Tuesday 20 April 2021

Memoir & Poem on an Affinity


The following is a frank commentary on one of my affinities from a few years back. It discusses intimate issues, so, if such will or may offend, read no further! Probably #NSFW.


It’s not the easiest meeting folk from one’s bed. I met F. on Grindr. Turned out he lived fairly close, in the next borough of Greater Manchester.

I only knew him for two months: the first five weeks we messaged one another; we dated for four weeks. I got used to multiple daily contact with someone again. Even my hairdresser said I was perkier than usual. I did feel an inner lift in my spirit and outlook.

I’m trying not to over-sentimentalise our affinity: I had my doubts.

Every time we met, he would whinge and whine about his housemates and even his best friend. Was he doing the same to others, only I was the target of his tongue? Does it matter now? It is difficult for me to be around so much negativity. It stresses me. I end up feeling sorry for both the speaker and the folk spoken about.

In the end, looking back, I found out next to nothing about him.

He does not like any of the diminutives of his given name, preferring to be called F.

I have no idea what if any hobbies or pastimes he has. Yes, he is a church-warden and a regular church-goer. He was Roman Catholic but converted to Anglicanism. Other than that, he does not read much. He listens to the ‘news’ from his home-country each morning via his smartphone. And he watches lots of television. He seems to have many friends: at least he went to several parties during our affinity, was invited to another which he was meant to have taken me to the weekend following our break-up. At these parties he ended up smoking - even though he sported patches and was supposed to be giving up. He drank quite a lot. Now, it is difficult to recall occasions when either he or both of us had not been drinking.

He works part-time in nursing ancillary positions two to three days per week; but surely that cannot pay sufficient? He was studying to be a support-worker for children on the autism spectrum. He does seem to have a caring nature, despite the bitching about others.

He told me he went to San Francisco when he was still young. He has also resided in Munich and learned to speak German (so I called him Schatz - treasure - which he accepted). He had lived in Manchester for some eight years or so.

He was the victim of a vicious gay-bashing abroad. The felon is serving an extremely long sentence (twenty-eight years, I think) for a whole series of attacks on men and even one woman. Poor F. now walks with a distinct limp and finds it difficult to use his left arm, and even the left hand shakes in sporadic, violent spasms.

He did not like my music tastes, other than the classical. On the other hand, he did not open up about what his actual tastes were. He did appear to enjoy attending the Saint Nicholas Concert with me in Heaton Norris. I certainly enjoyed our holding hands throughout the performances.

[Image description: the rose that bloomed the month we dated.]

We seemed to be compatible in bed. Well, at least once he had got me there. The first time he came over to mine for the evening, we decided upon watching a film together. We snuggled up to each other on the sofa. All the while the film was playing, I was feeling really turned on. But F.’s gaze did not move from the screen for more than the sporadic few seconds he took to check on me. Part-way through our viewing, he grabbed my hand and flung it between the open folds of his shirt. He has a fabulous chest, firm and hirsute. I twirled my fingers through the long chest-hairs and made swirling motions over his hot skin, all too aware of the muscles and chest-bones underneath my finger-tips. I turned and nuzzled into his arm-pit and my left-hand playing with his right-breast. The movie played on. We went to bed, both tired sleepy-heads. We spooned together and dropped off to sleep. In the darkness, a few hours later, he woke me, and we began to play…

I find it difficult to relax and turn off my internal voice the first time I am with someone new. All the doubting voices in my head militate against relaxing and going with the flow. F. was different: we obviously both turned each other on sexually, but alas only sexually. Generally, the first time I have sex with someone, I don’t cum. F. is the same. However, our first time there was cum spewing from both of us. I am sad that sex was the only level at which we really connected. Until nor since F., no-one had ever masturbated me as well as myself. He was actually better! I never anticipated that someone else even could do a better job. It was a huge surprise. I also can cum multiple times during a play-session, so I liked one to be from his hand.

I miss one or two things about him; but we obviously were not compatible for anything long-term. I wish he would have remained a friend or better yet a ‘friend with benefits’ nonetheless.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me in person, when he dumped me. He texted. Made me feel a tad sad. Afterwards I realised he’d cleared out all his toiletries from my bathroom. He must have known. Still slept with me though. Heigh-ho!

What is upsetting is that he told me he has stayed in contact with all his exes bar one and now me. I don’t know what - if anything - I did wrong. Maybe nothing. He’s bipolar so it could just be he has entered his depressive period. He had compared me to a deceased ex-boyfriend and how much I reminded him of his late friend. Perhaps the similarities became too much for F. Or perhaps it is the way he deals with his emotions.


My knight let me down

His metal dulled

He could no longer stay

Lance dropped

Shield tossed aside

He walked away

A trail of armour

Traces the route

Where love died


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