking so much', I thought.

Whilst looking into the mirror, I had a vague recollection that I arranged to see Ex-boy. After gazing at my inky blue lips in a haze of bewilderment, it hit me. I had arranged to see him.

Sure, I could back out. But then I'd look like an absolute idiot, as it had been me after all that had called him, and gone on at him about his lack of organisation at factoring me into his life.

Anyway, I was intrigued. I had lots of questions. How was his mother? What had he been up to lately? Had he managed to get his car fixed since I'd last seen him? Was he still thinking of going into business with his father?

But really, all that I wanted to know - and all that had been occupying my thoughts in the last few months of my dangerous thinking, (subsequently resulting in a large amount of destructive behaviour) was, would I still want him and would he still want me? Or, would it now be possible for us to meet up, and talk about all the above mentioned trivial nonsense, without ending up in bed together?

Throughout the Sunday at work I kept having mini-arguments with myself in my head. In the midst of serving, and making small talk with men who had absolutely no intention of buying anything, I found myself battling with an angel on one shoulder, and the (by now) ever present devil on my other.

By 4pm (I finished work at 6) the devil finally got the better of me, and told me to call him.

"Hello?", he said.

"Hello, it's me."


"Hello mind reader! I was literally just in the middle of sending you a text. Are you still OK to meet up later on?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'm really, really tired though. What are you thinking of doing? Because remember what I said, if we meet I want to go somewhere." (I told him I wanted to "go somewhere" as I thought that way we would be less likely to end up in bed with one another.)


"Yeah, no, that's cool. I was thinking we could go for a drink somewhere, or get something to eat?"

"OK, um, yeah, should be OK. What time are you thinking?"


"What time do you finish work?", he asked.

"Six."

"OK, so how about you meet me at mine for about seven."

Perfect, I thought. I'll finish work at six, and by the time I drive home to get out of my uniform, and put some normal clothes on, I'll have to run out the door again, just to get into the city for seven. This would hopefully take away any opportunity for me to try and make myself look presentable, and I would therefore be forced to meet him looking and feeling unattractive. Perfect. There's no way I will let myself do anything if I feel tired, and look a mess, I thought.


I think I speak for pretty much all women when I say - tiredness + feeling unattractive = NO SEX.


"Seven is good for me." I said.


In the two hours that remained of my shift, it became obvious to the girls I worked with that I would later be meeting Ex-boy. Another battle of words ensued. Although this time, it was not between myself, a devil and a (by now completely vacant) angel. It was with my trusted girlfriends whom I worked the shop floor with.


"You're blatantly going to get some loving." the first began.

"No! It's not like that! I'm literally going out of intrigue, and I haven't seen him for so long....."


"Well that all sounds very sweet, and, a complete lie..Underwear? Have you thought about what you're going to wear?"


"Absolutely not. It is so not like that! It couldn't be less like that. . . Although, I did blow over £150 pounds on the most beautiful white silk, tulle-ruffled set from MYLA last week."

"Caught red handed mate. You're thinking about wearing beautiful underwear. These are not the thoughts of an innocent woman!"


In between serving customers, advising handsome middle-aged men what would look best on both their wife and their mistress, and getting chatted up by a bunch of Sath Lunnun lads, discussion time had run out; the end of my shift had finally made an appearance.


Gone were the days I'd needed to feel reassured about what I looked like by Ex-boy. I'd got that and more from the last guy I was seeing. The one who thought I was beautiful and lovely ( I never did find out if he was visually impaired). The one who said he couldn't wait to tell me he loved me. The one who was handsome and successful and hugely funny, and well, perfect in my eyes. The one who nearly matched my appetite in bed. The one I began falling for until it all went wrong.


It was then, with my little new found confidence that I purposely decided I didn't want to make a huge effort on my appearance for Ex-boy. So, arriving home I got changed, put some lip gloss on and ran out the door. I did also manage to change very hurriedly into the new MYLA set; but I fear this was more for my enjoyment than his.


I'm an honest girl, so I'll admit something to you. What went through my head, as I made my way to Ex-boy's in my car, was that I hoped Ex-boy would make a move on me. I hoped he would try something with me, so that I could knock him back, and let him feel rejected for a change. Even if it was purely physical. Perverted and mean I know, but human none-the-less. It was for this reason that I was now glad I had put the MYLA set on. If it was going to get the point where I would reject him, at least I could stand before him and do it in pretty underwear.

I arrived a little after seven to find him smoking a cigarette on his front door step.


"I thought you'd quit." I said, as I crossed the road to greet him.

"I know, I know...", he laughed as he hugged me.

"Please put it out, or finish it quickly. You know I hate you smoking."

He tossed the cigarette to the floor. "Look, gone." He put his arms around my waist, and kissed me on my cheek. "You look pretty."


"No I don't. I've been on my feet 9 hours, and all my clothes are in Southampton. I look like a tired little hobo."


"Not to me you don't. You look gorgeous."

Weird. Ex-boy rarely paid me compliments.


We made our way into his living room. I sat down on his sofa and looked around. I hadn't been in his house for over half a year, but it hadn't stopped it feeling like he had done to me. Safe. This would be my first jaunt there without the promise of curling up with him in his bed. This would also be my first time in his company, in the last eight and a half years where I wouldn't be 'girlfriendy' around him. Unfortunately, however, these facts did not negate the excitement I felt as I curled my feet beneath my legs; they added to it.

I sat there for a while, watching him in the kitchen, trying to figure out what I felt for him. I thought about the last time I had come to his house.

I had picked him up in the afternoon, absolutely blind drunk, after being out all night with friends to celebrate May day. I had brought him back to his house, removed all the clothes from his body, lovingly ran him a hot shower and stayed with him, propping him up in said shower whilst I helped him wash. I then dressed him, and put him into his bed, whereby for the next four or so hours I fed him food, coffee and laid with him whilst he slept. Upon waking in a hungover state, he found me lying next to him and thanked me all too sweetly for my efforts as his nurse. Afterwards, we slept for the rest of the day.

As a feeling of contentment made me dizzy with the memory, I thought it best to get out of his house.

"So, what are we doing? Where are you taking me?"

"Well, I thought we could go for a drink. There's a nice little pub just outside town..."


"Cool, sounds nice. I hope it's chilled."


"Very." he said.


He was right. The pub was very chilled. Although, feeling a little nervous on arrival, and unsure of the correct protocol, I necked my first glass of white whilst he was in the toilet.


We flirted for a while and bounced a few sexual innuendos back and forth, but it all felt very harmless. It also felt very different to what we were usually like with one another. It was a surreal situation. Like a first date between two people who had been lovers for the last 8 and a half years. We were trying to be grown ups in a situation that felt strangely adolescent.


"Do you want another?" he asked, as he noticed my empty glass of wine.


I pondered for a while, remembering I was driving. I promised myself if I had anything else, I would make it my last, and that I would drink it very slow. "Go on then."


After he returned from the bar - for the life of me I can't remember how - the conversation started to turn a little more serious. He brought up the subject of our friends who were settling down and having children. We spoke about it for sometime, until there was moment of silence and he looked at me and said:

"You'll make a good Mum, baby."

I'd been trying to understand just how it was I felt about him for most of the night. For the most part of it, I'd come to the conclusion that: I hardly fancied him anymore. He no longer matched me intellectually. Our goals had changed. I had different aims to him. Our pleasures now differed hugely. Where my ambition had grown, his seemed to have shrunk. I seem to want more from life than him.

He wants women who will provide him with a slightly (all too safe, in my opinion) no-frills sex life. An easy, carefree companionship with a possible side order that would see her occasionally stroking his ego. If he was lucky, she may even like Top Gear.

So too do I look for a man that offers easy companionship, with the possibility of something a little more serious in the future. But I also look to a man, with a level of intelligence that may promise to teach me something. With this, age seems to play a part. It comes as no surprise then, that Ex-boy is the only person I have ever gone out with near to the same age as myself. (He is nearly two years older.)

A love of decent (by decent I mean: credible) music is necessary, so too is a sense of humour. Looks are not a prerequisite. Although, a nice face and height (six foot and over....and BINGO) is a bonus. For me, a man offering the above as a complete package would appear to be my type. Being able to keep me interested mentally, and old enough to teach me a thing or two about myself; he would also equate to good in bed.

All this aside, it didn't take away the fact though, that when Ex-Boy turned to me and said what he did, I felt incredibly sad and at that moment in time, he was the only person in the world who I wanted to console me.

Shortly after the silence, I lifted my head off of his shoulder, he unwrapped his fingers from my around my wrist, and we decided to make a move back to his. Only, I must have drunk quickly than I had thought (empty stomach from not eating at work) as when I went to get up from the table, my legs buckled beneath me.


"BABY!"


I stumbled off the chair. "Oh no. How embarrassing. I can't drive. You're going to have to drive. Uh oh!" I grabbed the table to steady my feet. "What are you like?! You're such a cheap date!"

He laughed at me a little more, then he pulled me up off the chair I was,by then sat back down upon. A few people began to look over at us.

Watching me fail miserably at putting my leather jacket on, Ex-boy held my hands and put each one into the sleeves for me. Funny how, the last time I had seen him I had dressed him, and now he was returning the favour.

Standing a considerable distance below him, I looked up at his face to see him smiling down at me. Shit, suddenly things didn't feel so 'friendly' between us. We stared at each other for a moment, with my body flimsily draped in his arms, until he slowly began to zip my jacket up, stopping when he got to the V in my dress. "This is nice". He ran his index finger over by my bra - he'd seen the lace peaking from under my dress.

Standing in the middle of the pub, with people surrounding us at all angles, I remembered Ex-Boy' s penchant for risky behaviour in public, and how much I loved it.

As we made our way out of the pub, he grabbed my hand, and led me across the road to my car.
Scared he'd get pulled over by the police in my car, we agreed the best route back to his was to go back the country way. As he pulled away he grabbed my hand again. What was he playing at? We had agreed friends. Making me change gears for him, he didn't take his fingers out of mine until we arrived back at his.

What happened next is a blur to me even now. I know that the events that took place after this were spaced out over about four hours. However, with time now passed, and some details faded by memory, I will simply tell what I can remember.

After the car ride back, we made our way up to his bedroom. I laid down on the bed. So did he. I lay there for a while, sure that he was about to make a move on me.

He put a film on.

We laid watching the film, with him barely making any physical contact with me. I thought this was perhaps due to the fact he was concentrating on watching the film. It was one of his favourite films after all.

The film ended, and he said he wanted to make some food and have a cigarette.

"Are you joking me? You made food before we went to the pub, and you had a cigarette when I arrived. Plus you told me you'd quit." I said.

"But, I'm hungry and I really want one." He retorted.

"Whatever."

He told me he'd be ten minutes, as he closed his bedroom door and left me on his bed.

What on earth was going on? I know Ex-Boy. I may not be able to decipher signals from other men, but I certainly could Ex-Boy's. He'd been firing "I want you" all night at me, yet when it came down to it, with me laying next to him in bed. . . .nothing.

I laid on top of the sheets surrounded by silence and in almost complete darkness.
Most of the evening had been built around my intrigue into whether Ex-Boy would try and make a move on me; without a glimmer of this I must admit by now, I was feeling pretty frustrated. After a very strange few months, I really needed something, or someone to make me feel wanted. Stupidly, I believed Ex-Boy would be the easiest person to provide me with this. I thought if I got this validation from someone, I might, just might drag my sorry arse out of my little bout of destructiveness, and get on with things again.

'I need to take this up a leve',l I thought, as I lay waiting for him. 'I'm going to have to be a hell of a lot more suggestive', I said to myself.
45 minutes later, Ex-Boy returned. Yes, that's right. 45 minutes later. What the hell had he been doing?
As he got back into bed, he put his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. I knew I was being stupid, as even if I had to back out there and then, I'd have found it hard to unwrap him from me. Yet, I wanted more. I wanted to know that he still wanted me. So I didn't move.

It was very strange. Each time he would hold me, he would back off for a few seconds. Thinking that maybe he was unsure of I wanted him or that perhaps he wanted me to take the lead from him, I'd put my hands on his chest or kiss him sweetly on the cheek. I was trying to be patient with him, but couldn't really understand why he was backing off.
Feeling like an absolute idiot, I moved away and turned my back to him. Only, then he pulled my back into his chest, and while breathing lightly on my neck, unzipped the back of my dress.

Trying my best to think rationally, I told myself this was where things needed to stop. But, as quick as I'd told myself that, he'd moved away again. What was he doing? Had he only met up with me to see if I still wanted him? Were we both playing the same game with each other? This was starting to get confusing.
Frustrated (and by now humiliated) I pulled the covers off of me, and sat on the end of his bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, as I started to zip my dress back up, and recover my hair clip from his table. With the front of my dress still open, I turned around to him. (I thought the overpriced MYLA may make him think otherwise) "I'm going. It's late and...........", I let out a huge sigh. THEN, with no change in his tone of voice, or difference in his expression.....he said "Oh. OK." and proceeded to pick up a sudoku book (!?!?!??) "This is so annoying. I'm stuck on this one part, and I can't finish it. I've been trying to solve it all day."

So this was it. This was where our 'relationship' was going to finally end. Not on some amazing, earth shattering, life changing, mind-blowing sex. Not by an irreparable argument. No. Our relationship was going to end by him choosing to play sudoku over sleeping with me.

Without saying another word, I walked out of his room, down the stairs and let myself out of his front door, without looking if he was following behind me (I knew he was behind me, I just didn't want to turn around and look at him).

I have not seen him since that night.

I sent him a text message as I was on my way home.

"Forget everything I told you tonight. Forget tonight ever happened."

In hindsight I should probably not have dignified the evening with any form of a response. However, after opening up to him in the pub about a subject incredibly raw to me (this needs no further explanation), I felt massively vulnerable - Only to then be tossed around by him in his bed in a very bizarre game of cat and mouse.

I of course, wish I had never told him anything. Silly girl. I know better than to open up to a man. But this was Ex-Boy. He was the one person I knew would be lovely to me. And he was. He took my hand and didn't let it go until we got back to his. But then?

Was I really not that attractive to him anymore? Was he genuinely more interested in sudoku than sleeping with me? It wasn't adding up though. He was the one that had pulled me back when I'd moved away. He was the one that had kissed my neck. He was the one who had put his hands all over my body, and he was the one who had unzipped my dress. Only to keep moving away.

Exhausted, I got home, crawled into bed and tried to erase the evening from my consciousness.
I woke the next morning trying to figure out if the night before had been a dream. When I remembered it hadn't, I began asking myself the same questions, and telling myself the same things as what I had done in the car on the way home.

About a week later, whilst on a social networking site we both use, I looked at his page.

X amount of new 'tagged' photos.

He'd been 'tagged' in about 15 photos with the same girl, looking very couple-like. There was one of them kissing. There was a wall post from said girl, saying "I can't believe you call me your girlfriend. I have text you so many times, and you haven't replied. I think you should read the email I have just sent you. I really can't be bothered with this."

He has a girlfriend? Why the hell had he not bothered to tell me that? Surely I had a right to know this piece of information, no?
He had all night to tell me he had a girlfriend. Actually, no, he had a long time before that. He had been asking to meet me for some time, and at no time had he even mentioned he was seeing someone. Let alone, that there was some poor girl who considered him to be her boyfriend.


I have not seen him since (the now infamous) sex or sudoku night. We have also barely spoken.

I've been looking for closure from the situation for over two years now, and still haven't found it. Maybe I won't ever get it. I can't really explain how I had hoped to achieve closure from him; I suppose if we had a row so catastrophic that it would cut erode all memories between us? Or perhaps if we'd acted in a way towards one another that was irrepairable?

A few months ago, I instant messaged him by accident on my blackberry (I was drugged up). He responded, telling me he was abroad. We wished each other well. It was then, laying in bed, looking at his name on my contacts list, that I began to think about closure again. The thing is, Ex-boy and I have never really rowed. We've also never tried to hurt the other. I've come to the conclusion that, just because we have never done either, it does not mean that there is not closure from us. It simply means that after being in and out of each others lives, for the last ten years, (and each others beds for eight and a half in amongst those); we don't hate each other.

I now understand that closure for us, means that we are still hugely accesible to one another (we are on each others Blackberry messenger contacts list, phonebooks, and on each others friends list on a social networking site) but that we no longer speak.

Life has, indeed, moved on.