For Ever or For Now
We had sex eleven times. For a three and a half month- long relationship, I found that pretty pathetic. I mean, maybe if I'd wanted to make him wait or something, but I just don't have that kind of self restraint. To be honest, I don't really have any self restraint, or self control. I'm pretty much ruled by my whims.
And in the end I did fall in love with him. But we came from completely different backgrounds. I come from a tribe of polygamists whereas he was steeped in monogamy and "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Don't get me wrong, if you're looking for multiples or whatever, I'm not your girl. My ancestry is more than enough to put me off that stuff. I don't do open relationships (except when I really have to), and I don't cheat (unless I'm really pissed off). But I'm not subject to the green eyed monster and I've been known to get wandering eyes.
He got jealous. I never did anything wrong, well, nothing really wrong, but he still got pissed off. To me that's actually quite sweet. I mean, on occasions it did annoy the hell out of me. But he went for that macho I'm-not-gonna-show-any-of-my-feelings thing so it wasn't ever too outwardly obvious. It was just there when I talked to a guy and he'd interrupt his own conversation to come and protectively put his arms around me. It was only there in little things like that.
We were good together, our personalities were so similar, it was just where we were coming from that was so starkly different. And our sex drives. Mostly we didn't really see each other, but when we did I was just about ready to jump on him, whereas he could take it or leave it. That I couldn't understand. It wasn't that he didn't like it, its just sometimes he couldn't be that bothered. Being too lazy for sex is a startling concept for me.
On most levels he understood me, and he respected me. He seemed to like who I am. I cared about him so much and I loved him. But it was the wrong kind of love. He's the type of man I'll marry, but he isn't the type for right now. That kind of understanding, is the kind that you build houses on and raise children. It isn't the kind of tepestuous relationship a girl fits into the months before she goes to uni.
There was a lot left unsaid due to my inability to speak my heart, cos've my utter fear of anyone getting too close. And also due to his stupid male pride. But we got along. He didn't open me up and most of the stuff I got out of him was simply from being fluent in the art of manipulation. But we worked. It was rocky, and sometimes it wasn't as fulfilling as I'd have liked. But none of that lessened the number of tears that fell when it ended.
The girl he marries won't be me. She's called Claire and she's the closest I've ever come to jealousy. I only met her once, but heard about her much more than that. I was sitting in the pub when I met her. She was pretty, very pretty, but in an ordinary way. They had a banter. It didn't worry me, I was happy just to sit back and watch.
He wanted me. That I understood completely, finally. He liked the Chinese thing, and he liked having me around. But like he's my forever guy, but not for now, I was his for now, and she's his forever. She'll stick around, get a job locally, be the wife, get his slippers. I can't do that. He'll keep my memory as the independent opinionated girl that he cared for, but he won't keep more than that. We're too different in our goals.
I can't do the slippers, and I can't do the cooking around an aga or whatever else they decide in an eccentrically coupley moment, it would be nice to buy. I'll just have to live with missing him and remembering that it's happened once, and can happen again. I can be tied down, and I can forget for a while who I am. He taught me that I could love so for that I'll be eternally grateful. He may forget me, but I can't forget him. Not now, not ever.
And in the end I did fall in love with him. But we came from completely different backgrounds. I come from a tribe of polygamists whereas he was steeped in monogamy and "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Don't get me wrong, if you're looking for multiples or whatever, I'm not your girl. My ancestry is more than enough to put me off that stuff. I don't do open relationships (except when I really have to), and I don't cheat (unless I'm really pissed off). But I'm not subject to the green eyed monster and I've been known to get wandering eyes.
He got jealous. I never did anything wrong, well, nothing really wrong, but he still got pissed off. To me that's actually quite sweet. I mean, on occasions it did annoy the hell out of me. But he went for that macho I'm-not-gonna-show-any-of-my-feelings thing so it wasn't ever too outwardly obvious. It was just there when I talked to a guy and he'd interrupt his own conversation to come and protectively put his arms around me. It was only there in little things like that.
We were good together, our personalities were so similar, it was just where we were coming from that was so starkly different. And our sex drives. Mostly we didn't really see each other, but when we did I was just about ready to jump on him, whereas he could take it or leave it. That I couldn't understand. It wasn't that he didn't like it, its just sometimes he couldn't be that bothered. Being too lazy for sex is a startling concept for me.
On most levels he understood me, and he respected me. He seemed to like who I am. I cared about him so much and I loved him. But it was the wrong kind of love. He's the type of man I'll marry, but he isn't the type for right now. That kind of understanding, is the kind that you build houses on and raise children. It isn't the kind of tepestuous relationship a girl fits into the months before she goes to uni.
There was a lot left unsaid due to my inability to speak my heart, cos've my utter fear of anyone getting too close. And also due to his stupid male pride. But we got along. He didn't open me up and most of the stuff I got out of him was simply from being fluent in the art of manipulation. But we worked. It was rocky, and sometimes it wasn't as fulfilling as I'd have liked. But none of that lessened the number of tears that fell when it ended.
The girl he marries won't be me. She's called Claire and she's the closest I've ever come to jealousy. I only met her once, but heard about her much more than that. I was sitting in the pub when I met her. She was pretty, very pretty, but in an ordinary way. They had a banter. It didn't worry me, I was happy just to sit back and watch.
He wanted me. That I understood completely, finally. He liked the Chinese thing, and he liked having me around. But like he's my forever guy, but not for now, I was his for now, and she's his forever. She'll stick around, get a job locally, be the wife, get his slippers. I can't do that. He'll keep my memory as the independent opinionated girl that he cared for, but he won't keep more than that. We're too different in our goals.
I can't do the slippers, and I can't do the cooking around an aga or whatever else they decide in an eccentrically coupley moment, it would be nice to buy. I'll just have to live with missing him and remembering that it's happened once, and can happen again. I can be tied down, and I can forget for a while who I am. He taught me that I could love so for that I'll be eternally grateful. He may forget me, but I can't forget him. Not now, not ever.
Labels: Being the Duck, Past tense, Poetic licence
