I don't know where to start, but I'll probably start with one of the best memories of my life, and one of my deepest regrets.
I was 20 something. And by that I mean like 22. I had recently moved to a new city to work, in fact a new country, and one of my new collegues, a woman five or six years older than me, very quickly became a very good friend - the kind of friend you hang out with ALL the time. The kind of friend to whom you don't say "you want to do something Saturday?", but rather "what do you want to do Saturday?".
She wasn't openly gay, but she was open about it to her friends, including me. I didn't mind, and I didn't care. I had a few gay friends back home, it wasn't a big deal.
For years, she had had an ongoing affair with another colleague of ours, an older woman (50+). It was mainly erotic and I was impressed, and intrigued, but nothing else. I myself got involved with a married man... and if anything, our respective affairs stole from our time spent as friends, which annoyed us both - but hey, a woman has needs. It seemed like a perfect arrangement - a beautiful friendship to satisfy our souls, a couple of pleasant affairs for sex, perhaps with the odd one night stand thrown in every now and then.
Months went by. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I grew increasingly jealous of the 50+ woman. They seemed to spend more and more time together. I started to feel left out, and it all culminated on one specific Saturday morning.
Let me rephrase that: It culminated on a specific Saturday morning, which I only the other day remembered, after not having thought about it for years and years and years, and recalling it made me re-interpret large portions of my life.
This post is already too long, so I'll take a break here. I need to write about this though, so I'll probably continue very soon.
I was 20 something. And by that I mean like 22. I had recently moved to a new city to work, in fact a new country, and one of my new collegues, a woman five or six years older than me, very quickly became a very good friend - the kind of friend you hang out with ALL the time. The kind of friend to whom you don't say "you want to do something Saturday?", but rather "what do you want to do Saturday?".
She wasn't openly gay, but she was open about it to her friends, including me. I didn't mind, and I didn't care. I had a few gay friends back home, it wasn't a big deal.
For years, she had had an ongoing affair with another colleague of ours, an older woman (50+). It was mainly erotic and I was impressed, and intrigued, but nothing else. I myself got involved with a married man... and if anything, our respective affairs stole from our time spent as friends, which annoyed us both - but hey, a woman has needs. It seemed like a perfect arrangement - a beautiful friendship to satisfy our souls, a couple of pleasant affairs for sex, perhaps with the odd one night stand thrown in every now and then.
Months went by. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I grew increasingly jealous of the 50+ woman. They seemed to spend more and more time together. I started to feel left out, and it all culminated on one specific Saturday morning.
Let me rephrase that: It culminated on a specific Saturday morning, which I only the other day remembered, after not having thought about it for years and years and years, and recalling it made me re-interpret large portions of my life.
This post is already too long, so I'll take a break here. I need to write about this though, so I'll probably continue very soon.
Sometimes it helps to just pour out these thoughts regardless of the length of the post.
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