Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Time out and living arrangements

Virgil took me to the mountains in France. We had a lovely time swimming, walking and eating good French food. Virgil drove us around the narrow mountain roads. I swallowed my car sickness and tried not to get too annoyed by his terrible driving (he hadn't wanted to share it). 'You are the worst backseat driver ever. I don't want your advice, ok?' he says finally, shortly before smashing the passenger-side wing mirror.

'Virgil, I love mountains!' I tell him many times. 'Listen - you can't hear ANYTHING and the air is so fresh. It's just peaceful.' Pine trees, olive trees, crazy insect chirring, clear water rushing through gorges, the breeze.

This morning we flew back to the rainy city. I haven't been home yet. I'm on a late shift at the scandalous rag, suitcase by my feet. I'm not exactly itching to get back. A few days ago I decided to move out as soon as I can find somewhere. You can like someone and not be compatible living together. Tomorrow morning I will tell Luz that it's not going to work. I'm going to choose my words carefully and hope she will understand that there are no hard feelings but that it is the right thing to do.

I want a home really badly now. I need somewhere of my own to feel good about. I was impossible last week: I turned up at Virgil's full of resentment and sadness. I threw my old housekeys on his floor, then cried and asked for them back. 'It's as though I never lived here,' I said, ignoring the chest of drawers that I forgot to take with me.

Virgil had had a date with Sarah the night before. I worked until 1am. He didn't tell me exactly but I suspected. It felt pretty shit. At least, I felt annoyed and upset. I buried myself in my work - I was on a deadline. It was easier than waiting for him to come home. Having something of my own to do felt better although it still hurt.

He was painfully solicitous and I, knowing why, was brusque. I asked him if he had seen Sarah and he said yes. I asked why he hadn't told me when our agreement was that we keep each other informed about situations like Sarah. Virgil says: 'I told you I was going 'out' last night.' I say: 'Is that the same as saying 'I'm going on a date with Sarah'?' I almost lose my temper. He apologises.

He gives me a brief update on her. She's living temporarily with her new boyfriend. They hardly have time to see each other between now and September. I say, 'So are you dating?' Virgil says: 'I don't know. Nothing has been said. It's dating light, I suppose.'

I have dates in the pipeline. There is Tim, who has now split up with the friend-who-became-a-girlfriend and has his flat to himself once more. There is an idea that he will cook me dinner next week. Oliver the dominant has been too busy but is clear that he wants to meet (and play d/s games) in a few weeks. Both of these men can supply things that Virgil cannot. I have an intense love for Virgil which is untouched by this. I still don't know if I can do an open relationship.

In France I watch Virgil splashing through the river. He is bright white in the sunshine. He looks frail and boyish. I am in thrall to him. There is something unique and wonderful about Virgil that just totally pierces me. I feel equally frustration at his weakness and near adoration for his strength.

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