I did it again. I fucked up, but this was a reverse fuckup of the most profound kind.
For three years I’ve been a barren, single and pathetic love gumby... suddenly, I feel like a central character in a rejected ‘Bold And The Beautiful’ story arc.
Here is what happened:
In the days following our date last weekend, Suicide Girl (hereinafter SG) and I kept in constant contact via telephone calls, SMS and Messenger while at our respective works. The chatter was always friendly, often flirty and even saucy at times. One can get to know a lot about a person online as opposed to real life because physical barriers are removed. One is not worried if there’s a bit of spinach on one’s tooth, for instance. I also reckon we are more brave talking in type rather than in person – at least at the fledgling relationship stage, because you’re not worrying about your body language or the same of the person you’re talking to; you just speak (type). Inanities, often, to be sure, but inanities help in the ‘getting to know you’ stages.
“Fucken printer shat itself,” she said on one message.
Yeah, it’s a basic message, but it’s enough to get a grip on what she does, how she thinks, what you can say to her. The funniest thing she said was about adding Kevin Rudd to her Facebook contacts and I asked if she sends him messages, and she said, “Yeah, we chat. I keep asking him for another stimulus package but he thinks that means I’m coming on to him. Cunt.” That made me laugh, and I was starting to really enjoy her banter, and we talked heartily and often. And with that free and easy chatter, walls were coming down. We were starting to open up a bit...
So anyway, it was all really breezy and charming, until Wednesday night. She was about to go out with some of her best friends. Meanwhile, I had a friend over at my house.
In came this SMS:
“I just want you to know that I am so happy right now. You have given me so much pleasure in the past few days. You have brought happiness back into my life. Where have you been hiding?”
Now, that’s a fine message, but see, I was with a mate, and we were in deep conversation, and I didn’t really have time to take it in, I wasn’t thinking straight, and, well, I kinda rushed my reply, which was just one word.
I have since been informed by many people that this response was insufficient.
This was made obvious a few hours later, by which time she was shickered with her mates, who were horrified enough that their 24 year old little metal-chick suicide –girl buddy was dating a 40 year old businessman from Skegville, let alone one who just writes ‘wow’ after she blurts out her most heartfelt feelings.
The next message, later in the night, said this:
“I just want you to know that I do NOT want a relationship with you. I’m just not interested. Sorry.”
Well, fuck me dead. It’s not like I had even suggested it, or even entertained the thought. I was, admittedly, eyeing off summer... you know, summer lover, maybe, but I hadn’t mentioned it.
She had turned on me.
I got to work and signed on to MSN and started chatting, but the tone had clearly changed. She was due to come to my house on Friday (she had even organised with her boss to take the day off) but suddenly she was being evasive to the simple question of ‘What time will you be arriving at my place?’.
Excuses were being flung about like confetti. Pay-day is next week. Her car was at her exes house still and she wasn’t sure if it was running, and anyway, the dashboard lights were out, and she wasn’t in the mood for seeing her ex, and she hates driving, she’s a nervous driver, and she hates buses (the other option), and she was feeling really ill, and tense, “I feel bipolar, I’m depressed I think,” she said... In the end, I said, “I get the feeling you are hesitant about coming now.” She replied, “You’re right. I’m just not feeling up to it.” I had a think and realised that was actually a good thing. She wasn’t into me anymore, she’s on the rebound, it’s starting to crash over her, and I’m suddenly an annoying and complex sub-plot in her life. Add to that, I was starting to think, “What the hell am I doing anyway? 24 year old porn chick? God, that’s just impossible.”
So, as the Thursday working day came to a close, she wasn’t coming to spend the weekend with me, and I was strangely but most decidedly relieved. One less complication for my life.
You may recall from the MS Paint Trophy Award Winning ‘Weekend Wrap’ post that Leggy is the new girlfriend of Fanboy, who in turn was the man who hooked me up with SG in the first place. Leggy was also the one who had offered me her friend that looked like a Horse. Anyway, Fanboy, Leggy and SG were all going to see a band Thursday night but Fanboy couldn’t make it, so Leggy and SG went together, even though they had only met twice.
Leggy and SG had a few drinks and got chatting. SG explained that she had decided not to come to my house for the weekend, but get this: Leggy, keen to impress Fanboy (by being good to me) TALKED HER INTO COMING. She apparently told SG that I was ‘awesome’ and that she should just ignore her gut feelings and come and stay with me.
I got an SMS from her mid-morning, telling me that despite feeling very ill, a bit bipolar and hungover, she was coming on the train/bus, leaving Melbourne at 2pm. I had heaps of work and meetings, but calculated I would be right for a 5pm arrival.
At about 2.30pm she SMSd me to tell me she was on the train and having a panic attack.
I had to go to a meeting.
More SMSs came in... the panic attack was getting worse and she had to get out of the carriage and stand in the bit between carriages.
I SMS’d back and said, “Breathe.”
Later, she SMS’d from the bus. She wanted to vomit but the toilet was out of order and the bus driver wouldn’t pull up. She said people were staring at her and she was very frightened.
I was waiting at the bus stop at 5pm. She got off the bus and ran to the public toilets and spewed up for a bit, then came back.
So here is what I was thinking...
“I am 40. I like my life. But for the next 48 hours I must entertain a 24 year old porn-chick with a penchant for Death Metal who just had a panic attack and had to spew.”
I mentioned at the start of this post that I did a reverse fuckup.
Well, this is how that happened.
I was charming as all hell.
I had decided that this could be a weekend from Hell, or, it could be a nice weekend if only I was prepared to give the girl attention and proper care, and decided that it should be the latter because I am first and foremost, a gentleman.
I said to her, “Look, I know this has been a drama... getting here has been all turmoil. I had planned to take you out to a cafe and a bar tonight, meet the locals, get pissed and have a rockin’ night, but I don’t think that’s a good idea any more. You’re on edge, and you’re not sure about me, I understand this. I also know what to do when people are having panic attacks. I know not to expect you to communicate with me, but I know I should also offer you company, support, and something to focus on. So, here’s my plan. I know you love nature documentaries. I have Blue Planet and Planet Earth complete series. That’s 20 hours of nature documentary. How about we go back to my place, have baked beans on toast and cups of tea, sit in the dark and watch them?”
She took a deep breath, looked me in the eye and said, “That is the best thing you could possibly say to me right now.”
I took her home.
I turned the lights off.
We got into pyjamas.
I put on Blue Planet.
We watched it for two minutes.
She grabbed my hand and put it on her boob.
There was sex.
Then there was more documentary.
Then there was sex again.
Then more sex. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I have sex three times in six months now I’m having it three times in one night.
Luckily, I cramped.
I was standing, and my calf cramped and I had to get off and do all these very un-sexy stretches (in the nude) to get rid of the cramp and I was thinking, “Well, she’s never going to want to have sex with me again. I look so hideous doing this,” but no, once the cramp was gone, there was more sex, so I reckon it was four times in the one night, but she would claim three.
We were asleep by 10pm.
Started with sex.
Then we went for coffee and brekky and she met my best mate in town, The Mermaid (mentioned here often) plus a few other members of my local gang.
Then there was more sex.
And then some more.
I seriously feared dying. I was so puffed, and my leg almost cramped again and I think my appendix started to flare.
We went for a walk, and also did some shopping (I bought her a bikini). To thank me for the bikini she gave me more sex. We walked to the beach and she sat in her bikini as I lay beside her fully clothed. She lay on top of me.
It’s not that I’m being ungrateful, I mean, the sex and the attention was awesome and welcome, but jesus, I’m 40, and I wanted to watch Lateline.
Saturday night, everything went totally weird. And by that, I mean 'weirder'.
I took her out for dinner at a place that is run by one of my best mates, Surfer Joe, which doubles up as a hangout for me and my particular gang of locals (there’s about 8 regulars in my life here), all of whom were keen to meet SG. Because she was with me, they all laid on the charm and made her feel welcome and she mingled well enough (though as she drinks, she does ramble a bit), and all was cordial and comfortable.
Then she spoke to me, and this conversation I include below is actually a composite of several conversations we had over the course of the next three hours, but everything in here was said...
SG: I love it here. Love it. Everyone I’ve met has been so nice to me. It’s a great town and you know how much I love the beach. You may have to drag me out of your house tomorrow. I don’t want to go back to Melbourne. Ever.
Perseus: Heh, yeah, it is pretty good down here, and I have a nice bunch of mates.
SG: You think I’m joking about staying here, don’t you?
Perseus: Aren’t you?
SG: No, I’m not. I don’t like Melbourne, I don’t like my job. I’ve noticed there’s heaps of work around here. If you gave the okay, I’d just move in with you. I have fallen in love with this town, and you.
Perseus: We just met.
SG: I’m impetuous.
Perseus: I’m not.
SG: What if I found a place nearby?
Perseus: That would be weird.
SG: I am utterly besotted with you. You have to understand this. It’s blowing me away. I haven’t been this happy in so long. This is the best weekend I’ve had in recent memory. I want more, and more... and get this, that bloke I was talking to over there... he was trying to pick me up and I said to him, “I’m Perseus’s girlfriend”. I actually said it, and meant it, and want it to be true.
Perseus: But only three days ago you said you didn’t want to have a relationship.
SG: Yeah. Dumbest thing I’ve ever said. I didn’t even mean it when I said it... I just said it because that’s what I’m supposed to say after only splitting up with a guy a few weeks ago. But, what the hell... I was only with him for a few months and hated it. I don’t even consider it a relationship. I feel like I’m ready now to be in a real one.
My take on all this was that she was on some sub-conscious level over-compensating for turning on me earlier in the week. It turned out, I was a harmless, nice enough guy with a pretty cottage by the beach who can afford dinners in restaurants, and bikinis. The weekend was turning out much better than she had feared – the panic had subsided and she was happy. Add beer to that, and she was getting emotional and letting the euphoria cloud her judgement, so, I decided I had to nip it in the bud, so I pulled out the line that always scares young women away...
Perseus: I want babies.
Perseus: I want babies. It’s a non-negotiable for me, if I’m in a relationship. I’m 40, and I’m starting to panic that I’m not going to have a baby. Now, it’s all well and good for me to bring this up with a woman in her 30’s, but you’re only 24 and you want to travel and do all those things that 24 year olds do, and so you should, so we can’t have a relationship anyway. I would never ask it of a 24 year old, even if she loved me. It’s unfair of me. I won’t do it. There was this other chick, Ponygirl... I never asked her, but she did make it clear she wasn’t interested and wouldn’t be for a long time. She dumped me because of age-gap, and she was older than you. So, you know, I’m very flattered, but, we just can’t have a proper relationship because of this...
She stared at me for a bit, in what I thought was shock or anger, but I was wrong, very wrong.
SG: So, if I have babies?
SG: You want babies? You can have them. I want them too.
Perseus: Yeah, but later.
SG: I’ve wanted them for two years now. I’ve just never told many people, because when I do tell it to people they tell me off and treat me like I’m sort of freak for wanting to have a child so young.
SG: I say that I want to travel, because that’s what I’m supposed to say, but you know what? Haven’t planned anything, haven’t saved anything, never had any intention to go away. The thought of being away from my family for more than a month terrifies me. You know what I want? To find myself an awesome man, and move in with him and have three children and live in a house and maybe own a shop in a country town by the sea.
Perseus: Has someone scripted you for my benefit? There’s a hidden camera somewhere, isn’t there?
The reverse fuckup was complete.
After the pub shut, there was a small party at my house, about 12 people, but it was noisy. There were these two girls there, local girls, but I hardly knew them. They were being really quiet, drinking water, while the other ten of us were being loud and silly. The two girls got up and left, saying polite goodbyes. They walked out into my courtyard and Suicide Girl yelled, “Come back when you get a personality!”
I live in a small town. They were local girls. You do NOT say these sorts of things. You can think them, but you don’t say them. It made us all feel a bit awkward because a couple of my mates who were there in my kitchen were good friends with the quiet girls, and they were offended at what SG had drunkenly yelled. But, because she was new in town, and with me, they didn;t say anything to her. But, one of them pulled me aside and said, “She’s sexy, I’ll give you that, but if she’s moving in, you have to take responsibility for her mouth. She’s a loose cannon, Perseus.”
I was in a blur. Her gaffe at the kitchen table was worrying me, even though she had said and done everything else right on the night. I brought it up, and she was very apologetic, sincerely so, but I was thinking, “Well, that’s the second time in three weeks she’s had to apologise profusely after doing something totally stupid when she’s drunk.”
In my head, I was building up pros and cons.
She likes me
The sex is good, if not a bit too frequent for my fragile body
She wants babies
She wants to live on the coast
She’s happy to work in a shop by the coast
She likes documentaries
She’s a homebody
She was very kind to my cat
She’s a loose cannon
She has panic attacks
She talks shit when she’s drunk
In fact, I was thinking (but not saying)... you can take the girl off the pig farm, but you can’t take the pig farm out of the girl. You can pierce her clit and make her a nude pinup girl, but she’s still a pig farmer. But I kinda like that. But it kinda can't last. Or can it?
We had sex two more times.
Because I couldn’t bear the thought of her having another panic attack, I drove her all the way to Melbourne Sunday night (along with the Mermaid, who wasn’t happy with SG’s choice of Norwegian Death Metal in the car, so she watched Seinfeld on her laptop the whole way).
I spoke with Fanboy about all of this and he said, “You idiot! Your dream girl is a mid-20’s goth chick who wants babies and likes coastal towns. I find this dream girl for you and you’re being all weird. She’s your dream girl! Knock her up!”
But what of love? I ask, like a spastic Romeo. I don’t love her. Yet. Maybe never will. Maybe I will though. But she’s a loose cannon! She’ll start a fight. She’s a fighter. She punches blokes. She’ll punch a local and it’ll be on... Oh, something’s wrong. It’s just not sitting well with me. Oh, the confusion, the confusion.
I don’t know what to do.
Oh, I can't deny it any more, here's the fucking problem: Ponygirl emailed from Peru and she’ll be back for Christmas.
I'm an idiot.
(In next week’s episode of Bold and The Beautiful, Perseus and Suicide Girl attend a Japanese noise band concert and in the process meet Mr. E. Discharge).