Thursday, 25 March 2010

Mr Smith and Space

Mr Smith and I are meant to be catching up later in the week, in the interim I've asked for some space, mainly from the IMs. I am trapped beyond an emotional firewall. As cracks were starting to show, to me, I found myself avoiding certain questions. 

The goal posts have changed, my defences are in place, firmly. I haven't been myself with him since I left him in bed that morning and I can't revert to the innocent and friendly Thirty.


Why didn't I just wait until after we had caught up before sending that email? Why can't just ignore it?


Three reasons: a) I don't like to keep things bottled up, I wanted to say something b) I am bored of the having the same conversions/non-conversations and c) should we still see each other in a few days, undoubtedly, we would have a fabulous night and I would have felt like a bitch for bringing it up afterwards.

I'm a bitch


I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way

So take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won't mean a thing

© Meredith Brooks


Who am I?

Why can't I be everything I am to everyone?  Why do some get a lighter Thirty and some have a truer version? 

Although the nymphomaniac in me is bursting to get out, I quite like the coyness she is contained within my, albeit not always, shy exterior, or do I?

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

The One with Mr Smith

I remember saying something along the lines of probably my last post involving or perhaps more accurately revolving around Mr Smith, I spoke too soon.

I just found these words scribbled in my notebook, as it was from a week or so ago apologies for any repetition:

I am reminded of an episode of Friends, where Rachel declares self-amassed closure - "I am so over you", Ross' feeble response is "..when were you erm.. under me?".

Mr Smith says he loves me. Let's put that to one side for a second.

What the fuck does he expect me to do with that information?  I have some strategic and practical ideas, these I am sure, will only excite him.  What was he expecting, for us to run away in a Reg Perrin style escape (Rossiter not Clunes), stripped naked and heading for the North Sea?

When I found myself falling for him, I stopped myself, and slowly backed away.  For each step I took backwards, it was like he came two steps closer.

I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, I keep it in a box in my fireplace (no, that's not a euphemism).  I swallowed my feelings and gulped hard. And why? He's married.

I questioned if he was strong enough for me and gave examples.  I don't recall him saying anything, he simply nodded to the rhythm of my voice.

The conclusion

Fuck knows. I asked for a month's grace, for his benefit rather than mine.  I am a distraction, so is his online activity, anything not to be left with the deafening silence of reality.

He said it felt like a punishment, but it  really wasn't.  He said it was easier said than done, I replied that I could strong enough to enforce it.  A wry smile appeared on his face.

He asked if we could go back to being friends.  I'm not sure it could.  Our friendship was never innocent, it was based on the ultimate sacrifice of pure sharing.  We shared our lives - hopes, dreams, desires, fantasies and fears.

And now?

Notebook vs Notebook

I have two notebooks.  A computer and good ol' paper.

I use the bound one for ramblings, contained within those pages are poems, lyrics, blogs posts, usually unfinished, together with the occasion subconscious doodle.

Looking through one of my notebooks just now, it's hard to recognise myself or remember filling the pages...

If one was to examine my handwriting patterns, I'm almost certain I would be accused of having many personalities, like that is such a shock.  Thirty and I may encompass the same body, I'm not so sure we share the same head space.

Saturday, 20 March 2010

I want to hold your hand


Oh yeah, I'll tell you something
I think you'll understand
When I'll say that something
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand

Oh please, say to me
You'll let me be your man
And please, say to me
You'll let me hold your hand
Now let me hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand

And when I touch you I feel happy inside
It's such a feeling that my love
I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide...

© Lennon McCartney or is it McCartney Lennon nowadays...?

Anyone who says that holding hands is innocent is wrong.  Incorrect, unsound, not right, in error, at fault.  

I use my hands to gesticulate, converse, touch and hold, stroke, to pleasure and to masturbate.  Not to mention the other places my hands have been and want to go.  My palms give me away, they are always sensitive to the touch and become hot when I'm aroused.

Holding hands is intimate. End of.

The return of Mr Married

Mr Married's revealing email:  It stated that he and his wife had changed the terms and conditions of their marriage and he wanted to see me.  With everything that was going on with Mr Smith, I didn't think about it.

Last weekend I had received a couple more texts and emails and by Thursday I buckled.

With Mr Married, it had always been about the sex, I needed a sexual release, what am I talking about?  I still do.  I am wound so tightly, it's difficult to breathe.

I said that I was busy this weekend, he offered to be my plus one, I said yes.  I've since asked if we can change our plans, I'll see him Sunday night instead.  It's a mistake to see him, I will have to tell myself "I told you so", but maybe his body can be the medicine my body is in desperate need of, if only in the interim.

All I want to do is sleep.

Mr Smith and Brief Encounter

When I asked Mr Smith what friendship he wanted to salvage from the mess that was 'us'.  He didn't know, he wanted it to go back to what we had previously.

We had been living out our own Brief Encounter.  Intense time together with non-penetrative sex.  We were our very own black and white film, darling...

I explained that our friendship had never been innocent, it had always been fuelled by flirting, innuendo, chemistry and an attractive amount dose of free speech.  It was open to the point of odd.

He asked me not to shout at him.  I wasn't.  I was being assertive.  I gave him an example of shouting.  More silence ensued.

He was sorry for taking me for granted. I said if we continued to be friends, I would probably be cold Thirty.  I can't help but build my defences, almost immediately.  Did he even miss me?  Or was it the hole I left behind?

This is probably my last post on Mr Smith for a while, we are going to catch up next week, but I can't stand the monotony of repetition and going 'round in circles. I'm already starting to heal.

Drunken communication

I shouldn't be allowed near the internet when I have been drinking.  Luckily I passed out at some point!

Mr Smith and Bollocks

As Mr Smith left in silence, I should have mentioned that we left with a promise.

One month of no contact.

Such bollocks, within 48 hours I sent him his early birthday present and he had sent me the message:

Subject: I miss you 


Hey

Can we just forgive each other and go back to the fun, lovely, non-judgemental friendship we had, please?

I don't know what you think about all this. Maybe you think it's better that we don't talk. But I really, really miss my friend. This "month off" thing is just confusing and upsetting. I just want us to be okay again.


I called him, mainly to reassure that he had in fact over-thought everything.  He was, as ever, non-committal and evasive with what he wanted.

I couldn't mention that I had been asked out by someone else and that I had agreed.  It's surprising what a single, attractive and interested man can do for one's ego.

Friday, 19 March 2010

Mr Smith and the Wednesday Blues

Mr Smith dealt with it all more badly than I, I grieve quickly and intensely, he doesn't.  Mr Smith asked if we could see each other, face to face.

We met for lunch,  he wouldn't meet eye to eye, when his eyes finally reached mine, they were still withdrawn.

He asked how I felt, I avoided all of my emotions, but spoke in blunt sentences.  That he wouldn't be strong enough and that I wouldn't trust him.  He accepted these as faults and left in silence.