We started seeing each other one Friday around tea time. He was, naturally, a young English stud with a slim body, unnecessary manners and deeply embedded emotional short-comings.
“Exactly what I need – NIL emotionallity – I am incapable of attachment, my heart is long dead and I have priorities!!” my wise biligual head was muttering whilst my not so wise, alingual and supposedly dead part in me started its slow descend to betrayal.
One semi-sunny Wednesday that part ambushed me. I had spent the whole day fighting my urge to be romantic, when all of a sudden I named it fear and decided to go against it. Gave my last money for a train ticket to a small gray town south of London, famous for its women’s prison. I’ve always wondered why there’d be a prison in the middle of town.
I had a warm welcome. We had tea. And wine. And sex. We then slept together. All the usual.
I tried not to breath heavily, to walk quietly, to smile widely – the little creepy things that possess the, otherwise, sane people when trying to be liked.
And whilst I was playing my little spectacle, he simply said: “You need to go. My girlfriend’s picking me up in half an hour.”
I found it was such a cliché.
“I now get the prison”, I thought to myself as I caught my eyes hovering over the kitchen knife.
It was raining outside. Of course it was raining. It was pouring cats and dogs. And cows I might add.
Ok, I won’t make any scenes. I’ll just leave. It’s too trivial to pay any attention, my inner voice kept rambling.
“Right. Ok then. I’d need an umbrella. Please.”, me.
“I’m not sure I have a spare umbrella”, him.
“But you do have an umbrella, don’t you? Just give it to me, we’ll find a way for you to get it back”, my outer voice is still calm and I start to secretly admire my inhuman self-possession.
“I might need it in the afternoon. I’d walk you to the station to take it back but I’m not sure I’d have time.”
“Dude, just fuckin’ give me the bloody umbrella”, I started to realise this is the point where my inhumanness starts to back off.
“I’d really need my umbrella”. Him.
The man has spoken. I gave up. From there on I only could’ve gotten physical. Instead, I chose to keep my sanity (I was about to write dignity 😀 ), fully conscious of the fact that this story would have been much more interesting otherwise.
I leaned in and kissed his forehead, silently wishing him dry feet and a limp dick. I then left.
30 minutes under the rain.
At the train station I had an unpleasant recollection – the display of the ATM will show NIL.

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