So I have taken a (good) while to write this post, considering this happened in June / July. I’m not sure why I took my sweet old time as I am no longer confused, or have big feelings, but it has given me a lot of food for thought.
You might remember the Poker Player. The one that postponed his flight for me and who I thought was the one, albeit for a little while. After six months of very occasional keeping in touch, he was back in the country. How did I find out? Through Facebook. That’s right, he didn’t tell me. Imagine this. It was a Friday afternoon, I was bored at work and basically waiting for five o’clock to hit so I could jump in my friend’s car and get over the foodtruck festival that was happening in my favorite city. On top of that; it was a lovely summer day. As I was scrolling through my feed, I all of a sudden see a ‘Poker Player is attending…’ Yup, he apparantly was in the country and planning on being there. I stared at it, then panicked. I had come to work without make-up, and my hair was tied up because I hadn’t washed it. I couldn’t possibly face him like that. And face him I would. The festival was in a small park where if you knew anyone, you’d for sure run into them.
After a quick, heated consult with my co-workers, I decided to jump into the showers at work and at least do my hair. My boss was in a meeting, and I had twenty minutes left. I don’t think I have ever been so fast, but at least I felt better about myself. On the way, in the car, finally, my friend nearly pissed herself when I told her. But lo and behold; it only took fifteen minutes to spot him.
My stomach sank. As much as I had wanted to see him, I realized he had never told me, so he didn’t care enough for me to know. But there he was, as hot as I remembered him, and I hadn’t washed my hair for nothing. I pointed him out to my friend, and then casually strolled over there, did a ‘surprised’ double take, and asked him what the hell he was doing there. (I deserve an Oscar for that). I immediately got a big hug and three kisses. He introduced himself to my friend, drank half my glass of wine and seemed genuinely pleased to see me. We chatted for a few minutes before his friends dragged him away, and that was that. No see you laters, nothing. My friend was ecstatic. She absolutely adored him. She doesn’t adore anyone.
All through the night we’d occasionally run into each other, squeeze an arm, or just smile. My friend added fire to the fuel by telling me he seemed so pleased to see me. On my way home, I texted him that this country might be a little too small, but that it’d been nice to see him. He was slow to respond, but when he did he asked me to come to the bar with him and his friends. By that time I’d reached home. Too little too late.
Though the next day he asked if he could come by to ‘see my house’. I’m not an idiot, but the prospect of spending a couple of hours with him seemed great. Living in the moment and stuff. The past had taught me not to expect anything from him, so I knew that this was all I’d be getting. I could decline to protect myself, or I could just go with it and enjoy whatever time we’d have. I chose the latter.
He came, we talked about stuff big and small, mostly big as usual. He again started the talk on no relationships and what not. Old news, and I didn’t need warning. Once we started fooling around a bit, he suddenly got up and said he had a surprise. He took off his shirt, and said he’d been working hard at the gym. It was adorkable, and I had to hold back a smile. I just appreciated the muscle instead. We spent the next few hours in bed, which was highly enjoyable, as usual. With one hiccup. In the heat of the moment, a split second before he’s about to enter me, he again announces that he has a surprise. My mind went blank. What the hell kind of surprise could you have, at that moment in time? Well, this one: he had gotten tested and he was clean. I was a little flabbergasted, but told him I hadn’t tested in a while. He took the risk, with my approval. Truth be told, I haven’t had a man come inside me in a decade, because I’m not on the pill. I had forgotten what it felt like. And what a mess it is. When he left, at the end of the afternoon, I watched him walk down the street, and accepted that he’d be walking out of my life. I felt okay about it. The fact I went for drinks with a friend shortly after helped. He left for the US a few days later, the only contact we had was me texting him that my tests had gotten back okay.
Fast forward to six weeks later; he was back. I knew he’d be as he has to fly through in order to go home. He always takes some time to visit family and friends. I didn’t want to text or call him, which he didn’t either and mildly irritated me. A few days after he returned, I saw him on a dating site. With a full copy of his passport. It was such an idiot thing to do that I messaged him to take it down. We spent the majority of the evening chatting. Things got pretty deep and personal, yet remained at the surface. Sounds weird, I know. He then said he would make time to come see me.
He texted me two days later, while I was at a work dinner. I told him I wouldn’t be home before ten. He said that was fine and we’d be in touch. Long story short; he showed up at eleven thirty, just as I was about to lock the door and call it a night. I knew this was a booty call, but I wasn’t so impressed with that. We chatted for a little while, I showed him the house I bought (of which he knew exactly where it is) and he told me about his trip. Naturally we had sex. It was so good I tried (and succeeded) not to cry. For some reason that orgasm came with a release of some other stuff. Part of me knew that this would be it. It might be the last time I’d ever see him, feel this way and knowing I’d had to let go. He didn’t notice, it was dark and we didn’t speak.
At one thirty in the morning, he looked at the clock and said he had to go. I asked if he was fucking kidding me. He came up with excuses about having to bring the car back and not being able to take out his contacts. I was pissed. To me, that was poor manners and disrespectful. We’d know each other too long to be pulling that shit off. He left regardless.
The next day I was still unamused, told him that and purposely let it escalate. For a friends with benefits arrangement, I need some kind of human, friendly, non-sexual contact to balance out the hooker feel. He wasn’t even telling me he’d be leaving the next day. That’s how much he cared. While he understood my points, he stressed that he’d been clear. He had, and that was not the issue at hand. We agreed to disagree. I told him that if he ever came back, it would to come from him, but that I was not going to run after him again. We said a temporary goodbye.
And that’s the story of the Poker Player. I learned a thing or two from him. (That at thirty two, I’m too old to rely on morning after pills, for one). Yes, he’s full of himself, but there’s something about him that draws me in. It’s easy to get lost with him. But, after all that, I have not felt sad. Closing it off like that was a good thing. He’s back next month, and I intend on keeping my word. I have no desire to get in touch, but we’ll see how that goes when he’s physically here. I don’t think he’ll do it either, I gave him shit after all. At this point in time, I am alright with that. A year ago, I had thought he might be the one, but I was wrong. And that’s okay.
If you made it to the end of this monstrous post; I applaud you!
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