Swings & Roundabouts

Singledom or Coupledom? The Diamond Geezer reviews the dichotomy with his experiences every year on November 3rd, the anniversary of his last break-up. Nine years to date. His lists the pros and cons as follows:

"Some might say that we single people are missing out on the joys of coupledom, and maybe we are, but I'm convinced that there are equally many positive points to being single:"

Single: You get the whole duvet to yourself.
Coupled: You don't need a hot water bottle.

Single: There's half as much ironing to do.
Coupled: There's twice as much ironing to do but somebody else might do it.

Single: You can hoover the carpet when you think it needs doing.
Coupled: Somebody else hoovers the carpet before you think it needs doing.

Single: Nobody ever tells you that the kitchen must be repainted and the bathroom must be retiled.
Coupled: Two people can repaint the kitchen or retile the bathroom far more quickly than one.

Single: You never have to waste a Saturday doing what somebody else wants.
Coupled: You never sit around on a Saturday wondering what the hell to do.

Single: You can play your music collection really loud, even the track that nobody else likes.
Coupled: Your music collection is twice the size.

Single: You can watch whatever TV channel you like, without arguments.
Coupled: There's someone else on the sofa to snuggle up to.

Single: Nobody complains when you burp, belch or fart.
Coupled: Somebody points out when you have dandruff on your shoulder.

Single: You don't have to put up with somebody else's niggly annoying habits.
Coupled: Somebody else puts up with your niggly annoying habits.

Single: The toilet seat is always where you left it.
Coupled: The toilet seat isn't always freezing cold.

Single: You never come home to a blazing row.
Coupled: You sometimes come home to a cooked meal.

Single: You get to eat the whole ready meal for two yourself.
Coupled: It takes just as long to cook for two as it does for one.

Single: You can spend all your money on yourself.
Coupled: There are two salaries coming in and only one set of bills.

Single: You can walk away from a flatshare, any time.
Coupled: You can afford a mortgage, together.

Single: There are no important birthdays or anniversaries to accidentally forget.
Coupled: Somebody actually remembers your birthday.

Single: You never have to buy useless presents for your partner, just for the sake of it.
Coupled: Somebody buys you presents occasionally, and it's the thought that counts.

Single: You're allowed to flirt with people in the street.
Coupled: You don't need to flirt with people in the street.

Single: You never have to spend entire weekends being polite to the in-laws.
Coupled: Your in-laws are always ready to provide advice on your faults and shortcomings.

Single: You can still have a riotous social life in your 30s.
Coupled: You can still have a riotous social life in your 60s.

Single: You have no friends to go out with because they've all partnered off and are staying in.
Coupled: You don't have to go out with those annoying friends you had while you were single.

Single: You don't catch every sniffle, cold and flu bug off your partner.
Coupled: When you suffer a major cardiac arrest, somebody actually notices and dials 999.

Single: You never get left all alone and desolate because your life partner's just passed away.
Coupled: When you get old and infirm, you don't end up in a care home because there's nobody to look after you.

Single: If you meet the partner of your dreams, it's not too late to marry them.
Coupled: Nobody ever meets the partner of their dreams, so better to get married before it's too late.

Single: Being coupled is restrictive, stifling and a sign of personal weakness.
Coupled: Being single is unnatural, lonely and a sign of personal failure.

Single: You never get your heart broken.
Coupled: You sometimes feel your heart leap.

Single: You can have sex with anyone you like.
Coupled: You can have sex whenever you like.

Single: The bathroom is always free.
Coupled: The bedroom is always full.

Single: You can lie in bed in the morning for as long as you like.
Coupled: There's a very good reason for lying in bed in the morning.

Single: Nobody sees what you look like first thing in the morning.
Coupled: Somebody loves you despite what they see first thing in the morning.

Single: You never discover that your partner took another bloke to the company's (very expensive) Christmas party, having insisted to you that "plus one" on the invitation was a misprint. Not that I'm in any way bitter, you understand...

Hmm, jury's still out, I reckon.

Frustration

Physical, mental, emotional. The opportunities with D have been few & far between, and our last session involved a return trip for him to his room at 1 in the morning that was Benny Hill-like in his farcical attempts not to get caught. There would have been no point returning to my room - I had drifted into the arms of Morpheus with a smile a mile wide, and wouldn't have heard him.

But since then? I have expended a ridiculous amount of mental energy on worrying about the Ciderman. It has reminded me in a way I'd rather not have been reminded that I miss having someone to worry about. However, if/when that happens, I'm afraid I must insist that it is someone who is willing to worry about me in return. To be fair, his personal life has taken a turn for the Jeremy Kyle - but DNA tests will have to wait another 6 months yet. Is this something I want to be in the middle of? Most certainly not. However, he is so damned pretty - but alcoholic. He's been great at accompanying me to various gigs, but by the time we get home, he's pissed and he falls asleep. And I lie away worrying about him. NOOOOO. I want rampant, mostly meaningless sex where I can slip a bit of emotion (affection, tenderness etc) under the wire without having to admit it to anyone. Including myself. This is all going horribly wrong.

But I put my arms round him and feel the muscles at the bottom of his spine and my knees go weak. I saw him walk out of his house with his hair and coat blowing in the breeze and nearly came in my knickers! He looks fantastic - and while I don't just want him for his body, I sure don't just want him for his problems!! And I went back on the pill, which has flattened my libido to a shadow of its former self. Just can't bloody win...

Joke

Going around the interweb: I'm getting DSS sex - I get a little bit every few weeks but its not enough to live on. Christ - this is like being married, but without the dirty socks. So slightly better?

Advice?

Hmm, so this situation with S. We have set a date, I kid you not. 2 weeks time. So I have a fortnight to try and work out how to make sure he has a good time & I don't traumatise him for life. I've warned him that the first time with anyone new (regardless of how experienced both parties are) has a high potential to be anywhere from rubbish to at best improvable. I've also said that I reckoned the main aims were to be comfortable, leave smiling and not feel like life wasn't ever going to get better. Full sex may or may not be a part of that. I've mentioned that overexcitement is to be expected and is no bad thing, as the next time a couple of hours later will be slower. I've said that even if he isn't expecting it, stage fright can creep up - everyone has experienced condom wilt, but hey, at least he'll be giving it a go. God i've talked this down!

I've laid down that affection and laughter are part of the deal - I'm not a pro doing it for money, and what I get out of it is knowing that he will always remember his first time - I hope with a smile. So to all the guys out there, how would you have wanted your first time to go? 

Cultivation

Good heavens, is the "Wobble" post the one I've left up for nearly 3 weeks? Meh - life continues. 

I've been on what might be considered disturbingly close to "a proper date" with the Ciderman. Since then he's been out of the country & its been a long week. I've missed him quite a lot, but its given me a chance to reflect, to try and separate out what I hope he's like from what he might actually be like and most of all to get my head around the fact that I really could risk getting involved again. Whatever that means.

There's been an "opportunity" with D, which was enjoyable, but necessarily brief as the hotel was crawling with the rest of the department. However, that has now got to the inevitable difficulty where any progression involves an increase in intimacy, and there's no point. Sometimes the futility of it makes me sigh, but he's nice, reliable and takes me out to dinner, so, one evening at a time. And he does do a delicious job of biting my nipples. However, its difficult to relax when my gasps & moans of pleasure might be overheard by my department director, my line manager and 3 dozen assorted others. 

Further, a new situation has arisen with... lets call him S. S is another, younger, work colleague who has developed into a very good friend. However, he has some bedroom issues, and we have discussed a type of Mrs Robinson scenario as a confidence boost. He claims that apart from having zero experience (which I'd guessed) due to confidence issues, he had also, until this week with someone he's interested in, not kissed a girl for over a decade. Surely not! Despite his obvious heterosexuality, he's very in touch with his feminine side and would hate to put any woman in an awkward position and generally impose. Perhaps a mature, experienced, unfazeable older woman is precisely what is needed to administer a short sharp metaphorical slap round the head to move things along. Of course, it could all go horribly wrong, we could regret it bitterly and generally make things worse, but hey, I think "Ah fuck it!", and he is slowly starting to be less risk adverse and take a chance. So we'll see. 

And that's about it from the world of the hair monster. I still haven't solved my lack of pub-mates, but more violin-playing opportunities are slowly coming about. The garden is slowing showing the benefit of a bit of TLC (that's the back yard, not the lady-garden!) I guess one might say that the lady-garden is having a better time of it than my brain at the moment. Training up young S could be amusing for it, but might screw me (& him) up. But well, this is the year of doing things differently, so bring it on. I hope Ciderman rings next week though.

Wobble

Feeling very, very low tonight. I don't know why, but I let the Ciderman get under my skin, which is a predictably stupid thing to have done. But I don't often meet people I want to talk to, who interest me, who aren't 10 years older than me and married.

This evening I spent in the company of two nice couples - late 50s/early 60s. 20-odd years older than me, and reminding me with every shared joke, every sentence that they finish for each other that I will never have that. I will never grow old with a person by my side with whom I've spent the majority of my adult life, who is the father of my children, who remembers that disasterous holiday we had 30 years ago, who planned the house extention with me etc, etc.

But I'm back to the old problem, I'm too young to be old and too old to be young. While the 30-somethings cluster round the pub with friends, I realise I have none to do that with - they are all the old smug-marrieds. While any younger friends I have are having fun, I seem to be always refusing a pint in order to drive home. It's become ingrained over the last 25 years - its what I do.

The most wonderful, memorable weekend of my life was spent, 9 years ago at a music festival. It wasn't because the bands were great, although they were. It was because, after rushing to get there, after sorting out the kids, and making sure the shopping & washing was done, I dashed over to the campsite to wait for the next item on the checklist of things to do.....only for the realisation to dawn that there wasn't anything. I could just: put the car keys down, get myself a pint, dance in the sunshine and repeat - for the next 36 hours. It was revelatory. For a day and a half, I wasn't responsible for someone else, running children here, collecting them from there, organising stuff. It was the first time in my adult life I'd ever had that much time to myself. I was 31. 

Occasions since seem few and far between, which is why I feel I have turned into the most boring, prematurely-aged old bag known to mankind. Its like I know there's a life out there, but have no idea how to access it. How will I ever meet someone? This post is self-indulgent and whiny and I'm not even pre-menstrual, which is even more worrying, really.  

The Hand

He teases my clothes off me, laughingly undoing my bra, giggling as my breasts fall into his hands. But sooner or later, his eyes will find me, drill into the centre of me. His hand reaches out and unambiguously closes around my throat, constricting, squeezing, choking. I gasp - surprise, fear - yes, but undisguisable desire. My mouth drops open a little, lips wet with the previous kisses. My eyes open that bit wider - my heart hammering in my chest. I am pinned to the spot, by his hand, by his look. All I can do is gaze at him, knowing I can't resist, knowing that he now controls my every thought and action. All I can do is gaze, and silently beg him to fuck me. Now. Hard.