A year of no sex

Paris une, the remix feat. Him. And for a moment there it really was poetry, I mean fiction.. In other words - light Easter reading.

I came in winter because I (still, can’t) couldn’t (cope) wait. Using what might have been cash reserved for June, July or August, I thought that I could fix that problem relatively quickly and just buy a coat.

I came in March with a man for the first time in a year. Well, it was really more like 14 months. I could have had it once bien sur, twice I’m pretty sure, though I’d been trying to raise my standards. And getting better at weighing up what’s worth it. Like staying up all night for what? Though also honestly who gives a fuck.

I let him come inside me and he finished with that he “had hoped I liked him too.”

“Je suis obsédée,”

”look at this face” and

“how did I get so lucky?”

“Why don’t you want to have babies?”

How our bodies were made for each other or fit so perfectly. I can’t recall that last one verbatim although i know it was one of the two.

I agreed to sleep next to him and on the second night I actually slept. Then again. And again. No, like this never happens.

And then he made me breakfast. And in that moment I agreed to look past all of the dried flowers, as I glanced down at my.. tea. No, he didn’t drink coffee. Though I did have a mouth full of his fathers’ jam? And he fell asleep every night holding my hand…

I let a man take care of me for just over a week which would make another first in a very long time. A “connection” that had been encouraging me to think about my future, one in France for that matter, feeling seen finally and maybe a little (fake) clucky too.

Again, to be continued..