Welcome back to another episode of disappointment, regret and general discombobulation. This week had a major turning point in my relationship with myself in so many ways that I’m not entirely sure I know who I am any more. But also, I’ve not felt more like myself in quite some time. Have a read along whilst we unpack the foibles of having a midlife crisis in your late 30s whilst being severely in denial.
You heard about Monday in the last post so it turns out he meant his place. I’m totes up for that, I just need to make a plan in my head to get back to work Thursday morning. He does it everyday so why shouldn’t I be able to, right? If I leave his at 5, I can get in to work just after 6. Leave at 6, still get there early enough to not have an issue. I wouldn’t get there until between 7pm and 8 so it would make sense to stay over, but I also can’t presume that I’d be invited to stay over. Ok, so I’d need an overnight bag that didn’t look like it was an overnight bag so that he didn’t think I’d automatically think I’d be staying over. All of this is doable, and actually quite simple when you think about it. I packed up the backpack on Tuesday morning with fresh underwear, a dress for the morning and I had thought about a change of clothes for the evening but that would go against the chill vibe I was going for.
Throughout the day on Wednesday there were a couple of messages, he’d had a bit of a shitter at work so asked me to pick up some beers on the way up. No issues there, he also asked if I wanted any ciders I’d left at the yard from a previous visit. I said yes, thinking ookkkaaayyy I can do one with food and drive but if I went for a second I’d have to make it clear I wasn’t going anywhere after that. I’d found a potential way to tell him I wanted to stay over.
I took the drive up, stopped at a shop on the way to get beer and a couple of nice ciders I know he likes. I had a quick freshen up in the supermarket bathrooms, totally normal in my head at the time. I got to his around 7, called to ask about parking, he came out and met me. It was awkward only because I can be an awkward duck at times. I honestly feel that I’m my own worst enemy in social situations. We went up to his flat and to be totally real, it’s a proper bachelor pad. He’s happy and content and it shows. It was clean but there was laundry drying, there were parts from machines he was fixing on the tables, there was beer cans lined up on the countertops. I’m not saying this in a judging way, I’m saying this in a he’s clearly comfortable around me to show me his life way. And I was loving every minute of it.
We chatted for a bit, he showed me the laptop and I got to my normal lets get this working way. He went off for a shower, asking first if I minded, “of course not, it’s your home”. He spent a couple of mins wandering around in his boxers suggestively and I took the bate a couple of times but it was brief for sure. He showered, I got some logins sorted, got the wifi connected, the usual bits you do with a new piece of tech. Obvs I have a bit of a mooch around, not like in to the bedroom or anything but just enough to get an idea of who he is. It’s a proper bachelor pad. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, I’m probably more jealous than anything else.
He gets out of the shower, he gets dressed, he have a cider and a beer and chat absolute shite for hours. We have a smoke or two or three or possibly five. I lost count. I was having a great time. We’d given up with the laptop, given up with the tablet and stylus. As far as I was concerned we were just having a joke and a toke, a drink with a mate. We had some silly fireplace YouTube on in the background, food was cooking somewhere and it was chill. Like, actually proper chilled. For the first time in such a long time, I felt relaxed. I felt like myself. I felt like I didn’t have to pretend or have a guard up or have some fake smile on. I wasn’t walking on eggshells or covering my face or fiddling with my hands or making awkward small talk.
I’d gone passed the point of being able to drive home, and lets be honest, I could have stopped whenever I wanted. I chose not to. I chose to have a 2nd cider, to have a another smoke. None of what I did was coerced in any way and none of what I did had any other connotations other than that I was having fun. Looking back, there are things I regret and there are definitely ways of things that I regret doing. That’s not great English but what I’m trying to say is that I cringe when I remember the sex. I wince when I remember the awkward goodbye in the morning but I don’t regret staying over.
We ended up staying in the same bed, there was foreplay and actual sex. Not great sex, but I had good time. Twice. Still not sure if he did, I need to find that out without actually asking ’cause that’ll be the 2nd time I’ve had more fun than him. I’m not complaining but I am a touch suspicious. I didn’t sleep much at all, the FitBit said something like 3 hours but that’s a crock of shit. I’d be lucky if it was an hour. I sacrificed being semi-on time for work for another hour in bed. That’s where it all went wrong.
