A while ago I set out to write a series of blogs the purpose of which was to explore some of my past relationships. I wanted to look back on the influence those experiences have had in shaping me into the man that I am today … For better or for worse. It was supposed to be an exercise in introspection to see how much I have grown, changed or otherwise. It was an attempt to write my wrongs. In the process I hoped that someone out there might learn from some of my experiences.
A recurring theme in the few posts that I actually completed was the domineering role that my ego had on my decision making especially when it came to matters of the heart. This wasn’t too much of a surprise because I know I can have a big ego. Unfortunately I did not follow through and actually finish that series of blogs. After only three posts I quickly shifted to writing about less emotionally demanding topics. Why? Well, because I was at a crossroads as to whether or not to write about a particular experience or should I say season in my life. I found myself questioning what good it would do anyone to share that story. I was unwilling to confront my own demons. I wasn’t sure I could even tell that story in its unfiltered entirety. Anything else would not do it justice.
At the time I couldn’t summon the courage to confront myself within the blank pages margins. It was too daunting. So I chickened out. It was hypocritical of me for several reasons. For starters I pride myself on always following through on whatever personal goal set for myself. In that regard I failed. And that more than anything is why I am here again going around in circles working my way into actually finishing that series. Also the whole point of that series was to take stock of where I have come from, where I am, and where I want to go. It was never supposed to be easy. If I was true to the process it was going to be challenging, but only by overcoming those challenges and confronting my past would I be able to gleam anything meaningful from the whole process of writing and sharing those stories.
In the three posts that I wrote on my past relationships with women all the relationships I wrote about where your conventional and stereotypical boyfriend/girlfriend monogamous relationships. The revelations about how big my ego is and how it can often get in the way of any meaningful relationship were not really groundbreaking. I already knew this. I was just sharing and acknowledging it on this space. Writing my wrongs per se.
But this story that I avoided writing about until now was totally different. That season of my life was characterized by most reckless behavior both emotionally and physically. Although I probably played Russian roulette more with my penis than I did with my emotions. The emotional recklessness I displayed at the time had more to do with the feelings of the people I interacted with at the time. Nonchalant aptly describes my attitude then. Hedonistic, my way of life. It was also the most revealing, selfish and honest period of my life up to that point. It is a period in my early twenties that blasted almost two years from when I was 22- 24 years old. It is a period that I hardly ever talk about or reminisce over. In fact I avoid it like the plague.
A big part of the reason I didn’t write about before is that I have never known where exactly to start. I also worried about how it would be received and whether or not it would somehow awaken any sleeping dogs. Granted this all happened a long time ago now and all the parties involved have moved on but hey, you never know with these things. I was also embarrassed of some of my behavior and didn’t know whether I would be true enough to the story. But then I am aware of how much clarity and closure I have been able to get from writing about even more traumatic events in my life and that is what gives me the confidence to go ahead this time. I have been able to hold myself accountable to myself by simply writing my wrongs on the blank page. It might seem like a trivial way of dealing with issues but it works for me. So that is what I am going to do. As for where to start, in an ode to the anarchism that prevailed at the time I will start somewhere in the middle of that story. On the night of my 23rd birthday party.
The night of my 23rd birthday party is blur that is fragmented by random flashes of memory. If it wasn’t for the pictures I have of the day I’m not sure I would have be able to properly reconstruct some of what happened that night. Neither would I have been able to tell you who was there or what mischief they got up to. But there is one scene that I vividly remember without the aid of pictures or even friends. There is no need to reconstruct it because the images are indelibly etched in crystal clear high definition quality in my memory.
I am in my backyard. Everyone else is either in the house or elsewhere. Well, not quite everyone. There is one other person with me in the backyard. I am laying on my back, intoxicated out of my mind, with no idea at all how I even got here. I don’t realise it at the time but I am ruining my friend and housemates $300 white blazer I had borrowed for the night by laying in the grass like that. Anyway, like I said there someone else in the backyard.
I can make out the silhouette of a woman. The southern cross forms a beautiful backdrop above the silhouette that my drunk self appreciates for a second as I become more and more aware of my surroundings. Now I can feel her gluteus maximus gently cushioned on my person. My pants are pulled down to my knees. I feel the cool summer night’s breeze against my legs. I feel myself inside her. I have no idea where her pants are or when they came off. But she is the teetotaler so I am sure she will feel in the blanks for me later. We have been here before. One too many times in fact. Not in this exact spot in the backyard, but definitely in this situation having casual sex with each other in the most random of places. It has often thrilling So whilst I have no recollection how I got here I am relieved because this is a familiar body. I know all it nooks and crannies,it’s contours and all it’s intricacies. I have navigated my way around it’s curves countless times.
We are not dating. We are not even an ‘item’ per se but we are very familiar with each others bodies. We are ‘friends with benefits” or to put it more bluntly we are F**k buddies. We have managed to keep the boundaries clear and the arrangement has been mutually beneficial and fun. We see each other in spurts. No fancy dinners, no roses, no gifts, no bullshit. We satiate each others libidos with zero emotional distractions. Get in, get off, get out. And so far it has worked. Ours has been a clandestine affair grounded in sexual hedonism, a mutually beneficial and satisfying one at that. None of my friends or even hers knows of our little arrangement. Most of her friends would probably be shocked. That is the way we like it and want it.
But as I meet her gaze I am confronted by her tear filled eyes and for the first time I realise that she is sobbing softly. Now this is a first. I am more accustomed to her lustily pinning me down with her eyes, her luscious lips curved into a knowing smile. Not today, now it’s just her bottom lip that’s quivering uncontrollably. This is uncharted territory and the realisation sobers me up quickly. I try desperately to put together the jigsaw in her eyes but my head is throbbing incessantly and I am struggling to make any sense of what is actually going on. As she reads the puzzled look on my face, she mumbles to me between sobs “ I can’t do this anymore Taf … ”
To Be Continued
In the meantime you can have a read of the blogs I mentioned earlier in which I explored my past relationships here and shared some of the lessons I picked up from them