Too much to remember. Too much to hold.
He was moving house. I helped. As always, the loyal stranger- friend, I supported him. Coz I had a car and he had no one
Oh yeah,there was the slight issue of the Christian brainwashing I had undergone since dot that made me ready and willing to hang myself on a cross anytime. Good Samaritan syndrome was the name of the game, since I’m mixed race, their ethnicity really worked for me.
He said an uber would do, that he wasn’t worth the congestion charge, that I didnt have to.
I did the mother Teresa with no knickers act. You know? I’ll be there for you, as long as your penis is my prize.
I arrived, sunburnt and out of breath. Skin like butter from Tirrenian sun. He was welcoming, a bit smiley, a bit awkward. After all, this was our second meeting.
I assumed intimacy, as we had been on our video calls and endless chats. He pushed me away. Compared me to an over affectionate, sloppy dog.
I should have seen that and left, there and then. Told him to fuck off. Seen that he was a rose with exquisitely, dangerous thorns.
He sulked, he stomped, he kicked off. I played the docile, subservient female. Supporting, holding his Seething at moving house yet again, being alone at 50, being estranged from his kids, being cuckholded.
All for the chance of feeling his soft, sensual flesh pressed against mine. I put up with his shit. I darted round London looking for duvets, pillows, tea lights, a smile? He wouldn’t touch me. I caved in inwardly, but played the matriarchal role impeccably. He just stomped as I sorted his admin.