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Month: February 2016

Time. It’s running out.

Time. It’s running out.

In the last couple of weeks we’ve had a mixture of exam-related stress, assignment deadlines bunched together, bouts of depression (not on my part), and mild food poisoning (on my part). Our anniversary is next week. I’ve been an active editor of Wikipedia for ten years, which in internet years is about two billion years, and even though I don’t feel old (I’m not, by any stretch of the imagination), I’m having a stress-induced crisis of omgtimeisrunningout.

Mr Kitty was abroad on business while I frantically tried to finish a massive assignment, which was due yesterday. I kept getting distracted by thoughts about things that happened to me in the past. Most of them were in some way sexual, and many were about situations where I was glad I could keep my wits about me, because it turns out that being a girl makes you more vulnerable to certain things.

About a year ago I was at a little get together with my (then fuck buddy) friend and his housemates. We were celebrating that one of them was turning 40 that day. The housemates were a Portuguese couple: a woman in her late thirties, still young at heart with a passion for music and a funky style, and her now-40 year-old boyfriend.

We had food and drank a bit. I had wine. They had beer.
Before we started eating and drinking, dancing and chatting, I had been in my friend’s room, having sex. It was loud enough, apparently, that the housemates commented on it. I lie: they didn’t comment on it, he did. The 40 year old man. This same man eventually started to touch my ass when he thought his girlfriend wasn’t looking. I really hope she didn’t notice, because she’d been telling me about how she’d like to move on with the relationship, how she wanted to eventually have babies and get married and all that crap. The crap I will be doing soon. That crap.

And the man kept trying to grope me when no one was looking. I let him do it because of a mixture of residual horniness and drunkenness. Truth be told, I knew I wouldn’t have sex with this man, but I wouldn’t mind him being around if I were to have sex with my friend and the man’s girlfriend. So I played along and didn’t stop him from groping me so as to not break the little party we had going.

Eventually we ran out of alcohol and the man’s girlfriend wanted to go to the off-licence to buy more drink. Now, this was a dodgy part of a very dodgy city. My friend, gentlemanly as he is, volunteered to go with her. The man insisted to his girlfriend that she should stay home with us, and my friend should go alone. But the girlfriend really wanted to go, so off she went with my friend, and there I stayed, at home with this 40 year old man.

The conversation between us started in English. He asked me standard stuff, where I worked, if I had any hobbies. He asked my taste in music. Mentioned that I’m loud. Here he switched to Portuguese. “The things I’d do to your little young pussy… I’d start by licking it and then who knows where I’d end up”.

I was 23. This man was 40.

That’s not the biggest age gap I’ve had (I’m into older men) but it was the only time an older man has ever been the one to initiate, at least explicitly like that. I don’t think he was drunk. I think he was just a very shameless man.

What do you do when you know it’s your time to make a move, but you didn’t choose to be in that position?

I didn’t want to tell him outright that he was being creepy. That would make things awkward for everyone involved, and make my friend’s living situation more difficult and awkward from then on. So I took the tangent. I told him I was more interested in his girlfriend. It was true, and I had no reason to deny it. Thankfully, he didn’t take that to mean a threesome with him and his girlfriend. Just the woman and me, alone.
He volunteered that she’d apparently “sucked more pussy than cock”.

At that time my friend and the woman came back. We continued with our party as if nothing had happened. Afterwards, I spent the night with my friend before coming home the next morning to my lovely locked up boyfriend.

I agreed to staying in touch with the woman but, despite adding her on Facebook, I never did talk to her again. Sometimes I see pictures of them together and they make me feel awful. Should I have said anything to her? I feel like it’s not up to me to meddle in someone else’s relationship.

Deep down, I know that’s not really what makes me feel bad. Well, it is to a certain extent, but there’s more to it. I think I’m terrified of ending up like them. In my 40s, in a house share in a dodgy city, throwing myself at the first girl that comes round.

If all goes as planned we’ll be married next year. We both have good careers, even if mine is currently on hold. We have plans for the future. I’ve always been taught to be strong and remember my right to give, deny and withdraw consent whenever I want. We have a strong relationship. But I can’t shake the feeling that time passes very, very fast, that we don’t get any second chances, and that the choices that currently feel right might eventually be found to be catastrophically wrong. How did that couple end up like that, with half of it feeling trapped and the other half unable to move forward? How capable am I, realistically, of recognising warning signs should they ever arise?

Next week is our 6 year anniversary and we’ve never had any relationship difficulties. Family, life, work problems, yes, but never anything wrong with the relationship itself. As much as we have our own private rules to deal with issues as they happen, and as well as these have always worked, I don’t know how we’d deal with a major fight, for example. We’ve just never had one. We’ve talked about it, but talking and experience are very different things.

I don’t know where this post is going and I feel I’ve rambled too much…

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