Three weeks ago today, my boyfriend of two years, dumped me. The Ex, as he shall forever be known having wrested the dubious title from the unresisting hands of my last 'ex', decided that after two years and despite being late twenties, he just couldn't see himself settling down. He wanted to concentrate on his job/new house (eh?)/rugby/other women (the last one is imbellishment but he might as well have added it).
It wasn't completely out of the blue. I had felt for some time that things weren't right. We had started to do that thing where you hurl yourself full pelt into an argument without really caring what you're arguing about, and bait one another for the hell of it. Well, I had anyway. Also, the sex had lost its heat. I think this was mainly my fault though (fact: he took a cock ring on our recent holiday, I took a lot of novels and some pyjamas).
Still, it was sad. At one point I thought we were destined to go the distance, I really did. When things started to get weird I consulted my closest gf's and found that The Ex was in the Fuckwit Zone, a zone I actually had no experience of. It turns out that no less than three of the girls in my London circle had been with boys aged between 25 and 28 for years when suddenly, said boys had bolted citing fear of committment or 'just wanting to be single' as their reasons for stamping all over hearts and flinging them out of tenth floor windows. One after having lived with my gf for 7 years.
The Ex is 27.
I had become the victim of a stereotype. How boringly predictable. Still, I shouldn't have been surprised. Most of the girls I know here are single and in my life there are only two gf's who have made the committment thing work. D, who is happily married and pregnant with her second child and CM who is getting married next year, and for whom I am bridesmaid (the only bridesmaid but more on that another time).
The Ex thoughtfully dumped me on a Friday night so I had the whole of the weekend to indulge myself in heaving, pouring, unattractive sobbing (partly selfish, partly because I was genuinely going to miss him). By the Monday, I already felt a bit brighter, a bit more positive, a bit more 'hey at least I'm free to meet someone who actually wants me'.
On the Wednesday I snogged a Canadian. He was unexpectedly present when I met a gf for drinks and after she left, he and I stayed, got drunk together and discussed sexual tension quite a lot. I would have gone home with him that night but the tiny sober part of my brain was trying to sound an alarm through it's bath of red wine and I knew that would be the wrong thing to do. God that kiss was fantastic though. Urgent, highly sexual with just the right amount of soft lip-biting. Emails have been exchanged since but he's now in Thailand for a couple of weeks (no, really). I hope I hear from him but I'm not holding my breath. In my experience, snogging someone you don't know then leaving a gap of 2 weeks in which you don't communicate usually means both parties can't remember whether the other was as fit as they thought and decide it's best not to bother risking it. We shall see. I bet he'd be a fantastic lay, though. During a conversation about scars I got to see his stomach...brown, toned and smooth. God I could have snogged him right then. Plus his voice was incredible, sexy accent and very gravelly...horny enough during normal conversation but reduced to a hoarse whisper during sex... Jeez.
Anyway, the point is, afterwards I wasn't distraught. I kept waiting for the whole feeling of almost-cheating on my ex to wash over me, or at least the gut-wrenching sadness that he was no longer the last person I kissed to hit me...but it didn't. It made me think that maybe I was more prepared for this than I thought. Perhaps I'd almost gotten over him while we were still together. I certainly felt more like friends than lovers towards the end.
This last week or so I'd started to yearn. For attention, for flirting (I work in a virtually all-female, small office and live with girls whose friends are all girls) and quite frankly, for sex. Hence the email to Ad Man. Who, by the way, replied last night. Lovely, long, chatty email in which I learnt a lot of stuff I liked about him - probably enough to go on a date at least. The clincher is, I have yet to see a picture. I'm sorry, I know there's a certain superficial element at work here and I'm sure I'm at the age where I should be more interested in compatibility/personality/common interests/an ability to utter the word committment without having a panic attack but dammit I need the attraction! I've done the relationship with Mr Nice, the guy who (and I'm not kidding here) worshipped me. It was one long fantastic ego massage but I just didn't fancy him and no matter how well we got on, or how much I respected and admired him (I really did) he just didn't fry my onions and after a while I just felt cruel.
Anyway, I've offered to send him a pic of me (yuk - hate them all but needs must) in the hope that he'll act first. God I hope there's a mutual attraction, I really do. I just need to be wanted again. I don't want another relationship right now (unless it's with Mr Fantastic) I just want to be desired, touched, flattered etc etc. Yes, I am lacking in self-confidence and yes it's probably not the healthiest route to take but really, when have I ever chosen what was best for me?
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