I couldn't think what to call this post, so I resorted to what I've been calling anything I can't remember the name of / for since the 80s after seeing this episode of "Black@dder":
Anyway, it's not only handy as a post title but also as a pseudonym for someone who is going to feature in the post itself.
So, I met "Bob" about eight years ago when he was a junior academic working with one of my bosses. We were thrown together for a small project and got to know each other a little over the weeks when we had to stay late or go in early so that we could meet a deadline. He is a year or so older than I am, and at that time had been married for about two years to a fellow academic. After the project was done, he went back to his academic institution in the north of England and a year after that, he got a grant to set up a research study in Africa. We kept in sporadic touch via email, mainly for work purposes, and we'd always go out for a drink and a gossip when he came to London to keep my boss up-to-date on the African study. Around the time that A and I split up, Bob and his wife seperated, his research study came to an end and he temporarily went back to his old post in the north of England. Six months ago I heard through the grapevine (doctors are terrible gossips) that Bob's divorce was final and that he'd got another grant to replicate his study in another African country starting next year.
Which brings us to a month ago. A few days after I wrote
this post, Bob came to London for a meeting and a bunch of us went out for a drink afterwards. Those with partners and children to go home to sloped off early on and Bob and I went for dinner in Soho, which was followed by more drinks, the sudden realisation that Bob's train had left without him (how cliched was that?) just five minutes before we realised the time and me offering him my spare room. By the time we'd lurched up to my flat, though, the thought of making up the spare bed was too daunting so we both fell into mine and were out like lights instantly and chastely.
The following morning was not so chaste.
Afterwards we talked about it, decided that it was just what we both needed to salve wounds and boost shattered self-esteem following our respective relationship breakdowns. We realised that neither one of us were ready for a relationship, even though we are fond of each other, and anyway Bob is going back overseas after Christmas. We also decided not to tell anyone about what happened (this was my request to which Bob readily agreed because as I've already said - doctors are terrible gossips, and ours is a very small community... BFG and Rach, you are the only people IRL who will ever know!) We kept in slightly less sporadic email contact and then Bob came back down to London the weekend before I went to America. Definitely not chaste this time either :-)
And this time we are sticking with the "one-time, no sorry, two-time only" thing. Neither one of us wants to be a long-distance booty call during Bob's remaining weeks in England, and while we are fond of each other and clearly find each other attractive, we both know that there's nothing long-term between us.
So those are the facts, now for the feelings. I feel great! Before A left in April 2011, we hadn't had sex since January 2010 because this was the (ironic when you think about even a little bit) equation in A's head: sex+Illanare=dead babies. Someone saying that sex with you is synonymous with heartbreak is quite shattering to the soul. Infertility and loss had already made me think destructive things about my body, the fertility treatments and subsequent comfort eating had piled on the pounds, A's rejection compounded all the feelings I had of not being a real woman, much less a desirable one. Bob made me feel pretty, and desirable. Womanly, in fact. Bob said that I made him feel attractive, wanted and powerful, which was so lovely to hear.
I really and truly aten't ded!
