2. Nicky
And then we come to Nicky. And the first thing to say about that is it’s all done and dusted and I guess I’ve let her go and have no interest in seeing her again and the whole thing’s so complete and over and fine even typing this now I realise I can barely remember anything about it. Which I take as a good sign. I gave it my all and I guess I reached the end, finally. And now we’ve come out the other side. So…
There was that night after the café apology and the resisting of all those “urges to merge” that we were feeling. Or, at least, I resisted them. Seemed like the wise thing to do. Felt okay, didn’t shake anything up. But then my friend Stevie sent me links to this possibly mad sixties New Age channelled thing called Pathworks and the one I read on “Mutuality” really kind of shook my bones. It seemed to be describing really precisely a lot of the things I’d recently lived through and ‘discovered’. The way my inner-being was mirrored in others. The way I’d thought that, actually, even though a lot of the things I’d seen in that mirror didn’t appeal to me and that I therefore decided that I would change them about myself, maybe it wasn’t about that, or that I wasn’t able to change them, it was just about seeing them, accepting them, and carrying on, with them intact. If that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn’t. Thing is, the thing itself didn’t make much sense – except, it did. I dunno: it confused me and shook me up and kind of made me feel that kicking Nicky out of my life might not be a wise thing. Nor denying “the urge to merge”. Maybe there was something to learn there. Maybe denying was the problem and going with it the answer. Although it did say something about not necessarily needing to act on such impulses.
Anyways, I kind of decided to act on them.
And probably for any of this to make any sense you need to read the weird thing itself. The link is here.
But – two things I should say about that. One is that I googled some stuff and found people saying some very concerned things about pathworks, that it made people weird and was a bit cultish and all the usual thing. Well maybe that’s true and maybe it’s not – a lot of people get weird about a lot of things, good and bad. But, secondly, and more importantly for me, a very strange occurrence: for in the morning after reading that stuff and feeling quite troubled and perplexed and unsure about anything in the world and in my life – that old ‘nature of reality’ question again and thinking nothing’s as it seems but not having the first clue how it really is – I looked at my bookshelf and noticed this philosophy book sticking weirdly out as though some unseen invisible hand had earmarked it for me and whispered, here, have a read of this, there’ll be something useful in it for you. I could think of no logical reason for it to be sticking out like that; I certainly hadn’t left it that way. I picked it up and flicked open to a random page.
There was a quote from Montaigne. It basically said something like, “no philosophy which doesn’t bring goodness to your life is worth trying to understand.”
I dug that immensely. It was like a balm to the part of my brain that was trying to get to grips with the pathworks thing. I didn’t understand it. It troubled me. I thought maybe I had to try and wrestle with it and dig out the relevant meaning. But maybe this was a sign to say, “that stuff won’t do you any good, don’t waste your time trying to figure it out. There’s nothing wrong with your not understanding it because there’s nothing of benefit to understand. Just because you don’t understand it perfectly it doesn’t mean that it’s deep and meaningful and necessary to grapple with. Let it go. Ignore it. It’s probably just weird.”
And so that’s what I mostly did. Except that when I next saw Nicky on the Wednesday I was probably much more open and looking more to explore whatever issues there were between us and whatever I might have been keeping back – and when that urge to close the physical gap arose – whether just in hugs and caresses, initially at least – I went with it. And hair-stroking. And then face kisses too.
And so we had sex. And it was pretty decent. In fact, she seemed more sexually powerful and alluring than ever. And new things happened: things that hadn’t happened in all the time we’d been together. Cool things. Hot things. It was pretty groovy. Or, at least, she was. One thing I was realising was I was basing how much I enjoyed sex on how much she enjoyed sex, like most of my pleasure came out of how much pleasure I was able to give her. Which is how I’ve been most of my life. But whether I actually enjoyed it for myself was another matter. I mean, I did, but probably not as much as I think I did, if you know what I mean.
Point is, what I’ve realised is Laura’s probably the only girl I’ve been intimately connected with – in an emotional, relationship-style way – where I actually really, really enjoy the sex from my side too.
Do you know what I mean by that? It’s hard to explain. Because, of course, it’s almost always enjoyable, and frequently really enjoyable too. But a lot of it is about the giving. And, in Nicky’s case, what she takes. I get off on seeing how much she’s loving it – as I have with others – but I guess there’s an imbalance. It’s a give and take thing and maybe, is some cases, I give too much, or take too little, or don’t give of myself, or get with those who take too much. Probably I’m too much hung up on ‘performance fixation’ and judge my standards as a lover by how much I get the other person off. Actually, no probably involved: that’s exactly what I do. Except with Laura. And, funnily enough, Laura’s the only girl I never really had ‘performance anxiety’ with too. It’s maybe because I know I’m completely accepted with her and am therefore free to enjoy, to give of myself and not just ‘to give stimulation’. It’s all very difficult to explain. And probably I’ve gone off track. The point is: this is something I think about. And also: there I go again, sleeping with Nicky. Three times now resolved to boot her out of my life and three times forgiven. Twice for deceit and once for something else. But I don’t have it in me to stay angry at anyone. And how easily the connection and the attraction are restored through the simple act of talking things through. I forgive and forget. Until something kicks off and I all too clearly remember…
But do you remember now? Do you remember how I was saying that I came home on the Thursday night after refereeing I realised I’d lost my keys and was lying on my doorstep and everything was sort of crazy what with needing to move out and go to work and not having anywhere sorted to live? And so what with Nicky’s van being all part of that I of course called her up and told her what was going on and given that she’d already offered for me to stay at hers the Friday night she said I should go over there then and so I did. Man, we were both so tired out of our minds after being up till 3 or something the night before and then getting up early to go off all day to our respective works – I cycled and then did 5-a-side down at Goals till like 10pm – but, well there was always so much to talk about and we stayed up another few hours talking and then ended up making love again but – well at least we (I) had developed the sense to use a condom now (at least for the important bits) and I guess there I was biting into that apple, and there she was too.
But why was she doing it? For a part of me had started to think, hm, maybe this is the way she gets to feel good about herself with me in the sense that, there I am, one day mad and not wanting to have anything to do with her and then the next day she’s apologising (a little bit) and then the connection’s back and – what better way to feel forgiven and have your deceit rubberstamped and accepted than in being made love to and loved and adored in a physical way? So maybe that was part of what was going on anyway. Well, I can’t say I’ve never acted in ways like that myself and it’s probably totally understandable. Who doesn’t want to be forgiven and adored and loved? Who doesn’t want to keep hold of something great, even if it’s time to let go of it? Better than not having it, while you’re in the limbo of waiting for the next thing to come along. On some level, anyway.
But not that any of that matters: it’s all by-the-bye now, for things moved on again – or back – or cemented more strongly – and finally reached their natural conclusion (perhaps) when –
We woke Friday morning and drove over to mine. She went off to work and once I’d found my keys I loaded up my stuff. I biked till 3.40. I reffed till about 10. And then I went over to hers and she fed me and I was so tired and crazy and exhausted I picked up a bottle of wine and took an eccentric big swig straight from the bottle – first alcohol in maybe three or four years – and instantly became tipsy and lolling about and daft. It tasted horrible. The feeling wasn’t nice. But I did enjoy the silliness and thought, here’s a side she hasn’t seen yet, might as well let it out, and got stupid swaying in my chair for a while and, wow, I don’t know why people imbibe that stuff, probably be another three or four years before I do that again, if at all. It just makes my head mushy. But what the hell.
We went upstairs. We made love. And in the morning I woke up early and to pass some time took her computer downstairs while she slept and figured I’d catch up on emails. Except what I did before that was have a quick look on her internet history to see whether she did actually secretly look at porn – such a goody two-shoes in certain ways – but all that sneaky little look did was reveal that she was just as good (in that regard) as I thought. All very wholesome stuff. Always liked that about her, to be fair. Oh, and a record of a plane ticket to Ireland bought Thursday night for two weeks hence. Fair enough.
Although I say fair enough knowing that it troubled me a bit and, oh well, what can you do…
When I went back up and she was up and about I couldn’t really think of anything else but didn’t know how to broach it. So amongst chats of other things I casually asked her when she was off to Ireland next. It was an okay question: I was being fine with chatting about Ireland and this other guy and the one before that too. I wasn’t repressing, I didn’t find it troublesome. All very adult and free. And better out than in. But not better when she replied that she was thinking about going in June for the purpose of seeing her female friend.
You flying, I asked.
(You’ll remember how she had that no-fly vow for a certain time).
I don’t know, she said, I haven’t decided.
Hm.
I asked her about it again a bit later. She…
Well, I won’t describe the whole thing in graphic detail, it doesn’t do anyone any favours. Fact of the matter is she did some weird charade and hop-skip-and-a-jump about the whole thing like when pushed on whether she was going in May or not said, well, it’s beginning of June, end of May, not really sure on exact dates, let me just look in my diary, and then sat there opposite me flicking through diary pages and looking me in the eye and denying it and lying so well – no trace! no eyes flicking hither thither, to the left, wherever they’re supposed to go! – and, wow, this is amazing.
So I call time. I tell her I saw it on her computer, that she’s already bought a ticket and that I know she’s off in May and, once you get beyond all that stuff about, you shouldn’t have been looking at that, what you’re left with is bare-faced lies right in the face of someone you’re supposed to love – or at least be good to – and back we go once more to where we were not so long ago.
I type all this flippantly now, because it’s a couple of weeks back and I’ve moved on – but at the time, lemme tell you, I was hurt. My brain just kind of stopped. I couldn’t compute. I went and sat away from her and put my hood up and rested my face in my hands. I couldn’t think of anything. It was right back to times of deceit before and how to know whether anything you’ve experienced with this person was real, if they can lie about such small things, etc. I mean, why not just say? How to be so cold with it? And that whole charade with the diary?
I mean, I’m no saint but…
She sat there saying “fuck” and “shit” and beating herself up about it. Couldn’t believe she’d done it. Said she was sorry.
I sat with my head in my hands a long time. Blocking everything out. That blesséd hood comforting me like a blanket. Nothing to say or think. Just done.
I’m thankful in a lot of ways. Feelings about her have been confused for a long time. Her feeling about me too, no doubt. But something like this clears it up most efficiently. Without trust there can be no relationship. The first thing I wrote on my list of what love is was “honesty”.
Eventually I get up. She carries on being sorry. There’s still nothing to say. Nothing to do except drive this van down to my dad’s shop and unload my stuff and never waste my time with her again.
I ride my bike there and she drives. I’m feeling good. Done. I get there first and chat happily with my dad’s partner and an old associate and ask him where he got his hair cut, I need mine sorting and feel like splashing out and getting something nice.
Nicky arrives and we get stuck in. Everything goes upstairs lickety-split and then it’s time to say goodbye.
She says sorry. She’s genuinely remorseful. I’ve no hard feelings but the love has died. Or, at least, the expression of it. I wish her no ill. I don’t hate her. But I’m done.
We hug and it’s probably a little coldly. I guess that’s the feeling I’m hoping she’ll get. That I’m giving no more. That we’re through. And that what she’s done is pretty fucked up.
And then I look at my pile of stuff and think about how I lived in that place pretty much exactly twenty years ago and wonder if I could do again. Just a mattress on the floor and a toilet and sink, a powerpoint for my laptop, and that’s pretty much everything I need. I can live even more basic and happy with it now than I could aged seventeen. And how wonderful it would be to have freedom from rent and contracts and all the constrictions and requirements to predict the future that that entails. Dad’s partner says he’s okay with it. It’s probably not practical but at least it’s something.
Of course, what I didn’t know then was that in four hours’ time I’d meet a guy who would give me a home and take care of all those things until at least the end of May. Funny how it all works out.
And now I’ve to dash to go referee a game. But – THIS WILL BE CONTINUED
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