16 Apr 2006

So, one from Brown Lady to the next. I am experiencing problems with a particular petite, dark number who hails from Buenos Aires and whom I am drawn to like a rusty magnet to the earth’s iron core, despite my best efforts. She looks like a young Teri Hatcher and her smile makes me smile uncontrollably, even that one time when she shut the passenger door on my fingers and then giggled innocuously as if the world is so wonderful that a few crumpled and soon-to-be purple fingers cannot even begin to abate the joy. Perhaps it has something to do with the heightened blood temperature coursing through our veins in the recent spate of sunny days, but as soon as I met her I wanted her. So I asked her out and she agreed upon the idea. Hence followed two weeks of me behaving like an absolute gentleman; everything from opening doors to waking at 6a.m. to pick her up from Bristol after she had spent a week with her ex-boyfriend in Spain. Not that I want appreciation for the fact as I deem it to be the proper way to behave, but she did not dip her hand into her pocket once for three weeks as I took it to be my honour to pay her way. I must make it quite clear that I expect no reimbursement for such things, be it monetary or otherwise, as this is simply the way I operate when I find someone for whom it is a pleasure to do such things. Friends told me that I was being a fool, being played, being taken advantage of. And perhaps I was to an extent but such an extent that I was happy to entertain. Everything seemed to be progressing satisfactorily; intimacy was achieved after our second date and, dare I say it, the sex was good. No, it would have been good but with the burgeoning emotional connection I felt towards her, it became great. I could now expound on her wonderful ways above and below the sheets but I shan’t because I’m at work and noone is going to join a DVD store that is fronted by a wide-eyed, drooling and shaking pervert. Anyway, what I’m trying to make clear, dear Teegs, is that all was very well in the World of Bruce and M. That was until two weeks ago when, to cut a long story slightly shorter, she expressed the view that she was not in a place where she could match my intentions for a potentially longer relationship. She then went on to say that she was unbalanced in her life, insecure, couldn’t believe the compliments I paid her and had always, in the past, ended up with bastards and that I was just too ‘muy simpatico.’

“What the F.?” thought I as she kissed me goodbye and alighted from the car and skipped off into the arms of anybody but me without a glance backwards. Ahhhhhh! The heart rot began immediately, sensations I had not felt in such a time. In all my adult relationships, I think, I have always been the one who was less involved than the other. My last bird is apparently still hooked on the idea that we will eventually end up together, a feeling, as you shall learn if you struggle onwards, that I am now recently made all too familiar with. It is absolutely the pits. Perhaps there are other fish, I thought, but there’s only one with slightly pockmarked cheeks, a bum that I would happily sacrifice myself upon and the tiny ‘mewing’ noise that she makes just before she begins to shake. “I want that fish!” I moaned endlessly. Then, as you say to be the ‘right route’, I spent a day in a big ol’drunk and cleansed her from my mind (and possibly heart etc.) The next day one of the alternative fish that I had been informed about swam confidently into the store. “Fine,” thought I,”M. be damned, her loss, now I shall get back on track and ask this fine filly out.” She beat me to it and all was right once more in the world of Bruce.

That was until three days ago when M. called and wanted to meet. Which we did and chatted and then scrambled into bed. Issues had been resolved, our future at least looked like it now had a future and I easily slipped back into an adoration of the M. I was aglow, although, strangely enough, I did not cancel my date with A. Good thing too as it turns out as, once more, M. has shoved a particularly strong stick in my spokes. It was last night as I drove her from her door to the end of her road so to take us home for an Brucie-Special meal and then a night of sweat and the rest, she suddenly told me ,”I don’t want to spend the night with you tonight.” Honestly, a lesser man might have taken advantage of the passenger ejector seat I had fitted last year, but I decided against it. I drove her back to her door and then we sat in the dark in the car talking about exactly what she is on. If I can remember correctly, she expressed the view that I was far more into her than her into me. I asked her if this was a test – no sex but would I still want to be friends? Again I managed to suppress the desire to boot her out, swear etc and then drive off -–I knew the satisfaction garnered from this impulse would last, at most, two seconds after completion. I asked what had made her mind change so suddenly and unexpectedly and she replied that at least she was being honest and that she had been hurt, like I would be if we continued, before. It felt a little like my kneecaps had suddenly been shot-gunned out from under me. I floundered and explained that if we were only ever going to be friends then I would have to say goodbye right then and there as I will always harbour emotions towards her far stronger than plain, simple, platonic friendship. She looked at me and I looked at her. ‘Right’, thought I ,’this is B.S. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s on about. She’s just fleeing from the potential magic we could generate between us, something which you, Bruce, have done many times before yourself. Fuck it, you haven’t got anything to loose, you can handle the anguish if and when it comes, you’ve been through far worse things, you really like her, you’re obviously convinced she likes you a bit and here I am now about to tell her that I’m not going to quit but I’m going to stick with it and try and help her see that I am potential boyfriend material and just because I’m not a bastard, her normal fayre in men, I shall show a bastard’s perseverance and make her mine over time.’ Yes, that is what I thought and then told her. She shook her head disbelievingly. I started the car, told her I’d still take her to mine, feed her, help her study her English and then drop her back home so she can sleep on her lonesome. By the time we made it to the supermarket to buy every type of sodding vegetable that they had on offer, she had said ,”Yes.” to nothing in particular and as soon as we were back at the flat she was all over me, trying to illicit kisses and cuddles from yours truly. I ignored her and we talked. After the meal she stood in front of me and stretched up on her tip-toes to wrap her arms around my neck and look at me with her head to one side and asked ,”Why do you still have me when I have behaved the way I have for the last month?” I looked into her dark eyes, felt a simultaneous throb in my head and my groin and answered truthfully ,”Because I want to.” Then to bed and no sleep. At about 4a.m. she reiterated her belief that I was a fool and that she wasn’t for me and so I told her I had a date with A. on Thursday. Not a flicker “Where did you meet her?” she asked. “In the shop.” To which she started laughing. I let her chuckle on to herself before I adeptly grabbed a tit and made her make that noise. Conversation was halted. This morning, as I dropped her off at the bank, rather than her normal peck on the lips and then turn and skip away motion, she kissed me properly, then kissed my cheek and then came back for the lips again. Perhaps I am reading too much into it but for a girl who professes no real interest in the Bruce I like to think she is just a little confused. She wished me luck on my date and I thanked her before telling her that I would be calling next week. So, that’s where we are. It’s gonna be hard work and probably won’t happen at all but I am convinced that I should try. We shall see.

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