Although I know me and Mr K and I ain’t in love, but should I be feeling as though I’m suffering from withdrawal? This is what I meant about him being like candy that rots the teeth.
The Young Mr K has continued to be scarce, but we’re not vex or anything. The minor dramas of last week were mostly PMS-fuelled. We’ve talked, or seen each other, however, for whatever reason, maybe the PMS-y vibes, we haven’t got together for more than passing conversation in more than a week.
Personally I think he’s up to some mischief, definitely more than just going to the gym and working on his car.
Last night, our conversation all took place at the front gate, him pulling my ears and stroking my upper arms, and accusing me of tempting him because I smelt so good, etc. etc. Since Friday night, he’s been promising to come over and hang out, but he never seems to get here.
“You know I’m leaving at the end of May.”
“What?!” Shocked! Truly shocked he was!
“I’m leaving this apartment at the end of May.”
“Oh… just the apartment, not the country.” He said, seemingly relieved.
“Yeah, I’m leaving the actual country at the end of June.”
“I thought you said, July?” He asked.
“Well, the first of July.” I replied.
He looked at me, said nothing for a second or two.
“So if you plan to fuck me at all between now and then, you know…..” I added.
He laughed, and reached up and pinched my cheeks.
“Is that all I am to you? I feel like a piece of meat. What about our friendship?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I said. “It’s just, the time will pass, and you’ll be sorry when I’m gone.”
“There’s no one like you,” he said.
“I know. I know I’m special.” I told him.
He was making protestations, he had to go look for some friend that was leaving the island tomorrow. He was going to come look for me tomorrow night.
“I don’t believe you when you say that anymore.” I told him.
“Oh gorm! You don’t have to make me sound so bad.” He protested.
“But you are bad,” I said softly. “Bad, bad, bad…”
And he is, so bad. So deliciously, frustratingly, endearingly naughty. :sigh:
I was telling SD1 and the padawan that I need a spare, and extra lover to keep me occupied. The Young Mr K, is all well and good, but you know if he doesn’t shape up, I am going to have to either find someone else, or in addition or get a toy (which he says he is opposed to) or revert back to type.
The padawan says to me, “Do you ever think that maybe you need to leave the country before you meet the right man?”
“Think it? I know that’s the way it’s going to have to go down.” I replied.
This isn’t about men I suppose. The Young Mr K says I intimidate him, and I am amazed he is introspective enough to know that’s what it is. I think about the punk-ass tactics of previous lovers —— of course PHG/ST/IFU, is high on that list — and I wonder.
Thing is, they — my lovers I mean — can’t seem to put their finger on what is scary about me. It’s just this diaphanous, gelatinous fear. Hmmm… at least the Young Mr K, isn’t quite as punkish as some.
All these men that tell me so much shit about how they’re going to do this and that, and what they’re about, but when you invite them in, they all turn into smoke and mirrors, and I have to endure their immature puling and modus operandi.
I wasn’t kidding last year when I was writing about really wanting a lion that can match me. It’s a consistently disappointing experience to engage and interact with the fear of men.
I’m remembering what Astra said about me and men who can’t live up to their promises, those that can’t do what they say they’re going to do, and who can’t speak the truth to me.
I just can’t wait to leave in July. I am so eager to get out, and away from here. Yet, there’s a part of me, that’s having trouble walking away from the very West Indian-ness of my life.
I will miss the Caribbean, and I will miss The Young Mr K.
However, I am just itching to cross the door of the plane, and strap into the plane. I’m looking forward to the jaw-dropping experience of walking through Heathrow.
I’m on the phone talking to my mother last night, and I guess moonboymac was right when he told me to keep talking to her about what I was doing, and she’ll get used to the idea. She’s being very supportive.
“So how long you thinking about staying in England?”
“I dunno. A year or two I guess.” I replied.
And when you come back are you coming back to Trinidad?” she asks me.
“I’m not coming back to the Caribbean like that Mummy. Once I get out, I’m staying out for the while,” I replied. “If I come back at all, it will be to go to Dominica. More trees, fewer people, more rivers.”
She said nothing about that. We went on talking about logistics and dates etc.
She’s going to try to come to T&T just before I leave, and take back some of my things to Barbados to hold for me. She thinks I need to ruthless when decided what to keep and what to get rid of.
“Besides, I’ll be having to come to England, and I can bring things with me. The allow you more weight when you’re going to these big countries.” She say matter-of-factly.
Funny, our whole conversation on the phone yesterday, and I clean forgot to tell her I nearly choked to death last Thursday night.
She told me she hoped my brother could get a job working where I work. Hopefully,
UT thinks I should go to the doctor and get myself checked out. He says he thinks the blackout episode was some kind of fit.
I’ve had three physicals in the last year, and all these things have 1) cost me a lot of unnecessary money, 2) all proved there’s nothing wrong with me healthwise.
Except, my brother thinks they’re some kind of fit too.
Hmmm… tacking a mental note in that one.