The Tug-of-War.
I’m pulling away from One Ball. There, I said it. I’m creating drama for the sake of creating drama because there is nothing dramatic going on in my life and I don’t know why I’m doing that. But I am.
Everything was going so bright and breezy. There wasn’t any fighting, we were getting along just fine, everything was fine … and I got bored. I fucked things up.
We spent another awesome set of days together, laughing and watching movies and doing other things that regular couples do when they spend time together. We spent the whole of one day in our pyjamas, eating junk food, and we carried that through until nighttime, replacing the junk food with bottles of vodka (him) and spliffs (me). It was so lovely to just sit and relax and be chilled, not going anywhere, not moving too fast, not zooming off to work/back to base/to see family/whatever. We didn’t even need to talk to one another. Our time was filled with COMFORTABLE silences, him playing the Xbox and me tapping away at my laptop. It was like a proper couple situation.
But there was this niggling feeling in the back of my mind that I just couldn’t swat away. He’d pull me in close on the bed, snuggling right up, and I couldn’t help but want to put a little distance between us, saying things like, “It’s too hot!”. It was as though the room was closing in on me every time we got too close. A claustrophobic feeling, almost. I couldn’t explain it, and it’s not something I’ve felt in his presence before. I assumed it was just down to my weird mindset at the time – feeling down and the like – and tried to push it from my mind.
By the time dinner time came around, the feeling had completely subsided. We ummed and ahhed over what to have for dinner before then deciding that a McDate would be perfect (I was in the mood for a quarter pounder with cheese … or three). But I wanted to make things up to him a bit. I sensed that he’d picked up on my weirdness and pulling-away from earlier on, so I decided to put some naughty lingerie on underneath my jeans and t-shirt, and then tell him all about it once we were in the restaurant and actually eating.
“Psssst,” I whispered in his ear as he shoved French fries into his mouth, “I’ve got some underwear on under my clothes that I think you’re r-e-a-l-l-y going to like …”
And to prove my point, I lifted my jeans a little to flash a black fishnet stocking.
As predicted, the second we got back to mine after dinner he couldn’t wear to tear my clothes off. We fucked and we fucked and we fucked, and just as I’d hoped, he was every bit in love with the stockings as I’d hoped he would be. So much so, in fact, that I’ve decided to package them in pretty crepe paper, spritz them with a tiny bit of my perfume, and then send them to One Ball as a little surprise for when he’s back on his army base.
But once we were done with the fucking, that niggling feeling returned once again, dancing around and playing tricks in the back of my mind. He makes me feel a million dollars, but I also think there’s something not right, or missing, or … I’m not sure. But then when the next morning came around and he started packing up his things to leave, I was practically begging him to stay another night … and then maybe another one after that. We reached a compromise: he would stay for one more night, but then he definitely MUST leave because he has plans with his kids or something like that.
I was deliriously happy. I’d get to have great, passionate, fun sex for one more night, and I’d get to spend some more time with him.
But why, if I was so deliriously happy, was I also slightly disappointed that he’d agreed to stay with me for one more night? The feeling lasted merely a second, but it was definitely there. Disappointment.
This guy is virtually perfect in every way (if you forget about our bumpy start). Why am I feeling like this? If he’s done nothing wrong, why do I feel like something *is* wrong? And if I’m disappointed that he is going to stay for an extra night, why am I also super disappointed that I won’t get the chance to wake up with him on Valentine’s Day morning?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
