Counting down the hours until I leave

Hung over. Again.

Last night. Yeah, last night. I called Fife to come meet me earlier than scheduled, and I got a cocktail at the DCA while I waited. He arrived and because our dinner reservations weren’t for another hour we ordered a bottle of wine. We sat at a table in the corner. He kept leaning in trying to hold my hand, but I was worried. PoshPhD comes to the DCA quite often, what if she saw us?

So what if she saw us, then at least I wouldn’t need to have ‘the talk’, because PoshPhD would tell him. In fact, she’d be ecstatic if she caught me cheating, because then she could have him.

I held his hand under the table. 

After the bottle we wandered down to the restaurant. His arm draped across my shoulder and me leaning in to his side. It felt really nice. We walked slowly and talked about our day.

He spend the day working on edits for his book, and I told him about my day. I had a chat with Philip, which is a bit strange as I don’t speak to him that often. He sat at Loraine’s desk reading the papers and sporatically telling me about things in the news. I get the feeling he’s kind of lonely sometimes. He used to be a journalist on fleet street, but retired a few years ago. He said he was glad he retired as the industry’s changing, and he probably couldn’t hack the way things are done today. Talking to Philip was quite nice, and there’s something about him that reminds me of CoolTrous. I don’t exactly know what, but I can picture CoolTrous becoming Philip in 40 years.

Anyway, Fife and I chatted all the way to the restaurant. We had another table in the corner, away from the windows so we held hands openly. We both leaned in and talked quietly about silly things, nothing really.

Just before our mains arrived, he asked what days I had off for Easter, and suggested that we spend the long weekend together at the cottage. We could leave tomorrow after work, and he’d bring me back Tuesday morning. It would mean that he and I could spend four full days together, and I could be out of the house from Thursday morning until Tuesday night after work. (Wow, that’s a long time. And we’ve only just started seeing each other. Are we rushing into things? Is going away for a long weekend too much too soon? I don’t think so. I’m really comfortable with him, and we get along amazingly. Why am I even worried about this?)

Anyway, I have temporarily solved my Pete problem. I’ll just wait until Tuesday and have ‘the talk’ with him then. There’s point in ruining his Easter weekend. Perfect. I’d do it the moment I came back in the flat on Tuesday night.

Fife and I had two more bottles of wine, and I was getting quite tipsy. Then again so was he.

We stumbled out of the restaurant and he asked, ‘So, I’m coming to yours right?’

Shit. I wanted him to come to my flat, so badly. Damned be the bedtress and squatter lifestyle. Bringing Fife back to the flat would make having ‘the talk’ all that much easier. I could bring Fife in and just say, ‘Hey Pete. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to shag this guy in the other room. Oh and by the way. Get your stuff and leave.’ Nah. Not a good plan.

I said to Fife, ‘No. Have to be at work early. And I’m not too keen on having you over with the house guests still there. The walls are too thin.’

‘I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,’ he said and he leaned over and kissed me.

Damn you Pete for being in my house. But I persisted that Fife should go home. I’d see him tomorrow night after all.

We were walking to where he parked the car when I said, ‘You’re far too drunk to drive.’

With this he grabbed me, kissed me hard, and said, ‘Yes I know. My little plan has worked. Now you have to take me home with you.’

I pushed him away playfully and said, ‘No. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

He held me tighter and started kissing my neck. He then pushed me against a parked car, and began running his hand up my skirt. His leg then went between thighs and the other hand went up my shirt. All I could think was, ‘What’s it with old guys wanting to have sex in public?’

Then I realised, that because I was drunk, I didn’t just think this. I actually said it.

He stopped kissing me for a moment and said, ‘I don’t want to have sex in public. I just want to get you so horny that you bring me back to your place.’ 

I rebuffed him again, and he finally stepped back.

‘Okay, okay. Right. Well, if I’m to get home I’d better get going or I’ll miss the next train.’ (He can take a train to the nearest village and then a taxi from there. So, it’s cheaper than a taxi the whole way, but it’s still quite pricy.)

We kissed good-bye and I practically skipped all the way home.

Pete and S were in the lounge with PoshPhD when I got home, but I was steaming so I went to the bedtress and passed out. This morning I woke up with a raging headache. As I packed for the weekend, I prepared my lie to Pete.

‘I’m off to another literary festival. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I forgot all about it until late last night. I’ll be gone until Tuesday.’

‘Aw really? I thought we could spend Easter together, looking for hidden rabbits in the garden,’ Pete said and he pulled me on top of him.

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s shown very little interest in me for weeks, and now he decides to get frisky. I had no desire to sleep with him. He ran his hand up my shirt, but I pushed it away.

‘Sorry. I’ll be later for work, but I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We’ll do something then,’ I said to him.

But in my head I was screaming, ‘What’s fucking wrong with me? Why am I telling Pete that I’ll do something when you get back? Why am I acting like everything is normal?’

I have no idea why I said what I said. I guess I just wanted out of the house with as few problems as possible. I have no idea what is wrong with me.

Fife’s got to come back to Dundee to pick up his car, so he’ll collect me after work. I asked him to meet me in front of the office. I hope Loriane or LadyBohemia doesn’t see him. LadyBohemia has figured out that I’m ‘sweet’ on someone other than my boyfriend, but I don’t know if Loraine knows, and I definitely haven’t told them it’s Fife. So, until I’m ready, I’d prefer the locals weren’t informed.

And I’ve seen Em’s comment, and she’s right. I need to tell Fife that I’ve got a Pete living in my house. But I’m also really worried Fife’s going to think I’m a big cheating ho-bag, and if I can do that to Pete, then I could do that to him. (That’s what I’d be thinking if I were in his shoes.) So I’m going to tell Pete when I get back on Tuesday, then I’ll let Fife know that I had a Pete living in my house. Yes, I know I should tell them both now. Full disclosure and all that, but I don’t want to ruin Easter weekend. And again, yes, I’m being selfish…but there you go.

Oh, and speaking of Easter weekend, Loraine’s having a bunch of people over for Easter brunch, and she’s invited me along. I had to decline, stating other plans, but she’s insisted that I come around another time. So we’ve rescheduled for Sunday after next. I really like Loraine. It’s good to have a nice boss.

Right, so just a few hours to go and I’m away for the weekend. But first, I need to sort out my head. Paracetamol and a banana please.

Advertisements

2 responses to “Counting down the hours until I leave

  1. emofalltrades

    I’m glad you’re not just ignoring me. :)- I understand your logic, Chelle, I really do. I’m just worried you’re going to get found out by Fife or Pete and the situation will look so much worse. You’d be surprised what kind of understanding voluntary full disclosure gets you. Your situation IS understandable, but I think you’re making it all worse by putting honest discussions off and lying to everyone in the meantime.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s