Tag Archives: end of the affair

Highs and lows

This week has been marked by a series of highs and lows.

One evening spent in the company of Moriarty and my closest female friend, both of whom know about this blog and yet still talk to me. We sat in a room with a view over the city of London, watching the sky turn from pink to violet with golden whisps of cloud and finally black. The conversation was open, sexual, sensual and honest. A rare meeting of minds. Not that we all share the same opinion, but somehow at that moment in that space we were all free to talk. There were moments when I felt suspended, in a glass bubble. Given the topics of conversation I left that space feeling incredibly elated, horny and generally alive.

Picture the same setting the next evening. I invited the economist to join me. He brought the drinks and we sat next to one another looking over the skyline before us. We had briefly kissed on the lips when he first arrived, more out of habit and I tried to withdraw, wean myself off him. It was awkward at first. I think we both knew what the outcome of the evening would be. He apologised for ignoring me completely at the party. I told him it would be easier if we agreed to just be friends. He admitted he wasn’t able to cope with both of us at the same time. It was amicable, sweet.  But I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes, and so adjusted my chair and stared out over the cityscape before me. We listened to music and chatted on and off. There were moments of silence, of sadness. I felt a big space inside. It got late and so we left. As we said goodbye outside, we hugged briefly and he asked when I could introduce him to a friend of mine, a possible business contact for him. That threw me. My instant reaction was one of feeling used, but then he continued that it was just another way of asking when he was going to see me.

That cycle home was cold, damp and difficult. I felt as if I had no energy, my legs, head, heart felt like lead. I knew the husband would be at home and so tried to force myself to smile as I reached the house. He was still working and so I said a brief hello and went straight upstairs to bed. I collapsed and fell asleep, the weight of my decision pressing me into the sheets.

Checking my email before drifting off, I saw a message from older lover suggesting a drink next week. Perhaps this lowest of lows will be followed by another high. But for now, I stand below ground.

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The end of the affair(s) – part three

I have not written much about the female friend. She was first and foremost a friend. And so I felt uncomfortable writing about our relationship. However, as the title of this post suggests, even that friendship is over. This is about her.

It was my own fault. I was the one who initiated it. About two and a half years ago, she and I were drinking and chatting in a pub. Moving onto the whiskeys signalled the snap in my brain. It happens sometimes. I don’t know why, but my blood races, my heart pounds and all I want is to be fucked, or in this case fingered. I remember thinking, as I spoke to her, ‘this is not what I really think, why am I saying this?’. I told her I liked her, that I found her interesting, attractive and wondered what she thought about me. It was suggestive enough for her to get the gist of what I was saying and she was ‘flattered’ by my advance. There was no fingering that night and I awoke to a terrible hangover and regret for what I had said.

Since then we have had a couple of encounters when, again after numerous drinks, the conversation turns to our ‘relationship’. There has been one kiss, which was not at all one I would like to repeat. Perhaps I am not attracted to women. Or more to the point, I am simply not attracted to her. She is not my ‘type’, if I had one.

One thing I have learned during these close encounters with her, is how tedious women can be about relationships. It is all so serious, so emotional. Whenever I found myself in earnest conversations with her, in which she raised concerns about my marriage and how she was ‘there’ for me if I needed her, I kept thinking: ‘and all this because I just wanted to be fingered’. Christ. What happened to easy talk and loose sex?

Back in the summer, she was round for dinner with another friend. We drank a lot and chatted late into the evening. At one point I caught her eye and she mouthed ‘I love you’ to me. My stomach lurched and I felt slightly sick (a sure sign that there is no attraction, I think). That was the last time I had seen her until November when I met her and the tall guy for dinner and drinks.

I purposely arranged to meet both of them, so I would not have to:

1) sleep with the tall guy, who, although a good kisser, just ain’t that good in bed

2) have long, meaningful conversations with her about our supposed relationship

The tactic worked to some extent. The tall guy could only grope and kiss me when she went to the bathroom and she didn’t find the opportunity to ‘talk’ alone with me. After dinner we trawled the cocktail bars in Soho. A lot was drunk. We finally parted company with the tall guy and she and I shared a taxi home. There was a long (and rather tedious) conversation about our last encounter and how she had spotted my recoil from her ‘I love you’ words. When I got out of the taxi, she stepped out too, to continue the conversation. All I wanted was to go to bed. I was drunk and tired and had had enough of all this ‘analysis’. But she went on and on, until she said she could not cope with seeing me, even as a friend. It was too upsetting for her. Or at least, it was something like that.

I am surprised at how I responded – tears (I was tired and emotional, aka drunk). But inside I was happy. Happy, that by ‘breaking up’ with me, I no longer had to deal with her conversations, insinuations and expectations. Happy, that I could shake off that little mistake I had made two and half years ago. She was the one who wanted me out of her life. And so I would oblige. The tears were there to make her feel good, to mask my relief.

I walked back home, feeling elated. When I got back, I told my husband (having woken him whilst drunkenly getting changed) that we should have a child together. It felt right. Then.

The next day, I received a text from her. She regretted what she had said and wanted to ‘keep me in her life’. I am not sure I want to. Things felt so simple that night she ‘broke up’. The irony of course is, there was nothing to ‘break up’. Just a friendship.

 

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The end of the affair(s) – part two

Closure is important, I suppose. So when my Italian lover contacted me on Skype recently, that is what I gave him. Closure.

We have not seen one another since saying goodbye at the airport after our second Scotland trip together back in March. I resolved back then to dump him, after some of the worst sex I’ve had and three excruciating days together. I’ve received the odd text from him since then, but nothing more than that.

Two weeks ago he popped up on Skype. Told me his news and then asked me about mine. Then he wanted to know what had happened, why I had suddenly stopped talking to him nine months ago. I realise now, that nine months is perhaps a pertinent number given his question about whether I had had a baby. In his mind, I suspect he had concluded I was pregnant after our Scotland trip and hence had broken off all contact. Of course that was not the reason.

Being English, I have real issues when it comes to politeness and upsetting people. In fact, I believe one of the reasons for my numerous lovers is that I do not wish to offend any admirer and so would rather go to bed with them, than upset them by saying no. However, I felt it was time to give him an answer.

And so I told him: his unwillingness to use a condom, despite numerous requests on my part, showed a lack of respect for my person. And, as a result, I was angry with him and that is why I never contacted him again. He was devastated.

I’m just glad I told him that reason and not that he was simply shit in bed… Not sure his ego could have coped with that blow.

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The end of the affair(s) – part one

As I watch the snow gently falling outside and the black silhouette of the lifeless tree against the grey sky, I can’t help but feel the end of an affair is near. Perhaps, after two years, my older lover and I are in the winter of our relationship.

We met at a party in London last week. It was the first time in six months. The last time we kissed goodbye it was early summer. The sun shone brightly and there was hope, a lightness, an optimism in the air. It was also then that I gave him a drawing, a birthday present. A drawing that now, apparently, hangs in his marital bedroom.

I arrived at the party, excited at the prospect of seeing him. My eyes scanned the room when I entered, but I couldn’t see him and so chatted to strangers, looking up expectantly every time a guest arrived. It wasn’t until an hour or so later that I saw him. He had been there the whole time. We chatted amidst others, trying to keep the conversation casual. Eventually we left the party together. It was a late hour and there was no plan to go on together. We walked and talked, kissing in doorways. I told him I was in love with him. I told him how much I missed him. How sad I was that we had not seen each other in six months, despite many attempts on my part to make it happen. He asked why I never write in our blog anymore. Why I am so distant. I got into a taxi. He got on his scooter. We have not spoken since.

In my mind, I make excuses for him – his redundancy, search for a new job, father of three kids, etc., etc. That is why it has been so difficult for us to meet when I have been in London. But then I think that if he really wanted to, he would make it happen. He does not commit, does not make plans. It is all left to the last minute, to fate. He fails to realise the lengths to which I have gone and will go to see him. The lies I tell, the money I spend. And so I told him that. I also told him how I had realised that I will never be his focus. His family and wife will always come first. And that makes me ever so slightly sad.

I am not entirely sure what new phase of our relationship last Friday night marks. I worry it is the end. It leaves me feeling empty. Cold.

If it is the end of my affair with my older lover, then I do not regret my time with him. He was, after all, the best fuck I’ve ever had. He raised the bar. He gave me the best oral sex I have ever had. I shall miss him.

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