Love is like a boomerang

I bounced back with a snap, like a hastily removed condom.

Went to see the Stone Roses and didn’t see a whole lot of anything but hot photographer guy’s closed eyelids.

We made out in the tightly packed crowd and I lost all the rest of my friends and his camera had run out of battery so there were no flattering pictures but I took him back to my place anyway and we desecrated my love-bed with passionate, unfeeling, but passionate sex.

He gave me insanely good head. Insanely good. He told me I was stunning, he told me I was amazing, he told me I was so hot and so sexy… I didn’t even need him to go down on me, compliments are so much better.

I rebounded all over him and then I saw him again accidentally on Saturday night and brought him back here again after a drunken row with my best friend who was staying with me. FINE GO HANG OUT WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND YOU ARE JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER!


My best friend took this moment to tell my poor rebound guy (well, I think he counts himself pretty lucky actually) that I am a sex addict.

“SHES A SEX ADDICT!” She bellowed, as if this was going to put him off me or something.

It was all fine the next day, she luckily wasn’t raped or murdered wandering the streets of Dublin on her own with that much whiskey in her veins, and she went back to a house full of cool people she had been dancing with, so it was all fine the next day.

I took him back and on the way in the door, drunk as I was, I felt the first pangs of what am I doing?

I thought I was moving on, moving on, cool, breezy, ready for the next lover.

But I’m not. I’m ok, really… And the sex (of course I went through with it, I was horny…) was great, but…

I started to see HIS face again. I felt weird, like I was betraying him. Maybe it was because the first night with hot photographer guy, I hadn’t heard back from my French lover and I was building up a wall of he wasn’t worth it anyway. But the next morning, Friday morning… I got a message from him, at 6.30 am, saying he loved me and he was so confused, and he didn’t know what to do… that he needed time to get his head together and he was so lost but he needed me to help, to say what would be right….he would be so happy with me, but it might be too difficult…

So when I took hot photog back to mine on Saturday night… it wasn’t the same. There was a Frenchman back in my head and my heart, and it wasn’t his dick between my legs. It felt wrong and I felt bad. I’ve cheated on people before who I was actually going out with and felt nothing like the creeping guilt I felt on Saturday night, and then three more times on Sunday morning.

The sex was good, it was good.. I was fantastic if I say so myself. He told me several times.

“You are so good at doing that… so good at sex.”

Yeah, I am. I really, really am.

But I want to be doing it with my French boy-man. I want his face on my belly, looking up hopefully.

I want him and I didn’t really stop wanting him. I’m ok now, really I am. The crazy has left my system. I’m over the withdrawal symptoms, the panic, the hopelessness.. But the love, or the approximation of love, whatever it is when you’ve known someone a month… it remains strong and it wells up inside me.

I eventually kicked hot photog out on Sunday afternoon because my friend was coming over and I thought in light of our previous whiskey fight, it wouldn’t be so cool if he was still there.

And then he left and she hadn’t arrived yet and I missed my French lover… I ached for him with a dull ache, not the madness of last week, but a manageable ache. A hunger that doesn’t impede my happiness, but a distinct hunger…

I found him online for the first time since he left, today, after I got home from work.

We exchanged pleasantries- he’s doing well on paper, new job, new place… but in reality he’s just ok.

I’m good… but I miss him.

I replied to his email yesterday and threw out a lot of contradictory statements about wanting to be with him but it being too crazy for me to move to France when I don’t speak French or have any money… and so forth.

I don’t want to scare him off with the fact that I would move to a leper colony and wash leprous asses for a living if I could be with him, so I’m being like yeah I’d like to but I have to be sensible..

I don’t know how much he is doing the same thing.

But we spoke today and he does seem to be quite defeatist about it. Sure we would not be happy where he lives. I want him to explain WHY but I don’t want to ask WHY so much or I will appear like I don’t get things and maybe getting things is something he likes about me.

I told him I would rather try seeing him once, and then another time, and then maybe another… and at least know I tried, than never try anything just because it looks difficult. He told me he needed a cigarette and when he came back he told me he couldn’t talk so he would talk later.

Hmm, important conversation here… I have a feeling he is curled up in the foetal position chain smoking right now trying to find a way to just put his foot down and say definitively NO because he is scared of how big it would be if I moved over.

Groan.. I don’t WANT to move over, I want to have that as an option and just continue spending whatever time I can with him, a weekend here and there… jesus, it’s not too much to risk…

Regret the things you didn’t do, and whatnot.

Says she of the failed marriage with a complete douche and four wasted years in Italy. Good point. Good point.

But he says there’s no point in spending a weekend together… of course it would be wonderful but it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe life will throw us another chance some day…

And I’m just like… oh fuck…

Life isn’t some mystical entity that bestows happiness on you. Life is dumb and uncaring and sometimes beautiful, and it doesn’t give anything, we sometimes just get opportunities to make our own happiness and we can either seize them and squeeze out as much juice as we have strength for, or we can shrug and move on and regret it later.

Life doesn’t give a shit if I’m happy or not, but then it won’t stand in my way if I try to reach out and take something I want. And it won’t laugh at me or shake its head if I make a mistake, or the same mistake a hundred times. It’s just life, it’s a fucking playground, and there aren’t always second chances but if you shy away from things because you don’t know if you’ll get a second chance or not, or you’re afraid of making a mess… you won’t do anything wonderful, ever, probably.

Or maybe I’m wrong. I have done a lot of stupid things…

But here I am, richer for having done them, and no scars except maybe the sex addiction thing, although that was probably just a mean thing my friend said. Although when you fight with your best friend, she does have the best ammunition…

So I’m waiting for a message, again. this time I’m pretty sure there’s no hope, but I’m ok, I’m chilled. I know now that I can get through it, and I can have fun, without this man… this intruder into my life.

I’m not ready for a new one, though. I shouldn’t really string him along, he does seem to like me quite a lot. And I like him, but he’s competing with another man, a man I am quite insane for… he can’t compete.

I asked him at the concert, does it not bother you… we met while you were taking pictures of me kissing another guy? And he said “he’s gone, right?” and then when I nodded, he shrugged and went back to kissing me.

But it aint that simple, he’s gone but he’s not forgotten. It’ll take a while, and first I really, really, really need to know if it’s over…

I don’t want to fight for someone who isn’t fighting for me… but I don’t even know what kind of internal battles he has going on right now. His independence versus constant sex. I don’t know how he thinks… he told me he purposefully didn’t reply to my email for a week because he thought it would help me move on. So why didn’t he just let it go and let me move on? And if he doesn’t want me to move on why is he telling me now, that it will be too difficult? Stop deciding everything for me! I want my voice to count, I want to feel like I have a choice here.

I have to wait again now, until he comes back online, and is ready to tell me… I’m so sure it will be no.

But I still have the little bit of hope that he will be just as foolish as me and say yes.

But whatever he says to me, I know I will be ok, and I won’t just be ok in some misty future… I have got through the really awful time and I am not going back there. I can take it on the chin this time. I have a backup guy to use awfully if I get lonely.

I’m a dick, I know.

But the oral was amazing.

A ma



I do need more of that, hot dog I DESERVE it.

But I miss my Frenchman. I can’t even give him a fake name because his name is great, it’s just HIM. It’s magic, when I hear it or read it or say it, it brings him back a little bit.

I’m having some hot whiskey now but not in a depressed way, in a kind of post-work way.

I’m not going to have nay more because I need to be in sound mind for when HE comes back online if he does.


I want to tell him he doesn’t have the right to decide how or when I move on, he can only make those decisions for himself. And if I want to make things harder for myself I have the right to do that, and if he wants to join me then he is more than welcome, and we’ll know we tried. I’m not asking for him to lift me up and carry me through France on his shoulders, I’m just asking for a weekend of sun and wine and lovemaking so he can leave me at the airport and we can know we tried something, and if I’m there and I see he lives too far from a city for me to EVER get a job and pay my own rent there (I will not live with a man no matter how in love I am, not for a while anyway…) then maybe I’ll know there’s no point, but I don’t know that now. Right that’s my last bit of whiskey I am having, there is quite a lot left because we were greedy and thought two bottles wouldn’t be enough for three girls, so I can have more if I want but I don’t want….

I’ll let you know how I get on BUT I won’t cry or anything.


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