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I like sex

  Tue 8th April 2014

Thursday afternoon and I am in the pub with Richard, my friend who slumped through my NYE party with a bottle of Jack Daniels and self-torturing memories of his deceased wife. A girl I haven't seen for many years is wandering about. She's good-looking, late thirties, and trouble, but quite interesting trouble. She is going up to people, apparently at random, and striking up conversation. It's our turn to receive a visit.

"Hello," he says. "Y'right?"

"Yes I am," I say. "How are you?" She has a practice of avoiding certain questions in a way that perhaps she thinks makes her seem mysterious, and she says nothing.

"You won't remember this," I continue, "but do you remember that little night club underneath the Kings Arms? Called The Crypt. You and me've been on a dancefloor together there several times. About fifteen years ago." She doesn't remember me of course, one long-forgotten bee amongst many who have circled her. And then, all of a sudden...

"I like sex."

I lean in towards her and tilt my head towards her. She said it again, more slowly. "Yes, so do I!" I reply. "Write down your email address," she says.

I give her a foreign address I use when some social distance might be judicious. "You Polish bastard!" "Ah! Not many people get that it's Polish. Anyway, drop us a line."

She folded the piece of paper up, looking at me. Of course, I have heard nothing.

Saturday night at the house music do in Lytham, with Trina. I've been going for more than three years now, and it feels like walking into a friend's great party. Very sociable and Trina was flattered that a few people came up to her and had a little word, remembering her name. The hotel gave us this huge room, overlooking the gardens. Really good sex in the morning.

The following afternoon, back home, we started on a beautiful South African dessert wine we got from the tasting at the High Commission. I made a quiche and Trina did the salad. Tess arrived, tired but adrenalined from work. Tess said the salad looked like something out of those books from the 80s called All-Colour Cookery, and suggested we go out for a drink.

Trina was getting drunk, banging her glass of beer down at a noise level which was starting to worry me slightly. I let it slip who had won The Voice (a singing contest on the TV). I remembered a second too late that she had asked me not to tell her who won. She went on and on about how thoughtless I am. Tess said "You are pissed off, but you want the argument as well, don't you?" She's got a perceptive head on her young shoulders.

To my relief, Trina asked for the key, and went back to mine. Tess and I ended up in this indentikit provincial gay club, with a trannie DJ playing shite pop music. I left her at about 2am and heard her come in at 7.

I got home; Trina had taken all her stuff and driven home. There were a couple of emails and texts, telling me that there is only one person in my life, and how she feels battered and bruised, how she's learned a lesson, and so on. After a bottle of wine and five pints, I judged it prudent to respond in a sensitive and reconciliatory way.

It's been great, our times together, but you're too moody and tempermental for me. I want a simple, straigthforward, easy, unthinking girl, and you are not her. I can't be doing with all this fucking drama. I love the things we do, but the aftermath is too much. I can't be arsed with it all.

Last night, at 10pm she sent an email saying that she was in "floods of tears." I replied "I'm going to remember some of the best times of my life with a kind, generous, sexy, funny woman, who was a great dancing partner too. I'm not the one for you but I'll always be fond of you and want nothing more than your happiness. All the very best X"

I'm relieved this has finally happened. It wasn't right, morally. It was exploitative. I rang Kim and told her all about it. She was urging us to try to keep something going.

This morning, we had a careful conversation, and we've decided to continue with the plan to go to France next month, but as friends, and to see if that works. One night a few years ago, Seriouscrush said to me, "There are three little words I can never say." I'm now in the same position.


Comment from: smallbeds [Visitor]

Oof. France is going to be interesting, to say the least. I’d stick to the doux to keep a clear head, but I don’t think you’re likely to do that.

Tue 8th April 2014 @ 12:09
Comment from: [Member]

It will be. I don’t quite know what the Code of Conduct will be.

French “brut” always tastes pretty doux to me anyway. They don’t like it dry over there.

Tue 8th April 2014 @ 12:18
Comment from: Tony [Visitor]

I reckon you will be at it like rabbits by the second night :-0

Tue 8th April 2014 @ 14:06
Comment from: [Member]

Yeah, be a lot easier if I didn’t fancy her.

Tue 8th April 2014 @ 14:57

I think mid- to late-thirties is the sweet spot for a girl. Everyone wants a 20-year old but I can’t stand listening to them talk.

I used to like sex. Then it got tedious.

This is so close to the end, isn’t it? France should be interesting. I don’t believe for one second you can go as just friends. Neither do you, I take it.

That pic is pretty smart. Where’d you get it?

Wed 9th April 2014 @ 04:01
Comment from: [Member]

No, I think we’re deluding ourselves. Tony’s prediction will come true, and we’ll end up all confused.

The graffiti, which I agree, is a masterpiece, is on one of those telephone distribution boxes at the side of the pavement near the centre of Lancaster. Hope no-one cleans it off.

Wed 9th April 2014 @ 06:42
Comment from: PendleWitch [Visitor]

I’m a bit sad and a bit relieved. Hope you’re OK. In my experience, staying friends with an ex is harder than it looks, but worth it - hope it works out.

Wed 9th April 2014 @ 10:35
Comment from: Suzy Southwold [Visitor]

You two breaking up is getting a lot like Sinatra’s farewell tours.

Wed 9th April 2014 @ 14:48
Comment from: Jonathan [Visitor]

That’s a shame. Although at the same time maybe for the best all round. Like you say so much drama- it doesn’t sound- hasn’t sounded- like it is good for either of you really.

France though, I’m worrying about already. A robustly worded Code of Conduct arrived at during an officially minuted ‘Careful Conversation’ may provide ample assurances on paper, but will all its subclauses hold firm in the heat of a Breton night and with the signatories to the contract jointly and/or severally the wrong side of a couple of bottles of brut and/or doux?

I don’t know- all things considered this affaire on the banks of the Lune has ‘a continuer’ written all over it like the mid-section of a low-rent trans-channel Claude Chabrol trilogy (you can put that last sentence on the back of the book when the Trina story is published by Faber and Faber, you have my permission).

Fri 11th April 2014 @ 16:26
Comment from: gossamer beynon [Visitor]

I think Jonathan sums it up brilliantly.

There’s no point spoiling a trip to France though - hopefully with some French air and wine and general joie de vivre you’ll delay the inevitable and both have a good time.

Sat 12th April 2014 @ 06:15
Comment from: [Member]

Jonathan you are a more free flowing and more articulate version of how I would like to be. Claude Chabrol—I had some of the bext sex of my life with Frances once night after we’d watched Que la bête meure. Reverse cowgirl.

Sat 12th April 2014 @ 15:43
Comment from: [Member]

Hoping that the holiday in France becomes a pleasant farewell romp. When my Irish friend and i reached the end of our agreement - his girlfriend from Dublin was moving to the US - we had a rather glorious, decadent week. A week that we both reflect upon with smiles…

Sun 13th April 2014 @ 06:54
Comment from: [Member]

Good to go out with a bang, so to speak :)

Fri 18th April 2014 @ 22:27

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