I miss my baby. I don’t know how plainer to say it, and I’ve been saying it just like that since I left Trinidad.
I’ve put on something like 10 pounds since I left Trini. Remember what I told allyuh about good dick being the best diet plan in the world? No lie!
In absence of that kind of regular work out and the stress of homesickness, well, I wasn’t kidding about drowning my sorrows in chocolate. My cousin says I am eating to fill a hole of homesickness, but that that is normal in these circumstances.
I feel kind of fucked up, because it’s not like I am here pining. I’m getting all kinds of feedback from dating sites and such, men have been trying picking up, I’ve even been on one date since I’ve been here.
I’m just not interested in having anyone touch me. It’s like he’s occupying some space, and I’m not ready to have anyone else move in.
I can’t pretend like we’ve sewn up everything and decided what is what, but I can’t get on as though he means nothing to me. He does. He means something to me. Something big. He means alot to me, even I can’t define what just yet.
I’ve been re-reading some of the memories I’ve written down. The first time we made love, drowning in honey, my birthday bliss, all these things we did together, especially going to Grand Rivere and the whole pumpkin thing.
How can I let all that go? I can’t. If I have to, I’m definitely not ready to do it yet.
We talk, although it’s not as frequently as when I first came up here. I simply can’t afford to do it. I’ve written him a letter he refuses to read, and that is and has been annoying me. He gives me some bullshit excuse about wanting to sit down somewhere quiet and absorb, not wanting to read it on the run. Yeah buddy, whatever! Just read the fucking thing!
Last week, I was in the struggling phase. Emotionally I wanted to just let it all go, let him go, so I went and signed up for this British dating site, but you know almost all of the guys there are taken with my face and very few of them seemed on point with my brain. I had fellas declaring their love for me, and I’m wondering ‘What freaks! They don’t even KNOW me!!’
In any case, I just don’t think I’m ready to have another man touch me. Maybe I never will. That’s a lie, but it’s a comforting lie.
I get these awful nights sometimes, when it’s so cold and under the duvet I am shivering and it’s not all the cold; it’s this ache in my stomach, in my belly, in my pussy that’s all connected to missing him. My cousin oyasdawta says that’s normal too. I can’t lie anymore either, there is an ache in my heart as well. I don’t know if I can keep fighting my feelings for him, for how long. How long do I have to?
I told myself coming here was an opportunity to separate my physical feelings of lust, from my real emotions. I don’t know how well I’m doing at this point. I think my real feelings are coming up, despite my lustful longings for him.
About three weeks ago I was on the tube. Actually, on my way out with this Nigerian guy I met up here, and there was this absolutely BEAUTIFUL man sitting across from me.
His skin was chocolate dark brown. His head bald. He had beautiful fingers and he was dressed in beautifully urban chic. I watched all these things and caught his eye once or twice, but in truth I watched him and all he did was remind me of my Young Mr K. This Tube Man, reminded me how unique YMK was, and how even those features I find sexy and attractive on him, on another man they’re eye candy, missing HIM, that little YMK sparkle in his eye, the chip in his tooth, his naughty grin, so ultimately these things were fleeting and hollow.
I am trying to tell myself that maybe there will be another man here in England who I will be as powerfully attracted to, who will satisfy me on more than just the physical level the way YMK does, and that mentally we will connect.
However my heart is stubborn and whispering, there’s only one YMK and who will be my friend the way YMK is my friend? Who will defend me, sort me out, make me laugh, share wild giggling with me, talk as much shit, obsess over my breasts and nipples, my poonkie the way he did?
I don’t know if it’s going to happen. Maybe I don’t want it to happen.
I’m so unsure of the future. I know this separation isn’t going to be some short little thing, but you know, I just want to be with him again. Maybe not like before, but just again. I want to hold him and be held by him. Maybe not like before, but just again.
I was so dejected at first when he wouldn’t read the letter.
Our last conversation was on some ‘I’m afraid of commitment’ shit, with both of us spouting that line. We got cut off and I didn’t call back.
Me, I meant it. That’s what I wrote in the letter. I’m afraid to lose my freedom to a man. Men so often say they want an independent woman, but the reality often is at odds with that kind of assertion. Me, I don’t want to be controlled by anyone.
I called him last night, “It’s kind of pissing me off that you won’t read my letter, but I understand, you know?”
“Do you?” He asked. “Don’t be pissed off.”
“Yes. I know you’re scared of what you might read.”
“It’s nothing that’s going to upset me is it?”
“No. It’s nothing that’s going to upset you.”
He told me he wanted to sit down and savour the letter, that he didn’t want to read it when he had to run off and do this and that.
“I could tell you what’s in it, you know?”
“That would spoil the fun of reading it!”
I harumphed. ‘Whatever’ I snorted in my head….
He asked me why I wasn’t having fun up here, and I had to reiterate about being in the boonies down here in Kent, and not having much money to get out of the sticks.
By the time the conversation got going I had to hang up.
“Don’t worry baby. You knew coming up there was going to be a sacrifice.”
“I know. I just miss you so much. I know I say that everytime I call, but I really am.”
He said nothing for a minute.
“I’m sorry I’m not there to share your moments, and sorry you’re not here to share the good shit we have down here. But keep your chin up, you’ll get through this.”
“I have to go.”
“Stay sweet, okay?” I asked him softly.
“I’ll try,” he laughed softly, his breath puffing across the receiver. “Have fun, okay?”
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
“Take care of yourself.”
And then it was over. Too brief. Too little from too far away.
I went into my bed and sniffled myself to sleep.