Sex

Time to say goodbye...

I managed three days without contact. I was doing so well. No phone calls, no texts.

I managed three days without contact. I was doing so well. No phone calls, no texts. I was going cold turkey, trying so hard to do you all proud. All your wise words and comments on my last blog had given me the courage to tell him goodbye. Thanks to you, I told myself I deserved to be more than just a booty call. I knew withdrawing would be hard... I just didn't realise how hard. I had grown so dependent on him without even noticing. I’d become addicted to the rush, and the anticipation of not knowing when I would see him again was both exhilarating and terrifying. Like when you hand your bank card over at Sportsgirl and you have no idea whether you have enough cash in there, but you take the gamble because this season’s maxi is more than worth receiving the “It’s declined” speech. I trembled, shook and sweated through those first three days. My housemate, Tim, took custody of my phone and stood strong as I begged for it back... Day four, I caved. Tim had left for work, leaving my phone on the bed. I picked it up and I called him. I knew it would take him exactly 17 minutes to reach my apartment from his office. Instead of racing around transforming myself into bonafide sex goddess (do guys actually believe we lay around the house looking like we belong in a Victoria’s Secret ad?), I stayed in my comfies and decided that if I couldn't ditch him, then I was sure as hell going to get some answers.. That was the plan. It went so well in my head. He was smiling as I opened the door. God, he could end wars with that smile.
“Look we need to talk... I...” I launched straight into my well-rehearsed speech.
“Yeah, we do, we need to talk about how much I’ve missed you and how I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered into my hair as he bent down and tilted my face to his.
“Tara, you’re falling for it...” I inwardly cursed. And fall I did. I fell right into into my bed and out of my jeans. Afterwards, while he was showering, I lay very still, tears rolling out the corners of my eyes, while I wondered how I could have been so naïve. A little blue light from his phone caught my attention from amongst our discarded clothes. I found it bizarre it was just left there; usually he always has it within arm’s reach. I picked it up and looked at the screen. Text message: Michelle. My heart stopped.
Do I? Don’t I? Do I?
Now of course I know it’s wrong to message-spy, but what would you in my situation?
Surely now was not the time to take the moral high road. I press READ. “Babe gonna b L8. Pik Cory up from school. Mince in fridge for dinner. love u xx” I could hardly breathe as he explained everything to me. Yes, he was married. Yes, he had a son.
No, he didn’t love me.