This year St Valentine's in on a Sunday.
For a long time now I've been asking her to set a day aside to go out of town. All three of us. I felt it would do good to our daughter - different environment form our home and the town that were the setting of all the sad or traumatic things she's gone through.
On the day they leave before noon, to do some shopping I'm sure. Some time after midday I call her and ask when they'll be back. 'I'm ready and getting impatient', I explain. When they come back, she suggests .... doing it on another day as it's getting late. I start boiling inside, but show only half of it to her. 'No way. I've asked you for it for days or weeks now'. I'm all the more angry, because my guess is that she wants to see him in the afternoon and may not be able to fit it in comfortably if we go. But I don't give in and we do go.
The sat-nav shows that it would take us over an hour to get to the destination I chose. 'We can't make it. It's too late now'. I snap and shout at her. When I calm down I suggest another destination, much closer. Another argument follows when she refuses to set off (she drives) until the sat-nav, with which I struggle, is set, even thought I give her exact directions as I know the place.
When we finally get there, we all like it. It's good to leave the city behind even for a couple of hours. On our way back I suggest we watch a film together, which is met with a lukewarm acceptance. (I assume then she must have already seen him).
We come back pretty late. I was in church in the morning, they go now. After the mass, our daughter comes back home on her own. 'Mum had to go to take some materials to one of the memebers of her team (she's an area manager). I don't like it and call her. 'We were supposed to watch a film together?!' 'I need to buy something at the local supermarket', (the only store open so late now) she explains. 'And help one of my agents with a form he can't sort out on his own. Back in half an hour'.
Over an hour passes before she comes through the door. I've already given up on the film. She pretends to be apologetic and apparently still ready to watch the film. She takes her overcoat. Her belt unfastened and zipper in her jeans done half way up.
I hate her quietly and despondently. There is also a hint of envy of the mad, reckless desire and love they indulge themselves in. 'You haven't done your jeans up properly', I point out aloud and give up. Everything, I guess.
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Watch me!
A cool period.
She goes about her own business, pleasure, kicks. I am philosophical, relaxed, a little bit thrilled about the new life that lays open in front of me. There is a place in it for her - and always will be - but she's in retrospective now, or so I think a lot of the time (I don't want to talk about other times now).
The other day I took a bath in the middle of the day. She was getting ready to leave for an appointment. Or a hot, mid-day love and sex session. She wants something from the bathroom and when she enters I have an erection.
'Touch me', I ask on the spur of the moment (and the erection).
She looks at me clinically, curiously and coldly. 'No', she replies, but keeps looking at me. I start masturbating. 'Just watch me', I beg. She looks down on me, in both senses. I can't say whether she pities me or despises me more. In the background of her eyes, there is something that I cannot discern: is it a trace of arousal?
I'm not to find out as I ejaculate, she takes her eyes off my penis, looks at me in a way that I do't know how to interpret and closes the bathroom door
'Thank you', I say before she leaves the flat.
She goes about her own business, pleasure, kicks. I am philosophical, relaxed, a little bit thrilled about the new life that lays open in front of me. There is a place in it for her - and always will be - but she's in retrospective now, or so I think a lot of the time (I don't want to talk about other times now).
The other day I took a bath in the middle of the day. She was getting ready to leave for an appointment. Or a hot, mid-day love and sex session. She wants something from the bathroom and when she enters I have an erection.
'Touch me', I ask on the spur of the moment (and the erection).
She looks at me clinically, curiously and coldly. 'No', she replies, but keeps looking at me. I start masturbating. 'Just watch me', I beg. She looks down on me, in both senses. I can't say whether she pities me or despises me more. In the background of her eyes, there is something that I cannot discern: is it a trace of arousal?
I'm not to find out as I ejaculate, she takes her eyes off my penis, looks at me in a way that I do't know how to interpret and closes the bathroom door
'Thank you', I say before she leaves the flat.
Friday, 26 February 2010
'Win me over!'
We're still together. For our daughter's sake. I'm growing colder and more indifferent - which feels good 0- towards her by the week, by every date she secretl goes to.
Only now and then, a wave of emotions attacks me. Sometimes I give in.
Like on the day when she spent a lot of the day at home. I was there too, sending emails to do with my new venture. She looked beautiful and sweet. Good memories came back: the secondary school days, our first holidays together, her summery scent and more and more; guilty memories came back too: how could walk away from her without a word, how I left her in the rain with a cruel word, how I hit her, how I was stone-cold when she cried in front of me. I realised that whatever she does to me now pales into insignificance compared how I was killing her youthful love to me all those years ago. And I forgave her and I loved her again.
I held her in my arms, 'Whatever you do, I'm mad about you!'.
'Imagine I'm free now. Win me over!'
For a second I sense the potential excitement. Then I remember a text she sent me over Christmas. About her heart beating like mad at the thought of the old times. About her longing flying to all corners of the world... and another one I found a few days later in her mobile. To him. Saying the same.
I smile and leave the kitchen where - for fun - I ended on my knees before her.
Next day I have a feeling that she's texting him, meeting him and making love to him just as before. No proof but a feeling that on that front what changes is another of her private re-interpretations that she thinks are her private thing, and she doesn't owe it to anyone, even those involved, to share them. So he carries on thinking she loves him like crazy, and she loves him like crazy when she's with him. Only when she's away from him, her love-thoughts walk their own secret paths.
And something snaps inside me. Again. I go to her room. 'You bitch! How dare you play with me like that!'. I leave. And she hates me more than ever. I will never play her game. I wish she would never offer me to play it. All I want for us from this affair is truth. I'd rather meet her once a year in truth than have her every day in this painful fiction.
Only now and then, a wave of emotions attacks me. Sometimes I give in.
Like on the day when she spent a lot of the day at home. I was there too, sending emails to do with my new venture. She looked beautiful and sweet. Good memories came back: the secondary school days, our first holidays together, her summery scent and more and more; guilty memories came back too: how could walk away from her without a word, how I left her in the rain with a cruel word, how I hit her, how I was stone-cold when she cried in front of me. I realised that whatever she does to me now pales into insignificance compared how I was killing her youthful love to me all those years ago. And I forgave her and I loved her again.
I held her in my arms, 'Whatever you do, I'm mad about you!'.
'Imagine I'm free now. Win me over!'
For a second I sense the potential excitement. Then I remember a text she sent me over Christmas. About her heart beating like mad at the thought of the old times. About her longing flying to all corners of the world... and another one I found a few days later in her mobile. To him. Saying the same.
I smile and leave the kitchen where - for fun - I ended on my knees before her.
Next day I have a feeling that she's texting him, meeting him and making love to him just as before. No proof but a feeling that on that front what changes is another of her private re-interpretations that she thinks are her private thing, and she doesn't owe it to anyone, even those involved, to share them. So he carries on thinking she loves him like crazy, and she loves him like crazy when she's with him. Only when she's away from him, her love-thoughts walk their own secret paths.
And something snaps inside me. Again. I go to her room. 'You bitch! How dare you play with me like that!'. I leave. And she hates me more than ever. I will never play her game. I wish she would never offer me to play it. All I want for us from this affair is truth. I'd rather meet her once a year in truth than have her every day in this painful fiction.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Long time, no hear
You may have been wondering what's going on.
Have they made up? Has he snapped and stabbed her and her lover? Or has he packed a suitcase and left for the Brazilian interior, where internet cafes are scarce?
No, none of the above. Something much less exciting - unpaid bills. I've been off-line for those few weeks. The good news is that the money to pay the bill was earned by my modest self. A week ago I started my new venture and - apart from a bottle or two of good wine - I was able to pay a couple of bills and look my ex-wife straight in the eye, financial-wise, that is; and just for five minutes. My income over the last few months has been close to nil, I'm afraid. Not that I have wasted all the time.
I've been working on a few ideas, out of which at least one can become a long-term venture for me.
Anyway, a lot of updates are coming your way soon:
1. She challenges me to 'win her over'
2. I go mad
2. I nearly lose everything, family-wise
3. She celebrates St Valentine's Day - for an hour with him, myself - waiting for an hour for her to do something planned all day
4. She moves out for a week
5. I call her mother
6. His birthday (she puts on a beautiful, sexy dress, I drink 4 beers and a bottle of good Bordeaux, to survive it)
7. Summary of our dozen or so 'contracts', none of which respected.
The spring is close, all is very dynamic, keep your fingeres crossed (though I don't know for what outcome).
Write to you soon.
Have they made up? Has he snapped and stabbed her and her lover? Or has he packed a suitcase and left for the Brazilian interior, where internet cafes are scarce?
No, none of the above. Something much less exciting - unpaid bills. I've been off-line for those few weeks. The good news is that the money to pay the bill was earned by my modest self. A week ago I started my new venture and - apart from a bottle or two of good wine - I was able to pay a couple of bills and look my ex-wife straight in the eye, financial-wise, that is; and just for five minutes. My income over the last few months has been close to nil, I'm afraid. Not that I have wasted all the time.
I've been working on a few ideas, out of which at least one can become a long-term venture for me.
Anyway, a lot of updates are coming your way soon:
1. She challenges me to 'win her over'
2. I go mad
2. I nearly lose everything, family-wise
3. She celebrates St Valentine's Day - for an hour with him, myself - waiting for an hour for her to do something planned all day
4. She moves out for a week
5. I call her mother
6. His birthday (she puts on a beautiful, sexy dress, I drink 4 beers and a bottle of good Bordeaux, to survive it)
7. Summary of our dozen or so 'contracts', none of which respected.
The spring is close, all is very dynamic, keep your fingeres crossed (though I don't know for what outcome).
Write to you soon.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Heaven?
Emmylou Harris sings The Rose of Cimarron. I cry.
With me are the truth, wisdom, beauty and sadness of it all. The last one seamlessly turns into sweet peacefulness.
If you’re happy to be wise enough, you don't expect anything, nor jude; you are patient and have hope. At this moment, I don't, I am and I have.
What do I know about how I hurt her? About the days she pensively and lonely looked out of our window at the same church spire I am now? About how she longed for a smile, touch, gesture I never made?
In a way, we could be in heaven now: no wife, no husband, just love; it does not matter who it's directed to - we're brothers and sisters, after all.
A long time ago, when I found about her ‘verbal’ romance with an old colleague, she told me: ‘I was writing this (it was all via Skype and emails)to you really.’ I laughed at her.
But perhaps she was. Isn’t it the same qualities, regardless of person, that we treasure and seek in others and can’t live without: understanding, sensitivity, gentleness, compassion, admiration – because deep down we know we deserve it? The principle is the same, the details and circumstances change.
And the bodies - well, they are similar too (give or take an inch or two).
She's not mine afer all - I didn't create her. I met her when she was a beautiful, independent, intelligent young woman. And she chose me based on a promise, hope and a committment - none of which I kept fully.
So why be angry at her for what she should have done ages ago? Why not wish her all the best? She's given me so much, I should be nothing but grateful.
As to what I gave her - how can I be in a position to judge that?
I couldn't give her what made her happy. And I wasn't getting what I needed. I had acted as if I wanted to call it a day and she called it a day.
All the best, darling.
With me are the truth, wisdom, beauty and sadness of it all. The last one seamlessly turns into sweet peacefulness.
If you’re happy to be wise enough, you don't expect anything, nor jude; you are patient and have hope. At this moment, I don't, I am and I have.
What do I know about how I hurt her? About the days she pensively and lonely looked out of our window at the same church spire I am now? About how she longed for a smile, touch, gesture I never made?
In a way, we could be in heaven now: no wife, no husband, just love; it does not matter who it's directed to - we're brothers and sisters, after all.
A long time ago, when I found about her ‘verbal’ romance with an old colleague, she told me: ‘I was writing this (it was all via Skype and emails)to you really.’ I laughed at her.
But perhaps she was. Isn’t it the same qualities, regardless of person, that we treasure and seek in others and can’t live without: understanding, sensitivity, gentleness, compassion, admiration – because deep down we know we deserve it? The principle is the same, the details and circumstances change.
And the bodies - well, they are similar too (give or take an inch or two).
She's not mine afer all - I didn't create her. I met her when she was a beautiful, independent, intelligent young woman. And she chose me based on a promise, hope and a committment - none of which I kept fully.
So why be angry at her for what she should have done ages ago? Why not wish her all the best? She's given me so much, I should be nothing but grateful.
As to what I gave her - how can I be in a position to judge that?
I couldn't give her what made her happy. And I wasn't getting what I needed. I had acted as if I wanted to call it a day and she called it a day.
All the best, darling.
Thursday, 28 January 2010
'Complicated Situation'
'It's a complicated situation', she answered, when I asked if he had someone - apart from her, that is. And she didn't add anything else. That was the day after I first found out about their sex. From a text message. (How I hate mobiles!)
By the way, minutes later I was running shirtless and bare-footed across my town, but about that - another time.
I've been thinking a little about what that could mean. I thought of quite a few situations:
He hates his wife, she hates him. But she's dying a slow death from cancer and he can't bear to leave her now.
She is completely cold sexually. And he obviously isn't.
She cheated on him first and continues to do so.
The marriage is practically defunct due to massive differences in characters, but they've decided to stick together for the sake of their little wheelchair-bound son.
She makes his life hell, but he works her father. And is overpaid.
Then a few less usual ones sprang to mind:
His wife works as a cook on a nuclear submarine boat and disappeares - literally - for months on end. He did all he could to remain faithful, but eventually gave in after two weeks.
He'd love to be frank and tell his wife, so that their unhappy, childless marriage could end at last, but he's afraid she'd kill him: every time he tells her about his infidelities she gets so turned on that she torments him with sex sessions lasting days. It took him a month to recover - and he barely did - last time.
He hasn't had sex for 2 years with his wife as any attempt at it could kill her. For a reason unexplained by science yet, seeing or feeling him naked makes her laugh so badly and for such a long time that there's a real danger of her dying out of exhaustion or lack of oxgyen.
At their wedding, his bride asked him to write down on a piece of paper his most secret dream connected with their marriage and announced solemnly in the presence of all the guests : 'I take all of you as witnesses that I'll do all that is in my power to make my husband's secret wish come true'. What he had written was, 'I'd love to have an extramarital affair at some point.' Then, being an extremely honourable person, she forced him to make his dream come true, despite his desperate protestations.
His male partner - they're in a civil partnership - would never forgive him if he left despite the fact that he should after he's recently discovered his heterosexual side, which has taken completely over. The problem is they've adopted five poor children from Mozambique (Madonna, whom they contacted, agrees to take only two from them in case of divorce).
Soon after the wedding, his 'wife' turned out to be an alien spy that terrorises him into providing her with detailed information on the nature, mind and habits of humans. Due to complete impossibility of their interaction both emotionally and sexually, he's bound to seek comfort elsewhere.
By the way, minutes later I was running shirtless and bare-footed across my town, but about that - another time.
I've been thinking a little about what that could mean. I thought of quite a few situations:
He hates his wife, she hates him. But she's dying a slow death from cancer and he can't bear to leave her now.
She is completely cold sexually. And he obviously isn't.
She cheated on him first and continues to do so.
The marriage is practically defunct due to massive differences in characters, but they've decided to stick together for the sake of their little wheelchair-bound son.
She makes his life hell, but he works her father. And is overpaid.
Then a few less usual ones sprang to mind:
His wife works as a cook on a nuclear submarine boat and disappeares - literally - for months on end. He did all he could to remain faithful, but eventually gave in after two weeks.
He'd love to be frank and tell his wife, so that their unhappy, childless marriage could end at last, but he's afraid she'd kill him: every time he tells her about his infidelities she gets so turned on that she torments him with sex sessions lasting days. It took him a month to recover - and he barely did - last time.
He hasn't had sex for 2 years with his wife as any attempt at it could kill her. For a reason unexplained by science yet, seeing or feeling him naked makes her laugh so badly and for such a long time that there's a real danger of her dying out of exhaustion or lack of oxgyen.
At their wedding, his bride asked him to write down on a piece of paper his most secret dream connected with their marriage and announced solemnly in the presence of all the guests : 'I take all of you as witnesses that I'll do all that is in my power to make my husband's secret wish come true'. What he had written was, 'I'd love to have an extramarital affair at some point.' Then, being an extremely honourable person, she forced him to make his dream come true, despite his desperate protestations.
His male partner - they're in a civil partnership - would never forgive him if he left despite the fact that he should after he's recently discovered his heterosexual side, which has taken completely over. The problem is they've adopted five poor children from Mozambique (Madonna, whom they contacted, agrees to take only two from them in case of divorce).
Soon after the wedding, his 'wife' turned out to be an alien spy that terrorises him into providing her with detailed information on the nature, mind and habits of humans. Due to complete impossibility of their interaction both emotionally and sexually, he's bound to seek comfort elsewhere.
Was He Nuts Or...?
Probably he wasn't. For a moment I felt ashamed at the type of person my wife chose for - or let become - her lover: he comes to MY place and demands to see me and is agressive, to boot. Surely, he must be a nutter, criminal or the worst kind of chav, I thought. And was sorry for her and embarassed by her judgement.
(Strange: on the one hand I want her to have a crap lover, firstly - so that she gets dissapointed and starts missing me, comes back on her knees ... and I say 'No', at least at the beginning. On the other - I still feel that whatever she does reflects on me: she should have a lover I could proudly walk next to! If you know what I mean. Do you?).
Then I realise that he decided to defend by attack, which adds up in view of his apparent stategy: to deny everything (''We're just friends'', said one of his texts). The problem was he didn't know how much I knew: that my wife admitted to the affair and that I 'intercepted' some texts that actually didn't leave much to admitting. So his line of defence was to pretend outrage at my 'false' accusations. In this context his visit makes sense - he was so 'upset' by what I had 'suggested' that he decided immediatelly and forcefully to clarify the matter and reprimand me for even suggesting such a possibility.
So what to me seemed a completely mad or vulgar step, was for him part of a calculated, well thought-out plan. Kind of, as he seems to have forgotten to do his homework.
Will it be the mistake that may cost him his sweet lover?
Something will happen soon.
(Strange: on the one hand I want her to have a crap lover, firstly - so that she gets dissapointed and starts missing me, comes back on her knees ... and I say 'No', at least at the beginning. On the other - I still feel that whatever she does reflects on me: she should have a lover I could proudly walk next to! If you know what I mean. Do you?).
Then I realise that he decided to defend by attack, which adds up in view of his apparent stategy: to deny everything (''We're just friends'', said one of his texts). The problem was he didn't know how much I knew: that my wife admitted to the affair and that I 'intercepted' some texts that actually didn't leave much to admitting. So his line of defence was to pretend outrage at my 'false' accusations. In this context his visit makes sense - he was so 'upset' by what I had 'suggested' that he decided immediatelly and forcefully to clarify the matter and reprimand me for even suggesting such a possibility.
So what to me seemed a completely mad or vulgar step, was for him part of a calculated, well thought-out plan. Kind of, as he seems to have forgotten to do his homework.
Will it be the mistake that may cost him his sweet lover?
Something will happen soon.
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