So OB is here tomorrow. I now have to do a full day at work rather than the half day I had originally planned. And I haven’t done a single thing all week. What does this mean? The great big tidy up.
I don’t know if this is a girl thing or a “me” thing but before he gets here, I have to clean my room to within an inch of its life. I have to change the sheets. I have to put Shake N’ Vac down and then vacuum. I need to polish. I need to do my laundry. And then dry it. And then put it away. I have to make sure all the sexy stuff is out and all the embarrassing stuff is put away. I need to clear my internet history and make sure none of my personal stuff is on show on my computer. And my iPad. And both of my phones. I need to make sure that I get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke from my room. And weed too.
I need to do a whole bunch of personal stuff too. I only managed to fit painting the nails on one foot yesterday so today I need to do the other foot. I need to de-fuzz my top lip which is going to be a tough job as I have just had my Medusa piercing done just yesterday. Just in case you don’t know what the Medusa is, let me show you:
I need to make sure I have no dark stray hairs floating from my chin. I need to make sure that I use the pedi-egg on my feet. I need to moisturize, exfoliate, de-hair, slightly fake tan and spritz with the right perfume. I need to choose the perfume. I need to find some lingerie that will be suitable enough to meet him in. I attempted to do a spot of kinky lingerie shopping today after work but once I had sorted out Number 9’s (The Prison Warden) stuff, and then met The Bestie I’ve Never Had a Dalliance With for a quick drink, I barely had time to fart, let alone shop for fucking lingerie. This week has been pretty hellish and it feels like I’ve had no real time to myself. Oh and we bumped into Number 4 (The Fireman) and Number 1 (The First Boyfriend) as we were out. What with My Mr. Grey and The Lapdog jumping at me out of the blue the other day, I’m starting to think something is seriously going on with my past love life and the fact that it keeps jumping out at me at every opportunity.
I have a thousand and one things that I really should be doing. As in really, really should be doing. What am I ACTUALLY doing? I’m smoking a joint and writing my blog. Because, you know, I got my priorities sorted. Speaking of my blog, I showed The Bestie the other day – just a couple of posts that I quite liked. He loved them. He actually laughed and he actually loved them. This made me a very happy bumblebee indeed.
On top of ALL of this shit, I decided this stressful, manic week is the one that I should make the transition from bubbly blonde to …. Well brunette. Humph. No offence to you guys, but I’m most definitely a blonde at heart. All of a sudden I’m a completely different person and everyone has mixed opinions on it. Whatever.
It’s just been one of those weeks I think, and I can’t wait to have OB here. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going off him but then I remember that I get to see him soon and I get over it. I think this is kind of a working compromise for me on the relationship front. He’s not here enough for me to find faults with him or to get bored of him so he keeps my attention. And he doesn’t fight with me either. For the most part it has been easy breezy. I’m still in discussion with My Mr. Grey of course. It’s just light conversation – we are both skirting around the big topic in hand I think. He has apologized a couple more times, but nothing substantial. I am, however, expecting a text from Number 4 (The Fireman) after our brief encounter this afternoon. It’s been a while since I last heard from him too. I think it’s on the cards.
I tell you what I did do recently, and I don’t think it was the best idea I’ve ever had. I was talking to OB about Number 24 (The Older Guy) and I decided to see if I could find him on Facebook. Oh dreaded Facebook! I DID find him and I sent him a light and breezy message:
“Hey! I was talking about you the other day and I thought I’d have a bit of a Facebook stalk and here you are! How are you? It’s been a long time! Hope you’re well! Not So Sex in the City!”
This was three nights ago and still no reply. He is fatter than he was when we dated. He is also losing some of his hair, which is a shame as he had lush hair. I remember running my hands through it a lot. He was a good lover. He was also very adorable. He’s not all that any more. He isn’t the same man.
I was 18 and he was 35. He was (surprise surprise) military. He ordered a pint of Fosters and said the line – “You have the softest stomach I have ever seen! Can I touch it?” I remember wearing a cute little cropped tee with some kind of flirtatious slogan emblazoned across my chest, which at the time with my smaller frame, looked fucking enormous.
It was the oddest chat up line I have ever heard. It worked though – I was totally unprepared for the confidence boost it gave me and I accepted his number on a beer mat. I was a little blonde thing and he was a hot older Soldier Boy with a beautiful motorbike and a fucking amazing smile.
We dated for about a year, all in all. On and off. Probably more off than on. It was naughty weekends here and there, perhaps the odd night out. It was fun though – we went on seaside dates on his bike and played afternoons away in the arcade, eating dinky donuts and walking around the tourist stores. He had the looks and benefits of being the older man, while having the mentality of someone my age. It seemed like the perfect combination. I was most definitely his bit of arm candy too; he used to show me off at every opportunity. He loved the looks that we got with our public displays of affection, and if the truth be told, so did I.
It was a very weird relationship and I’m not even sure we had a relationship. It was very complicated. He was divorced and had a daughter that was just 7 or so years younger than I was. That was the weirdest realization I had when we were together. I was stupid, thought I could actually have a future with this older man, but didn’t want to give up my 18-year old single gal ways. I definitely wasn’t faithful to him and I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t to me either – the baby he had after a year of us being together gave that game away….. That means he slept with her when we had been dating for three months. He changed as a person and we drifted apart, very fast and very sudden. There was no ending.
The sex used to be pretty good and I remember loving the way he kissed me. He had a beautiful set of pearly whites and he used to smile at me, mid-kiss, as though he couldn’t believe he had me. It made me feel very empowered, which at 18 is a good attribute to have, and he was stunningly beautiful. I remember that smile getting me into an awful lot of positions with him – the shower at his Mothers, the kitchen at his Army house… I did crazy things for him. One example – I used to strip in his car on the long journey up to his house and jerk off on the front seat. He encouraged me to be a lot more open about myself and how sexual I was. He was a good memory for me. As fucked up as our “thing” was, it was good for me and I’m pretty sure it was good for him too.
New Year, just after I got married, he emailed me and I called him from the other European country while The Hubby was in the shower. I’m pretty sure The Older Guy was drunk as he told me that letting me go had been the biggest mistake he had ever made…. Despite getting both of us married just a few months before. This sentence didn’t dwell in my head for very long – I don’t think I ever had genuine feelings for this guy. I think he was my older guy play thing and gave me some knowledge, a lot of confidence and one hell of a lot of sex.
I guess for now I should go back to cleaning my shit up and getting my act together. Thankfully I’ve had no more passionate dreams about The Big Love or complicated conversations with My Mr. Grey…. Let’s just write the past week off as a bad’un and start the new one tomorrow evening, when I get home from work and he is sitting on my bed waiting for me. Good times!