Saturday, 16 June 2012

Self-sabotage

If you want to ruin the end of a perfectly good date, do this
  • notice the time
  • think: 'Virgil will not be interested in having sex with me now'
  • remember that he has to leave at 8am the next day and that I won't see him this weekend
  • feel sad and resentful
  • frown and glower
  • get noticed doing it
  • refuse to explain, but then say: 'I'm just sad that we're not really having sex at the moment'
  • et le voila!
What I want to say is this: 'Goddamnit I just want to have sex with you, Virgil. I want to make love and to FUCK YOU. I want you to want me passionately. I want your cock to be hard for me. I want to be deeply, physically, sexually close to you. I want to be able to forget about all the painful stuff and the difficult things and just be naked together and thinking only about that for an hour or two. Dinner and a show, spending time with you walking and talking and planning a holiday together: it's lovely but it just doesn't touch that other need. I am aching for... IT!' 

This would at least have been honest and not just a complaint but I can't get the words out. 

'Look, I'm not having sex at the moment - with anyone - I'm just working. I haven't even masturbated,' he says, to prove just how little he is thinking about sex. Then: 'You make me feel worthless. We were having such a nice time. I'm going to bed and I think you should leave.' I would have too except that I'd told my brother that he could have his bed back last night and it would have been too sad. I stand with one shoe off and one shoe on talking, explaining, reconciling. Virgil accuses me of sabotage. I say that it's not intentional but it's not easy to see him. 'Can't we just be kind to each other?' I say. There are numerous moments of tension and sadness when we are together which have to be surmounted, like when the woman at the box office where we are picking up tickets asks me to confirm my postcode. 

This morning I spoil it again. I cannot return his smiles, affectionate words and gestures. I lie awkwardly and make myself all angles and bones. I'm cold and sad. I say: 'Seeing you once or twice a week isn't enough for me. I've been missing you too much. You need to make more of an effort to schedule time with me because if you don't I will make other plans. I will not wait for you to decide whether you want to see me.' Yes, I'm complaining and it's a way of taking out my hurt on him. It's a sneaky way of being angry with him without actually shouting. I want him to be kind but I'm not being kind. Yes, I know: it's totally fucking petty and childish. He has to work this weekend. Why spoil the time we have together?

I wish I could stop myself but although I might not shout I cannot conjure affection and softness. It's so obvious with me; I can't fake it. For everything that I say about wanting to live with an open heart, when the moment calls for it I don't seem to be able to. I dress quickly, say: 'Have a successful day,' and leave. I walk back to my brother's through a sunny, silent housing estate. I'm crying but it's early and there's no one around. I think: 'Perhaps we just shouldn't see each other for a while,' but that's not what I want.

Earlier, in response to a direct question Virgil has told me that he is hoping to go on a date with Sarah next week. I just nod. I have a date myself the day before but it is a first date and I am not ready to share. Later, knowing that this is not healthy behaviour but unable to resist, I look briefly at her Twitter feed. She seems happy, chirpy. There is a direct Tweet from her to Virgil of a picture of some disgusting kind of instant food. I think about what a miserable bastard I am.

Staying open-hearted and loving while adjusting to living apart is going to be really hard, really just as hard as it's going to be navigating our open relationship. I've never done this before and honestly I don't know if I'm up to it. There must be a bigger woman inside me but at the moment she's hiding and won't come out.

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