Twice I have had men in my life say to me that they couldn’t come and see me.
Twice they were remote from me and there was an unspoken agreement that they would visit when they had the chance. In each case, it was a big trip, a long trip, but a given. It was what we did, what we needed to do.
Twice they used similar words, strange to hear them tripping out of different mouths.
Twice it signalled the end in neon so bright I couldn’t ignore it, even if I had wanted to.
Drew had a bad night with his partner, not because of some huge fight, but because of a couple of exchanges where his partner hurt him unintentionally.
It’s a post about expectations and saying the wrong thing.
We all have our moments of ‘wrong responses’ to things, and have all been on the receiving end of them also. And when I say ‘wrong responses’, I really mean those ones where we have careless interactions that are almost completely thoughtless in their nature. Those exchanges … Continue Reading
I was tiny, a child, maybe 3 or 4 years old. I don’t know.
His name was Johnny. He was not a child. He was a grown man, the son of one of my parents friends. I have no idea how old he was, but he wasn’t an ‘older boy’, he was a proper grown up.
He was a in the navy, I must have seen in him in his uniform at least once. I remember it clearly. He was tall and slim and ever so handsome in his whites (photos bear this out, I had good taste even then).… Continue Reading
I sometimes jokingly say ‘once upon a time when I was a lesbian…’. It sounds frivolous, and it is a lighthearted reference, but it refers to a really important part of my life, and one I struggled with, though perhaps not for the obvious reasons.
It was still early, all of us in black, seated around the table. Our appearance might have seemed gothically funereal except for the fact that we were at an Italian restaurant: eating pizza, drinking wine, talking, laughing.
My boy was sitting beside me, young, shy, nervous. Quiet. He wasn’t really mine. Not really. But for the purposes of public consumption, on this night he belonged to me. He wore my collar of simple leather, a silver clip connecting the D-ring to the chain that fell down from … Continue Reading
It had never occurred to me that I might be someone’s ‘relationship from hell’.
I have spoken about my own at times: in my mid-twenties, a relationship with a man who would not give an inch of ground on anything ever and into which I threw a level of rage I’d not have thought I had in me. A relationship that felt like a war zone into which I ran every day with guns blazing, wearing a deep and abiding unhappiness under my clothes, and wondering why I didn’t leave already.