April 18th, 1990

April 18th, 1990

At Ben’s

Spent the morning in the garden with mum and Alistair, who pouted when he didn’t get his own way, which, with mum running after him, didn’t happen much. I know he’s only eight but I think in that regard, he needs to grow up.

By tonight, I’d had enough of baby bear and his foot stomping demands, so when Ben rang to invite me out with him and Ian, I jumped at the chance. Ben picked me up in a taxi and we met Ian at Zazoo’s but once we were inside Ian made a beeline for the girls at the bar. Watching him, reminded me of being on safari, with the animals circling around their prey, waiting to pounce and get their needs met!

At the end of the night (the part I usually hate) Ben and I slow danced and he kept whispering how much he loves me. He asked if I still love him and I told him I do but I know I’ll never be with him again. Being that close to him, I wished we could turn back the clock and be happy together again but I know it’ll never be.

Ugh, just writing that made me cry a little but based on my writing, it appears I may have had too much to drink so I probably shouldn’t confuse the two.

We came back to Ben’s in a taxi and in the kitchen (supposedly making tea!) we ended up kissing mightily for a very long time. It’d have been so easy to get carried away but for once I managed to control myself.

Upstairs, in the bathroom, I tried to help Ben remove his contact lenses but you know you’ve had too much to drink when something so banal makes you laugh so much that you can’t do it.

I hope the room doesn’t start spinning when I close my eyes.

 

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