Thank you for all your advice after my last post.
After this post, I’m going to try and go back to what I do best, and talk about
b) my vagina.
My feelings for Andrew are deepening. It feels like standing up straight on the edge of a skyscraper. The world looks so different and special from up here, and I never thought I was capable of climbing so high, until he showed me the stairs and took my hand. It’s exhilarating but… fucking hell, it’s a long way to fall.
Is he going to let go of my hand?
The more scared of getting hurt that I feel, the more forensic my analysis is, of everything he says and doesn’t say. And then, the more my blog posts become a transcript of who said exactly what, and when, and how closely that matched with my expectations of who would say what, and when, and to be honest, I’m even boring myself.
I started writing an update, in response to all your advice, but it was getting really fucking dull, so I thought I’d boil it down to the basics:
- I was worried about it seeming like every time we meet up, I bollock him for being shit, so when we talked, I tried to frame it as “these are some things I’ve realised I need, because of my past and insecurities,” instead of “stop being so shit.”
- I described how I’ve really tried, since we last talked, to keep my end of the deal and make the first move more, come to his side of London, and be less guarded in my texts
- making the first move has made me feel insecure
- I’ve also felt insecure because we’ve barely seen each other over the last few weeks
- It’s probably not great timing that he was in court over the last week, and inevitably off the grid more, at the same time I was feeling insecure
- It feels like some of the things we previously talked about are still an issue
- I described the times in particular when I felt like a dick – when we couldn’t meet on that Wednesday, and he didn’t reply to my nice message, and then on Saturday morning, when I had sent him the drunk photo of my breasts, and he didn’t send any follow-up to the word ‘nice’.
- At first, he went straight onto his phone to examine the evidence of the alleged crime. He is a detective, after all. He re-read the Wednesday message and said “Yes, I should have replied to that.”
- He didn’t see the problem with his response to the drunk breast message. He thought I was obviously busy having fun with my friend, and wouldn’t want to hear from him, and that he did say ‘nice’.
- I really think when he doesn’t reply, it’s usually because he thinks I’m busy and doesn’t want to bother me, or underestimates how good it feels to hear from him
- Then, he looked at me and saw how I upset I was, and it was like he completely lost interest in examining the evidence – he believed it was a problem because I said it was
- He said, “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better. I WILL be better.”
- He said sadly, “Do you really think things haven’t improved at all?”
- I thought about it and said, “well, the two concrete things we agreed were – you wouldn’t leave me dangling with arrangements anymore, and to be fair, you haven’t done that. You did tell me in time on Wednesday. The other thing was replying to texts – I mean, I can see there are times when you’re obviously thinking about it a lot. And even with this court case, as soon as it started winding down, you were phoning me a lot more, but… there were still messages that required a reply sooner.”
- He agreed. He said he was still getting used to this part of being in a relationship.
- I explained that one of the things this time was the frequency of messages, and that wasn’t something we had specifically discussed before.
- He said, “I think in previous relationships, I’ve been used to being in touch less, and maybe that’s not a good thing.”
- We held hands across the table (we were in a pub, having dinner together) and I said, “I’ve realised going out with someone who does your job is going to be really hard. Really hard.”
- He said, “It has been really busy lately, like, there’s been a spike.” I think he wanted me to understand that it wouldn’t always be this hard.
- I walked around to his side of the table and we hugged. Up til that point, I’d been a bit standoffish.
- We hugged for a long time and it felt really intense. He hugged me tightly.
- “I’m not trying to exploit your insecurities or anything!” he said.
- I said, “I know. I was just opening with some warm-up material about my insecurities so you wouldn’t feel like I’m bollocking you.”
- I said, “I feel like this phase in a relationship is one of the hardest – coming out of the honeymoon period. Because I have real, proper feelings for you. But it’s not like we have a real, stable foundation and history for sorting out problems. Now is the kind of the time when we might actually decide it won’t work.”
- He nodded and said, “I’m scared of getting hurt too.”
- He looked really serious, and it seemed like maybe he was grappling with whether to say something. He was blinking a lot.
- He said, “well, you know I love… your body. You don’t have anything to feel insecure when you send me photos. You’re beautiful.”
- In other situations I might have felt a disappointed he just commented on my appearance, when we’d been talking about deeper things. But I had a strong sense that he had been toying with saying something more substantial, but got scared
- I said we should eat our food, which was going cold, and went back to my seat.
The rest of the evening was nice. We gossiped about our friends, and talked about work and all kinds of other things.
We went back to his. We were in the kitchen, and he was making me a cup of tea. We started kissing, as we waited for the kettle to boil.
Before long, he had turned me around so we were facing the same way, and had bent me over the sink. I was wearing jeans and a strapless top. He had one hand in my jeans, and one hand on one of my breasts. I don’t know if it was because I’d missed him, or because I felt close to him after our talk, or because the kissing was so good, but I pretty much started coming as soon as he put his hand in my knickers.
Something about doing it in his kitchen felt very racy as well. Having my breasts out by the sink.
Ages ago, I told him that I kind of like it if the man is a bit mean, and maybe stops and then I have to beg them to carry on.
On this occasion, a couple of times he stopped and said, “you should drink your tea.”
He thought he was being a maddening tease, but actually, I couldn’t have been happier to have a break to drink my tea.
I love sex, but tea is tea.
We went through to the bedroom and carried on. My period was in full flow, so I got the Official Period Towel out of my bag and put it on the bed.
His belt had been strewn across the bed.
I thought I’d quite like him to tie me up with that.
Then, he asked tentatively if I’d like him to tie me up with it. It was something we had previously talked about, so it wasn’t too much of a coincidence that we both thought of it at the same time.
He had already taken most of my clothes off, and then he very gingerly tied up my hands with his belt, and tied me to his headboard.
I was loving it, but after a few minutes, he said he wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable.
He tried to carry on, but I said, “Hang on, you said you’re not comfortable. Tell me what’s happening?”
He said he wasn’t sure if I was comfortable and was worried the belt might be hurting my wrists or that I couldn’t properly consent to things he did, and it didn’t feel right.
I told him to untie me and we hugged. I thought it was so cute that one minute he was being so masterful and making me beg, and the next minute he couldn’t enjoy the sex in case I wasn’t comfortable.
After that we had more normal sex. Even though I had already come in the kitchen, he spent ages giving me oral, even though it was my period.
Once we got onto the penetrative bit, we did a few different positions and we didn’t use a condom, as it was the start of my period so it would be impossible for me to get pregnant. We came at about the same time, in my favourite position. We were both incredibly sweaty by the end, even though the weather was turning cooler.
He shot off to get some tissue from the bathroom, as it was a bit of a blood bath because of my period.
A while ago, he had asked me how I feel about the guy coming on my breasts or hair, or whatever, at the end of sex. I said it could be quite hot, but there was a fine line between it feeling sexy and feeling humiliating. I told him that once, I had found it quite hot, but then the way that my ex-boyfriend handed me the tissue to clean myself up afterwards, made me feel humiliated. However, if he had given me some tissue and then helped me clear it up himself, it would have felt nice.
I don’t know if he was bearing this in mind, but Andrew came back with some tissue from the bathroom and promptly started cleaning up the semeny menstrual blood from my legs and crotch area. It felt a bit weird, but also really tender and lovely. I felt like I should return the favour, and while he tended to me, I took some of the tissue and tried to clean my blood off his penis.
After the worst of the menstrual detritus was cleared up, we lay and chatted in bed, with limbs intertwined. He ended up squeezing the back of my neck in a way that made me feel instantly relaxed and sleepy. It reminded me of how rabbits go into a trance if you turn them upside down.
In the morning, I was on annual leave (after my stressful Cornwall holiday, my boss suggested I take another week off, if I had enough leave, because I have been feeling burnt out at work). He didn’t have to go into work until later.
We talked about the contraceptive implant, which I was getting later that day (I’m planning to write another post about contraception).
Even though I was about to change to a more reliable method of contraception, we talked about what we would do if I got pregnant by accident.
I said I would keep it. Now I’m in my thirties, that decision feels right.
My period had been slightly late (not even late actually – my cycle is between 25 and 29 days, and this month it was 29.) There was one day when I thought about how I was feeling absolutely exhausted, a bit sick and my breasts seemed bigger than usual.
We have been a bit Catholic in our approach to contraception recently. Sometimes Andrew loses his erection when we’re faffing around with the condom, so I say, “do you want to just put it in for a second, without a condom, to get the ball rolling?”
Then we’re both like, “we should really stop and put a condom on. In a minute though.”
I tried to remember if we’d done that when I would’ve been ovulating, and started thinking about what I’d do if I was pregnant. Even though, deep down, I knew I wasn’t.
I thought that I would keep it, and that might mean I end up being a single parent as I’ve only known Andrew for 5 seconds.
When I said this to Andrew, he got a bit freaked out.
He said, “I wouldn’t make you do it alone. I wouldn’t make you raise my child – our child – on your own.”
He said, “I think I might want kids, but it’s such a big commitment – I would want all the stars to be in alignment first. But, one day, the stars might be in alignment with you.”
I think most people reach the conclusion that the stars will never be in alignment and do it anyway, but it gave me a warm feeling that he thought it could be with me.
“Anyway, I thought you hate children!” he added.
“Sometimes I over-egg the child-hating a bit. There are some children I like. I bought a book about a ladybird for Leona’s baby, and she liked it.” Then I added, “I guess I do have an evolutionary urge to replicate my DNA.”
He said, “that’s so maternal.”
I said, “And, I suppose… and I mean, this is just off the top of my head, I haven’t thought about it until literally just this minute… but I think if the stars were in alignment, you’d be a really good Dad. I mean, you’re so caring and gentle, but also you’ve got a strong sense of right and wrong, so you wouldn’t just let them do whatever the fuck they want. You’d raise good children.”
He returned the compliment and said he thought I’d be a good mother.
Then we had some more period sex.