On the end of a relationship

The 18 year old Spanish girl had only been in my house for five minutes before I started to undress her. Some thirty minutes later, she was curled up on my sofa in my t-shirt. I went into the kitchen and made us both a gin and tonic. I stood there for a few seconds and sipped mine, staring off through the window into the back garden, into the blackness. I picked up my phone and sent a text to my cousin,

I can’t stop thinking about her.

Three hours ago I had been on the phone to the Czech girl, who I shall call Gisela for the purposes of this reflection. We had had been seeing each other for 6 months. I was going to pick her up and we were going to cook, fuck and drink Riesling. The night before she had been at a party until the early hours and said she had a terrible hangover despite only having one bottle of wine in between 10pm and 2am. She never goes to parties. Something didn’t add up. I didn’t press on the inconsistency too much but noted that a bottle of wine over 4 hours doesn’t usually lead to all-day hangovers. I decided to call her at 4pm. She seemed a lot more enthusiastic on the phone. She was going to wear a one-piece body-stocking which I asked to see it. She sent me a short video that she had taken earlier. One of those disappearing ones via Instagram. She asked me to pick her up at 7pm and she said that she would get changed at mine. It was all-go. And then, as if to completely fuck with my frame, she said she would let me know at 5pm if she was coming or not – because she felt ill and didn’t want to ruin my night.

So in the space of one hour, you’re likely to miraculously heal this hangover. What kind of girl doesn’t want cuddles, sex and food when she is hungover, I thought to myself.

I paused and said ok. I told her we could simply plan another night if she felt poorly. She insisted she still wanted to come, but would let me know. We said goodbye.

I called her back and cancelled the night. She didn’t take it well saying something about how she hated how I changed my mind like that. I didn’t engage and just said we will re-arrange when she felt better. She reminded me that I was due to head over to hers and pick up some dumbells that I had lent her that had to be returned to the gym short notice. So I arrived an hour later and she had her phone tucked into her leggings and her midriff on display. She looked casual and beautiful. I kept things light and positive talking about my week. We spoke for no more than 5 minutes and left without a hug. She appeared cold and distant. As she walked away she immediately began texting on her phone, choosing to stare at her handset instead of wave to me as I drove past. I remembered I had a packet of her favourite sweets in the car. I pulled over again and told her to come over to the gate of her university hall. I took them out of my back pocket and told her to look after herself. I don’t know why I said that. It sounded like a goodbye and what I meant to say was I hope you feel better soon. She sent me a Whatsapp 30 minutes later saying thankyou for the sweets – you made my day! I deliberately did not open this, and in fact avoided Whatsapp for the rest of the night and didn’t read her message until 10am the next day.

But I stared at the text I had just sent my cousin, sipping on my gin and tonic. Despite the cute 18 year old Spanish girl being curled up on my sofa I realised that I felt empty inside and alone.

Around 8 weeks ago prior to this Friday night, Gisela and I were driving up into rural Northumberland for a day out. She was relaxed, perfectly feminine and happy in life. As we drove we got onto the subject of us. Despite the bond we had developed together we both knew we were passengers on the Titanic. The iceberg was there, in our future. We had discussed it with perfect sobriety and apparent emotional control: we weren’t a long-term thing, this much we knew, but that we wanted to remain close to one another no matter what happened. Even at this stage, I had recognised I had formed a strong bond with this young woman. So I chose to tell her then, in the car, as we drove past the remains of Warkworth Castle that that I wanted to see her less, perhaps once per week and that we are getting too emotionally connected and that I may want a child in the future. For the next 4 hours she wept and cried and displayed all the range of emotion – from anguish, to denial to pleading and anger. She told me that we are boyfriend and girlfriend. I laughed and said this was absurd (as this turns out – she was absolutely correct on this). She said that we had been joined at the hips for weeks. That the terminology was irrelevant. On two occasions I wanted her away from me. I looked at her and for the first time asked myself if I was even attracted to her anymore. I wanted to take her back to her halls and be alone. But we ended up at my home and I remember it as clearly as it happened as she sat on my sofa, I guess I am just going to have to get used to not having you.

Denying your emotional truth

I spent the best part of the next two weeks feeling at-ease with my decision. Time passed; days and evenings together, beautifully connected. Moments of soul-blurring. But intermixed with those petty, low-intensity spats that were rapidly forgotten – born out my denial to allow myself to be happy. I could hug her all night, our bodies pressed tightly together.

Three days before I was due to leave for Poland for work we discussed the last lockdown and she went into detail about her last relationship, how toxic it was, the screaming matches and the negativity. She said he loved her and was still to this day pining for her – messages reaching her via their shared friends. The conversation moved forward and I innocently enquired if he had been in touch with her directly. She said he hadn’t. I asked her if he did, would she ever consider meeting him for coffee.

Yes, I think I would at some point.

My heart sank a little. Gisela, this is why I could never make you my girlfriend.

I arrived home that evening around 11pm having had some last minute work commitments. She was in bed studying. She asked if she could speak with me for a couple of minutes.

I loved today. It was just like our best times. But further to what you said a few weeks ago, I have decided to maybe only see once per week moving forward.

Several minutes of discussion followed before I said lets go down stairs and have a glass of wine as the boxing is on. We cuddled on the sofa and spent the next day together.

I called her on Monday morning.

You know I fly Tuesday morning. Do you want to come to mine tonight and stay, or let’s meet this afternoon at 4pm for coffee, or you can see me on Tuesday morning before I head to the airport.

She equivocated and asked what do I want to do. I exhaled and stated I had just gave her three options and to choose one. She chose none of them- saying it was counter to the discussion we had had on Saturday night. I ended the conversation saying we would have a great Sunday together when I returned. That I want her to dress sexy and we will make a day of it.

We did not speak while I was in Poland, save for a brief Instagram message. No phone calls for 4 days until Saturday afternoon when I called her at 5pm. Admittedly, I had taken the rejection on Monday badly, somewhat petulantly. But not as bad as her. She described how she had been so upset for 4 days, ruminating on my silence and had, cried her last tears. She said she had nothing left and it was over. The few days away had led me to the opposite conclusion. The downtime made me realise I missed her and wanted her in my life. To run with it and enjoy it. But it was over.

I flew back the following morning and we had arranged to meet and give back some things she had accrued at mine. Clothes, jewellery, make- up etc. It all felt so fucking surreal as we spoke for an hour and for the first time I told her how I felt. She looked exhausted and tired. I knew this was not the end but not the time to push things further. But the texts started later that night. We could not break it off like that. We arranged to meet for a coffee and a walk on Wednesday. I picked her up and we walked along the coast before looking at the Christmas display in town. There were a couple of moments as she touched my face. But the date, meeting, call it what you will, was a nervous affair. The emotional state was tenuous and I could sense she was fighting her heart and head.

So we arranged to meet on Friday. I would pick her up. Cook food, Riesling, good sex and cuddles.

But it didn’t happen. Her strange hangover, her strange attitude and my reactive nature to just say fuck it, or fuck someone else, like the 18 year old on my sofa.

Just like it was

I read her Whatsapp the following day, at 11:30am. I had never in 6 months purposefully left her on unread. My childish response to her fucking around with her I may come/I may not attitude – perhaps. So I cancelled it and met another woman. My ego, my investment and pride for cancelling on her, but I felt shit all the same.

She sent a one-word reply that afternoon so I decided to call her at 8pm with the aim of getting her over for dinner. I rang her and she picked up. She was in the library.

Ok, get yourself ready and I’ll come pick you up, few glasses of wine and some food.

Can you get me at 9:30? Of course, see you then, I replied.

I felt an enormous sense of relief. I breathed in and felt the anxiety wash away. The evening was good. Conversation, food and sex. A movie on the sofa. Deep kissing and the move to the bedroom. She was dressed in a gorgeous black piece of lingerie. The lights were dimmed and we were both turned on. The sex that night didn’t happen. She asked me to stop as I had entered her too deeply. My mind started playing tricks on myself.

But next day we did have sex and it was good. We cooked and spent the rest of the day on the sofa. She would not let me remove my arms from around her as we watched a Christmas movie. 6pm came and she reluctantly left for home. And that was that, back in what appeared to be boyfriend and girlfriend territory.

Blowing hot and cold

We continued to talk on text but the vibe felt guarded and somewhat closed-off. She massaged me on Tuesday morning asking if it was my birthday today. I told her it was yesterday and she wished me a happy belated birthday before saying she felt terrible that she had forgotten it. I put her out of her misery and told her that it was later in the week, on Sunday. The conversation developed into a sexual scenario that we intended to carry out on Friday night. Things looked good and felt good.

We arranged to meet for a coffee on Wednesday and have a walk along the quayside with a coffee. The wind was blowing and I hugged her and told her she looked beautiful. I asked if she had been a good girl today and played with her pussy. She didn’t want to answer in case any one heard us – on the deserted street. I felt that pang that something was wrong again. We talked and walked. Her stress at not working, student problems, money problems but the light at the end of the tunnel with a job start in December. After a couple of hours of small talk we walked back to the car and I again went to hug her but she didn’t reciprocate. As I dropped her off at the halls I turned to her and said,

Where is my kiss?

You’ve already had one, she replied.

I left it without pressing the matter, but I had confirmation something was wrong between us. She messaged later on apologising in a half-hearted fashion for listening to her problems and said she did not return the hug because she felt I was pitying her. The conversation changed to Friday and by Thursday night it was goodnight daddy and morning baby messages.

The end

That Friday we had agreed to meet at 6pm. I would pick her up and we were going to cook lobster and have a night in. Obviously a precursor to my birthday on the Sunday. I felt upbeat and was looking forward to spending the night with her. I messaged her, asking her to send the same video that she had sent me on Instagram the previous Friday.

No no, was her reply.

I called her,

Yes, I would like to be put through to your customer services complaint team. I made a formal request for a sexy video that was sent to me last week and a certain naughty girl is not meeting her obligation. Please escalate this call to your manager

The joke was taken well, but her reply insulted me:

I don’t trust you with it, she said.

I was in a shop at the time and had to do my best to hold my temper and losing it. Her insinuation was that I would be sending this video to friends. I was boiling with anger at this. Four hours later she messaged me a single word,

Hey.

I told her that I would be picking her up at 6pm as agreed and she acted surprised that we were still meeting, that could I get her at 7pm instead.

An hour before I was due to pick her up she messaged me,

No negative vibes please

I only do wine and good times, I replied.

I waited in the car and despite how the earlier conversation played out I was upbeat and intent on having a good night. She climbed into the car and I could see she was seething with tension. I filed the void with conversation and was met with monosyllables. We reached the shop to grab a bottle of wine. In a deserted part of the store I stopped her and looked at her and told her she looked beautiful. But she was a coiled spring. I knew she was about to ruin the night.

Moments later we arrived home and I poured us a drink. The first words to leave her mouth were,

I know I text you asking no negative vibes but I can’t stop thinking about today,

Gisela, no. We aren’t talking about anything negative. I want a good birthday weekend with you. Have some wine

But she persevered and wanted to take the conversation down this track.

Gisela, do we really have to do this now. If this is truly something you must talk about then OK, but if not, let us leave it for later in the week.

She persisted. Ten minutes passed.

Gisela, I can see that you aren’t really in the best mood tonight so I suggest I take you back home and we can meet up again when you are in a better frame of mind.

And what do you think will happen if you take me home?, she asked

Well, I will see you on Sunday or later in the week and we can have a nice time together, I replied

Well it takes two to do that and if you take me home you won’t see me again.

I won’t labour the point, But I tried to salvage the night. Lighten the tone, drink some wine, offer to take her home before the argument developed. No raised voices, just two people talking in different languages. For almost 90 minutes it went on and I felt at times caught between those incompatible emotions of really wanting her here and really wanting her gone.

By now the situation had gone off a cliff edge. I reminded her of a statement she made when we first met,

I am a talented liar, I can lie to men to get what I want and manipulate outcomes. It is a skill I am good at. But I don’t do it to you, I have only ever done it to ex-boyfriends.

Tell me the last time you lied to me, I asked her. She would not answer.

I asked her to justify why she would send me a video one Friday but call me untrustworthy with it a mere Friday later. I stated that I felt she has some behavioural attributes, namely the ability to lie so easily and to create friction, make statements that lead to arguments as worrisome. I said she had a personality disorder but withdrew that statement. I’m not a clinical psychologist.

She went to order an Uber but I said I would take her home. No Ubers were available and she stated she would take the metro. And then she was in my front garden. I made one last attempt to salvage the sorry mess. And her reply?

Do not touch me. I will scream and call the police.

At that, I walked back into the house and she walked away.

Two days later, on my birthday, she messaged saying,

It’s a shame we had to end up like this. I didn’t see it coming. But it is a lesson learned for me. There is no hate in me. I wish you all the best. That’s all I wanted to say really, take care.

Learnings

We became immersed in each other for a period of 6 months. Up until that Saturday in the car when I decided to pull back, there were no issues. I never became bored of her company, even when she was staying at mine for up to 2 weeks at a time. I fell in love with her and denied this reality. I created issues to try and push her away. I rationalised the age difference. She is the second woman I have fallen in love with in my life.

I sit here now knowing more clearly than ever before that I felt deeply happy and innately satisfied with a woman like this; someone I can quite literally hold all night, and someone you can sit and talk to – where time – an hour, three hours just evaporates. The feeling of emotional union and immersion is far more satisfying than simply fucking. I know this because I have fucked hundreds of women. In the last 2 years I have fucked around 35 women alone, if not more. The satisfaction of the emotional connection has shown me that I have been missing something real. You reach a point in your life where Game, Daygame specifically, becomes a Ponzi Scheme. I am always reminded of a quote in True Detective:

“Past a certain age, a man without a family can be a bad thing.”

While this may be largely true, it is perhaps more meaningful to say that past a certain age, a man who is incapable, or reluctant to allow himself to be comfortable in companionship with one woman is a bad thing. And just as bad is the man who has invested so much into the Ponzi Scheme that he is constantly chasing the same ghosts. At some point, these 20 year olds just won’t be there. But like any drug of choice, life is largely good under the influence.

I’ve thought long and hard on my predicament. Discussed it with other people in the community. Some have thrown their lot in with the idea of finite relationships with young women who will eventually leave them and move onto younger men. If I get another chance with a woman who made me feel this, who I shared undeniable companionship and chemistry with should I just go all? Live in the moment and just enjoy it. There is an argument for this. My whole strategy was to try and do Daygame for another 12 to 18 months, meet the cutest young women I could from it for fun and incipient experience, but look to identify that woman in her mid to late 20s who is ‘ready’. It’s a nice aim – but so is winning the lottery.

Graham Greene said, “A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.”

Most of us have been in relationships and been hurt in relationships. I just wanted to share this particular experience of a girl who I met through Daygame at the end of the last lockdown. A girl who my wing was a mere arms-length away from opening, before he turned back with a shake of his head. Little did I know that I was about to embark on a journey with a woman who would love me and I her.

Brooding Sea, November 2020