A Tune A Day

Time for another split-up with Trina. We had a drunken, sociable and dancey time at the house music weekender on the Fylde, but we ended up going home separately. She was very irritated at me telling some people that we were not together, which I suppose was a bit hardline of me, but I want to remain independent from her in others' eyes. That upset her and I was berated about it on the walk to the station, where I petulantly went and sat at the other end of the platform, telling her I'd see her at a unspecified later.

She sent me several texts that night, one of which reads "I'm so sorry your free jollies at my expense have ended. Walk out on me, treat me like shit, and expect me to treat you. More fool you. I dislike you now looby, in every sense of the word." The last sentence is a reference to the text I accidentally sent to her rather than Wendy, in which the words "love" and "Wendy" were used in place of "dislike" and "looby".

I've sent her a card, thanking her warmly for everything, expressing my gratitude for the way that she has made so many enjoyable nights out possible, and saying that those memories will be with me for the rest of my life. I apologised for this dogged insistence of mine on maintaining my discrete personal identity.

There is no better way to dispel an obsession with a woman than with another.

A month now since my first message from Trish. She has an effortless knack of turning me on, just by talking. Every conversation turns to sex eventually. We've spent three hours in two separate calls with each other today. In the more relaxed one this evening, after we'd both had a couple, we swapped sexual likes, and told each other about what unnerves us about our bodies when presented to another, a mutual attempt at pre-emptively quashing those anxieties, which I think only succeeds in drawing more attention to them.

I'm not complaining about anyone who tells me, "I love everything about you so far"; "Your talk is liberatingly crude"; "I wish I could be there now, and you could just give me a good servicing". Tonight I said I'd like to spend three days with her, sex mainly, in bed and all over the house. "I think I'm a bit unusual," she said, "for wanting sex so much," and proceeded to tell me about the first and last weekend she had with a previous boyfriend who couldn't get it up. She told me about her husband: together twelve years, and they only had oral sex once. "Oh no, that should be on page one of Tune A Day, shouldn't it?"

She drinks all the time. "I'm too pissed to answer you," she sent once -- at 4pm. In the long term, we'd be going to hell in a handcart together, each of us looking to the other to put the brake on our hedonism.

"What I'd like to do right now," she said yesterday, "is to drive to Lancaster, and you could give me a good seeing-to." Both of the lodgers have moved out, so we could have had the place to ourselves, but she'd already had a few. We're meeting in a pub in Preston on Friday. Snogging within the hour is the operational target.