Inamorata and I had dinner again tonight – it’s looking like this could become a regular thing again – but I knew from the moment she walked in the door that I wasn’t gonna get lucky this time.
So we chatted about the usual; work, TV, holiday plans and our respective love lives, but it wasn’t until she he’d decided she was leaving that the actual conversation occured.
We’d talked a little earlier in the evening about our differing wants and needs from the significant others in our lives, and as she made her way to the door an offhand double entendre from me about making her happy lead to a brief but remarkably honest appraisal of our situation – in essence she told me I was a pleaser, and as such destined to be eternally unhappy (in terms of us) as she doesn’t want to be pleased. The conversation ended with her bluntly admitting that, in her own way, she’s just as fucked up as me (which, if I’m honest, I’d known for a long time; its just one of the flaws that makes her so irresistible to me).
After a slightly lackluster hug I was happy to watch her leave, content as I was to have been allowed to peek a little deeper into the workings of her mind, but for once it was her who turned and moved to kiss me. As ever it was far too brief, and she was halfway out the door before she finally turned and told me that if it wasn’t for her pounding headache tonight could have gone rather differently, the sparkle in her eyes and grin of pure mischievousness leaving me in no doubt that whilst on the surface we are just good friends a fire still burns down below