Dutch Cuddles

I’ve got this amazing business idea.

It will cater to guys looking to propose to their girlfriends. It’ll give them the certainty they need to propose. How? By testing their girls.

That’s not as academic as it sounds. What we do is simple: I use every trick in every unwritten book to try and steal “his” girl. If she stays with him, he’ll know she’s good to marry.

The German thinks it’s a brilliant idea. Then again, she wants to stop studying towards being a teacher and become a pornstar, so she might be a little biased toward sexier job descriptions.

I, on the other hand, am just amazed it works.

Because there is no reason in the world why any girl would want to leave her stable, steady, employed, loyal partner for me.

And yet, they do. Every girl I’ve slept with in the last 5 years was in a relationship when we started fucking. Granted, there weren’t many – a hugely enjoyable total of four – and one of those was in a healthy open relationship. But it intrigues me as to why you’d leave what apparently you’d always wanted for me.

Of course, I haven’t “won” every girl. Memories of Sunglass Girl still make me blush. Then there was the Swede…god that was embarrassing. Curiously, those were both single.

There was also the Canadian. I have never been more instantaneously attracted to someone. I have never put more effort into a short encounter. It was the first time I actively followed every pick-up-artist technique. But she was heading back to Canada. In under 12 hours. To a boy with waiting arms.

She didn’t come home with me.

Pretty much, I have no problem with destroying relationships. That whole “sorry, I have a boyfriend” doesn’t sound like an excuse to me: It’s like saying “sorry, I’m wearing socks.” I can’t even find it in me to consider it unethical or wrong. I’m told that it’s wrong, and I’ve had a friend tell me very seriously that if I ever stole a girl from him, he’d be incredibly upset at me. Which confuses the hell out of me.

I just don’t get it. It’s like women are objects, to be stuck up on a wall and admired and woe betide anyone who removes them. It’s like women aren’t allowed to choose.

So, imagine my confusion when I fall in love with Dutchy (and her small bum) and then freak out at any sign she might return the feelings because I don’t want to ruin her relationship.

Weirdest series of thoughts in my head. “Oh, she might have feelings for me. That’s hot. But then she’ll have to choose between me and Hulk. He’s boring. But he’s been so good for her. And she’s so happy with him. Why would I want to ruin it? Wait, why do I care?”

I like that, though I know I have little to offer, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d be chosen over him. My arrogance is appalling.

Regardless, it’s the first time I know I’d back off to save another’s relationship.

Of course, there’s no need to back off: I channelled my usual honesty (with perhaps a hint of German influence) and asked if the feelings were returned.

And holy fuck does that chick have issues. I don’t know which of us was angrier with the other. But through a lengthy tirade of tears (mine), mutual misunderstanding (hers only actually, I’m amazing) and exasperation (ours), she eventually realised that I was not trying to fuck or date her and I realised that her feelings for me are not even slightly near mine for her.

Which is good. Cause now I still get Dutchy-cuddles.

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Happy Foots

I went for a walk this morning. It took me and a hot coffee over wet grass to a small bench and – when I looked back – I realised my feet can’t even walk straight.

I like feet. I especially like small feet in high heels with painted nails and the right amount of sensitive spots.
So when I shared a bed with Dutchy and we slept back to back on opposite sides of the bed and she kicked her feet back and tucked them between my legs because “they’re cold” I discovered I was very much awake.
And I really wanted to sleep. I’d had four hours the night before and had to walk two dogs in five hours. So I told her about me “liking” feet. Normally, if I say anything that slightly resembles a move on her, she increases the distance between us tenfold.
This time, she simply responded “Oh. I like that being done to my feet. Now I’m turned on.”
She then insisted on swapping sides of the bed. Which involved climbing over me. Which reminded me that, though she’s not my ideal (her bum’s too small, for one), she’s still incredibly hot.
She curled herself up against the wall, pushed her feet back between my legs and fell asleep in 13 seconds flat.
It took me quite a bit longer.
 I’d already accepted that I’ve fallen in love with her. Not as in “OMG I want to bang you really bad, you’re so hot” but more as in “Let’s go sit on a beach under the stars and cuddle and talk and kiss…and then let’s find a bed and fuck  – hard.”
All of which proves to me that yes, you can fall in love with someone platonically; that yes, love is definitely and inescapably a choice; that yes, it doesn’t need to be acted on; that yes, you can love more than one (or even two) people at the same time.
It also reminded me of all the reasons I don’t like relationships.
There’s a sense of entitlement to a relationship – a sense of ownership. Your actions are no longer your own, decisions are shared. You become “someone-and-Gareth” and refer to yourself as “me-and-someone” and somewhere in that hyphenated world you can lose all sense of who you are.
And that would be ok, if life were simpler. If life was all about getting married and having kids and creating a family and identifying as said family and that was all I-and-whoever wanted and had ever wanted, then losing myself in those hyphens would be perfect.
But if that were me, then I’d probably not be interested in the people I am and I certainly wouldn’t be writing.
It doesn’t matter to me if she loves me back or not.
Because when I woke up in the morning (feet still entwined) the attraction had faded with the alcohol. It’s still there, but it’s not a motivator. I was kind of happy when she left: my space was back.
And though my space is lonely, it’s mine. It’s been damaged and bruised and hurt by the expectations and conditioning of a generalised populace, but it’s still there.
It’s hard to stay in that space though. I keep having thoughts along the lines of “I should totally ask her out.” I can never work out why, though. Why should I ask her out?
And there isn’t a single reason that comes from in me. I don’t even know what answer I’d want from her. It just feels like the norm. “oh look, pretty girl, you like her, ask her out.”
I don’t get the need to add a label. And what I’m slowly realising is that what I have with Dutchy is what I’d like with many people (although, I’d prefer it if sex and lips and tongues and feet slipped into those relations).
She does not make me happy, but I can create happiness with her. Just like I can with Porsches and writing and whisky and math and drifting and books, though to a more complicated degree. And that’s what I want: people with whom I can create happiness – who preferably have sexy feet.

My Lesson

Blessings aren’t few and far in between.

I’m feeling – these days – that everything is coming to a head. Everything is simmering, it’s about to boil. A hugely complicated chapter in my life is – hopefully – coming to a close next week. It’s been the most trying and character-building period of my life, and I appreciate it. I’ll be so happy to see the back of it though.

I have only 10 000 words to edit of my first full novel. That’s super exciting. I’m nervous of it: I don’t know if the story is good or shit.They only way to find that out is to get people to read the book. So tomorrow or Wednesday…there’ll be a new book out for people to read.

My perspective of jobs has also changed. I’ve done some diverse things – sales, deliveries, software development, tutoring, retail – and I feel that whatever comes next is going to be iconic. In terms of my little life, that is. I don’t know what it will be, but I believe it’ll be Vital when I look back – regardless of what it is.

I realised recently my current friendships are almost all the best and longest I’ve ever had. It is humbling to realise how long I’ve been in people’s lives – people who care about and love me. It’s a foundation I can rely upon – and they’re friendships I can build upon. I’m truly blessed to have them.

My family, too, is fairly special. My brother and sister have bought tickets to travel in the middle of the year. I’m jealously excited for them. It’s super cool they get to go, it’s even cooler to realise how much they’ve worked for it. My mom is, of course, my mother: understandably arrogant. My dad is…incredible. Over the last few months I’ve seen such a powerful change come across him. He’s a different person and I love it. I’ve always been proud of him: never more than now.

I love reflecting on how many cars I’ve owned or driven. I’m driving a basic shitbox at the moment and I love it for it’s raw uselessness. It’s a car in it’s simplest disguise and you don’t simply sit and relax: you drive it or you crash. It makes me long for more cars – not better cars. Cars with the same characteristic, cars that make you drive them, cars that aren’t simply show pieces, cars that are proud to be cars.

There’s one aspect of my life that – alone – I could consider a blessing worth anything.

I could quite happily spill all of the little details that make Someone so truly special to me, but I think I’ll cheapen them all if I do that. To put it quite simply: I fought for us because I believed She’s worth it. I thought I’d have to make all the effort to make us work because She’s struggling with life. And She turned around and has made more effort than even I could expect of Her.

She is simply wonderful to me. Everything we’ve been through becomes worthwhile when I consider She’s with me.

And that’s it really: things have been crap for so very long. It’s made me stronger and more fragile, it’s made me a better me and it’s made me a worse me. But finally, I feel like things are getting better. And I don’t by that mean that good things are going to happen: I mean that whatever happens, I feel like I can make the very best out of it.

And that’s a lesson only I could teach me.