Should I Stay Or Should I Go?After reading these stories, all I can say is that I'm very, very lucky.
I'm lucky in the fact that I don't love him.
Although, I'm listening to Phil Collins (one of his favourite artists) and contemplating what would happen if I did.
Here is the brief scenario:
Two friends sat at the bar, irritated by the fact life seems to want to beat us with a ten-foot bargepole whenever we try getting back on our feet again. We sat with apprehension, waiting patiently for the band to set up, a stereotypical four-piece band, or so we thought. And there he was, the first time I saw him, a scrawny little thing standing next to a saxophone about half his height, smiling his cheesy smile with greying hair.
A saxophonist! I thought, curious as to what he might be doing playing in a rock band, out of all things!
And so the music started, and within a few minutes of his beautiful, amazing, soulful music, the intervals pleasing and the execution much like how he screws me; passion-filled, artful, desperate, pleasurable. In fact, within a few more minutes, I felt the need to remove every article of clothing in a slow and seductive manner, to tease him, to please him, to have his hands and mouth on mine.
I walked up to him, making excuses to talk to the guitarist while keeping him in my view. Finally, I had the courage to say "Hi" to him. This was the first time I had ever frozen, more still than a statue, while having a conversation with a potential suitor. And that just meant that I stared at him for half a minute with silence between us. His only word being: "Hi" in the most, and I strongly emphasize this, the most adorable Irish accent. I looked away hastily after giving him an indescribable grin. And then I looked back, God forbid, to see him still staring at me. We chuckled a little.
During the break, I walked up to him and sighed, finding my words, and asking him: "Before I embarrass myself any further, do you have a partner?"
He looked away from me for an infinite amount of time, trying to find his words around something. "It's complicated." He settled with.
We made more small talk before I broached the subject again, unrelenting in my search.
"Well, yes, I'm married. But... We're not together- we're separated." He looks at me again, wincing a little.
Naive, little me shrugged. "That's not at all that complicated."
He tilted his head side to side in a shrugging gesture.
The next break, he asked me to check on his car with him, to which I agreed, knowing full well the implications of what he was saying. He cornered me in this small room in the bar, kissing me like a maniac, declaring how much he needed me, how much he wanted me. (Hm... turns out either I was shorter than I thought, or he was taller than he first appeared. I fitted, and still do, perfectly in his arms and he was tall enough to tilt my head considerably to kiss, but at a reasonable height, so I don't have to pull him down too much...) True, I could feel his desperation, in many ways, but I didn't feel ready. Nothing else happened that night.
The next night, I came back dressed to dance, so in an actual dress. He comes up behind me, puts a subtle hand around my waist, whispering behind my ear: "I had a pleasant dream about you the other night." I giggled inappropriately. Especially after he said to me that, quote: "You look beautiful tonight. Not that you didn't look beautiful last night... I mean." I just pulled him close to me and kissed him to shut him up. I'm not exactly the most merciless of people.
Since then, he has been many of my firsts. The first time I ever was in anything resembling a relationship, the first time I had/gave oral. He took my virginity. He made me *ahem* (kids, kids). First time using the back door. First time I took a guy back to my flat.
Others have cautioned me- "You're going to fall in love with him." "You don't know what you're getting into."
I'd admit to the latter. The former, I'm dubious about.
And the other night, he slept with me, metaphorically, not literally. I never let him stay the night and he doesn't desire it either. That was until that night.
"I want to stay the night," He started, looking searchingly at my face. "But I have things I need to do, and a gig tomorrow."
My heart had a mini heart-attack. "Fair enough." I responded, and he laughed at my somewhat man-like response. I was just relieved that he couldn't stay the night.
Then I found out that he was going on a tour around the other side of the country, with his wife and two kids. Oh, joy (!).
What should I do? A) Continue screwing him, knowing he could be lying to me about his family situation? B) Stop screwing him?
What are the chances that I would develop deep desires to spend the rest of my life with this man (! Shoot me first!)? Is he lying? How should I balance this lifestyle? Is it worth the amazing nights he gives me?
Ladies (and gentlemen), you have more experience than me. I leave my fate in your hands.
P.S. Yes, it was a "Clash" reference. ;-)