On becoming far less mentionable.

Each subsequent evening that I spent with each man unfolded in very different ways. Each evening was, however, very stimulating. Neither man could completely satisfy me as I desired, but combining these men was the perfect solution for most of my needs – for the while, at least.

Of course, neither man knew of the other, though I would never offer exclusivity to either one. It was something that remained unsaid. I was not devious. I would not withhold information of my whereabouts to either one, but I simply wouldn’t mention keywords such as: “sex”, “date”, “dinner” or “oral sex” to either one. I did not lie, but I did not explicitly offer up the truth. I wondered why I should – I never classed myself as anything but single & therefore in my mind I validated my actions. It was not my fault that it should so have happened that events with each unfolded almost simultaneously. Though I had the power to stop these events I thought to myself that it was just how luck would have it – & I would certainly cash in on this luck as it suited me.

So, on the one hand we have Familiar-Stranger aka So-Agreeable-Someone. For ease, let us call him Mr. S.

Mr. S. is seemingly intelligent, friendly, very agreeable & capable of falling into gloriously deep conversations about the unfathomable (the best kind of conversations).

After our initial meeting, we go home to our separate beds, having exchanged numbers (& a little saliva) with the view to arranging a date. I wake the next morning to find an obligatory text message from him, saying how lovely it was to meet & I in all sincerity tell him that such feelings are reciprocated.

On the other hand we have Stranger #2. For ease, let us call him Mr. C.

Mr. C. is young &, I suspect, a little wild. He too is agreeable & friendly &, I further suspect, hides his intelligence beneath a veil of Class C smoke. After our initial meeting we go home, together, to his bed, having exchanged a lot of saliva (& later, of course, a lot of far less mentionable things.). I wake the next morning to find that I ache. We exchange numbers. He tells me he’d like to see me again & in all frankness I tell him that usually that’s not how things work, therefore I shall not be making the first move nor shall I be holding my breath.

The Overview

Same weather – same outfit.

Same city – different scenario.

Different bars – different drinks.

Same me – same time.

Different men – different relationships.

The bits I hardly dare share & a map of the moral low-ground: part 2

I think that it was early January. It was still bitterly cold outside & any evenings out – even those where heavy drinking occurred – required a warm jacket.

I’d been invited to a friend’s work-do. She wasn’t well-acquainted with many of the folks going so I was there for moral support. We started, somewhat awkwardly & soberly, in a bar that neither of us was overly familiar with. My legs were on show, but the weather begged I wore a little more on top as well as some sheer tights – minimalist protection against the freeze.

We were drinking spirits – the sure fire way to become a little more spirited – when I leaned across to my friend, who I had known since school, & whispered to her that I was sure that I recognised one member of our party as being from our home town. She agreed. I noted that he was not brash or loud but he was clearly at ease in the company of this mismatched group.

Whilst huddling together & smoking quickly to fight off the frost’s chill we asked the familiar stranger if he was indeed from our home town. He was. A little older, but he had gone to the same school.

The night wore on, the drink flowed & our party became all the more jovial with each bar that was visited.

Familiar-stranger, my friend & I chatted enthusiastically & animatedly about school days, teachers & general home town life. After some time I noticed that my friend had sidled out of reminiscing & was tactfully leaving us to it. After a little more time I began to notice that familiar-stranger was unpretentiously intelligent, good natured & very agreeable. We had a lot in common, too.

I also noticed that he liked me, a lot. & I think that I liked him. Though I was not immediately attracted to him he was certainly what I was looking for in a man.

“Oh.” Thought I.

The bits I hardly dare share & a map of the moral low-ground: part 1

Sometimes, my life tends to take on the feel of an episode of ‘Shameless’. These are the opening scenes:

I think that it was early January. It was still bitterly cold outside & any evenings out – even those where heavy drinking occurred – required a warm jacket.

A drink with two of my loveliest girlfriends started off in the usual fashion & at the usual bar. My legs were on show, but the weather begged I wore a little more on top as well as some sheer tights – minimalist protection against the freeze.

We were, of course, drinking cocktails – I’m sure I was on ‘Love on the Rocks’ but I might just be being fanciful now – when a colleague of one of my girlfriends joined us, along with two of his friends – both strangers to we three. One of these strangers was probably our age, quiet & I noted his moderate good-looks. Stranger number two seemed younger, also fairly quiet & I noted the dark circles beneath his eyes – a sure sign that he preferred to smoke something a little stronger than tobacco.

The night wore on, the drink flowed & our groups seemed to drift to different bars together & then eventually to the disco with the stickiest floors, cheapest drinks & best music in town.

The boys had a table whilst the girls danced. The boys imbibed a little more & soon they were teetering on the edge of being well-oiled enough to join us. It was at this point that someone informed me that Stranger Number Two did not know how to dance. I took this claim in earnest & with no other purpose than considering myself to be the dancing queen & spotting an opportunity to show off I dragged Stranger Number Two to the floor & began to instruct.

It was only as he pulled me close, hands wandering, that I realised the Stranger Number Two was actually not as clueless in the field of dance as had been made out. His friends’ motives were plainly ulterior ones.

It wasn’t like me not to realise that something such as this may occur but this was not anticipated. It was pleasant though.

‘Excellent.’ Thought I.

Coming soon...

'The Bits I Hardly Dare Share & A Map of the Moral Low-Ground'

But admitting your past mistakes & even in some ways trying to justify them - to yourself, if not to others - is a tasking thing. You begin to question your own character & morals. Though I personally have never been out to hurt anybody, I have through my own cowardice, bad judgement & plain selfishness been a terrible person at times.

This aside, I cannot say that I have not had fun. I have had frolics & flings that even make me blush on remembering them from time to time (I realise I sound like a middle-aged lady here - but what's wrong with that?).

In the next installment I will try to be as honest as possible, as I believe that's the key thing, & should anybody judge me on that then that's only fair, however, past is exactly that & all we can do is take from it, learn & move forward.

Now, I shall away to think about just how poetic one can make ones silly mistakes & dirty deeds sound...

A slice of thought from late winter

Perfect. Everything about his personality is what I would wish for in any friend, & any potential bed-mate. He’s intelligent & talks in a tone edged with wisdom. He is clearly a thinker. Though what is it that doesn’t sit quite right when he tells me with enthusiasm: “Oh, absolutely! You’re so right there – nobody else can make you happy, it’s down to the individual!”?

I struggle to tell whether his zeal comes from finding someone who shares his opinion on self-fulfilment, or whether he is aiming to flatter me.

“You seem as though you have it all figured out.” he says, with just a hint of awe that softly jabs the pit of my stomach. I feel embarrassed. I do have it figured out, don’t I? 

On paper, he is perfect. He ticks all the boxes. So why, oh why, can’t I appreciate how pleasant our evening has been; how refreshing it is to speak with someone who is on the same wavelength? He clearly is, yet I constantly have this underlying feeling that something is missing. He puts me at ease, yet I think that ease is exactly the problem. He does not challenge me. I feel no stir of apprehension. There is no niggle of doubt that this person may prove me wrong. He would simply concur & discuss the point further, as though it were fact.

I’d like to explore. I’d love for someone to have a point of view that was new & exciting. Sure, you have to share opinions & views on some things – there must be common ground – but wouldn’t it be wonderful for someone to come along & say “Well Gwin, what about this…” & completely blow my mind, or even divulge something that would get me a little riled – just a little though.

There is the other extreme: somebody who is so engrossed in their own viewpoint that – though they believe themselves to be open-minded – they have been blinkered for so many years that they don’t even realise it.

His opinion is fact – or so he strongly believes. He is self-righteous. So intelligent, it’s true – yet marred by his inability to open up with relative ease to any other view than that which has been hammered into him throughout his lifetime. Of course, some of his thoughts are admirable & quite agreeable, yet even those are often put across with such antagonism that one finds it hard to take anything positive from them.

He is, as you would expect, fragile inside. Someone who needs to be loved & who I sincerely hope will be, one day. Despite his declarations of “I know what your problem is, Gwin…” & when he warns me via text message: “Don’t you dare question my intentions, Gwin.” (I slam the phone down in agitation & choose not to respond) I doubt that he really does know what his own intentions are – yet, at least – let alone what my problems are.

It is ironic perhaps that the So-Agreeable-Someone, who is seemingly much less forthright, is most probably in possession of a braver heart. He has just as much character hidden in his depths as the Antagonist, yet it is something totally different, something made of stronger stuff. This doesn’t necessarily make him better, but it is certainly notable.

Either way, perhaps part of my dilemma is that I would prefer somebody whose true character is not buried underneath a pile of variations on their theme. Somebody who – in a very clichéd way – wears their heart on their sleeve; is true to themselves; can look before they leap. Okay, I digress on that last point (though it is always useful to be prudent). 

Yet this person should not be too naïve, oh no! That is not a trait that attracts me to a man, quite the opposite in fact. He should be wise, yet there should be no smack of pretention. This, I have discovered, is incredibly hard to find – perhaps nigh on impossible – but I hope to goodness that there must be some who are pretty close. A rare species I am looking for; but for a close cousin I may settle.

So, we know now that intelligence is a must – an intelligence that is upstanding yet wise enough to be polite; that allows room for revision but that can be influential & true enough for others to shift their view should they find it profound. Well, it’s all very complex, let me tell you; all very specific.

So, am I being just as closed minded as those I frown upon when I think that what I’m looking for has to adhere to such strict guidelines? I fear that I am in danger of becoming a little blinkered myself. Though I try to remain open to the possibility that somebody could take me entirely by surprise & be everything I could ever need, yet nothing I had previously wished for, I hope that it is in fact because I know myself reasonably well, that I realise just what it is that I need & therefore I wish for these things.

I could still be completely wrong though.

Briefly

On looking over past ponderings - files from the 'single episode' - I realise that the things that you think are so very significant at the time often turn out to be the happenings of least note.

Though I realise that looking back we often don our cliche-tainted specs, I also see that tiny details which seem so irrelevant at the time most often amount to everything that we had not expected & sometimes all that we now hold most dear.

It never happens the way you think it.