Tales of a Travelling Mistress

I’ve recently returned from a little trip. A week away in a part of Australia I’ve never visited.  A week with a man who has been, on and off, a part of my life for over three years now.
He’s another distant lover, although when I first met him, he was temporarily residing in my parish. And he was also, I might add in my defence, (what I thought was permanently), single. I’ve written about him before on here (should I, mayhap, give out a prize for any reader who can guess which past post is about him???). Without descending into a tedious, blow-by-blow account, we lost touch two years ago, and only remade contact a few months ago. And he was the one that reached out.
He is no longer single. He is now residing in another state. He is, in other words, totally not available.
And yet…nek minnit…here we are again.
We’ve caught up once in the last six months, when he popped over to my corner of paradise for a couple of days. We talk on the phone nearly every day. We are oddly content in our secret, distant connection.
Or at least we were. Or at least I was. Or maybe not. Or…
Godammit I’m confused.
Spending a week with him, especially in his world, is not something I’ve done before. He has always been in mine, on the few occasions we have been physically together. This was holiday week, sure. Lots of sightseeing was done. But it was also quite domestic. We were staying in a family house of his. We shopped. We cooked dinner. We shared a bed. We had coffee together in the mornings. All the stuff I have previously eschewed. We grew closer. We grew fonder.
So now here I am back home, and instead of being able to get on with my life and look forward to the next phone call, I am pining. I’m missing him so much it hurts. But more than that, I am missing the daily interaction with another, mature, adult. One who isn’t one of my offspring, or my dotty old father or somebody randomly dropping in who requires feeding. I’m missing having someone who is able to bear witness to my life. I am missing having someone in my corner, giving me a pep talk. I am missing being able to touch him whenever I want (consensual I hastily add!).

So where we/I go from here is in the hands of the gods…who I am guessing will treat me like a fly to a wanton boy…
He remains in his primary relationship. There are reasons. There are explanations. They are not for this forum. I remain on my own. Struggling through a difficult “patch” in my life which I thought might have mended itself by now. NO SUCH LUCK. I try to kiss the joy as it flies. I remain hugely grateful for the blessings in my life. But oh lord I am tired. So very, fucking tired.

This week has shown me many things, and I don’t just mean geographically. It has shown me that this man means more to me than I realised. It has also shown me that I am not quite so terrified of intimacy as I once thought. The chances of my attaining full intimacy status with this wonderful, wonderful man, are quite low. I’m a realist if nothing else. And I am sure that, at some stage in the future, I am going to have my heart broken. But part of me is able to give thanks that I can still feel that deeply. And that just possibly, one day, when all the fairy dust has settled…I may just find myself living in domestic bliss with a man, sitting on the back verandah of an evening, watching the sun set and sipping on a nice pinot.
One day…



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