August 15, 2013 § 256 Comments
Old friend – we’ve fancied each other for twenty maybe even thirty years (fuck, can I be that old?) and acknowledged it (verbally, relatively recently) – has just separated from his wife. By amicably mutual agreement.
I don’t know if he’s already with someone else. I think not, despite my theory that no man EVER leaves his wife for a vacuum; there is always a woman he’s already screwing or at least one who has given every indication that she will willingly, gratefully, wantonly screw him the nanosecond that he gives her the green light to do so. I presume he is already sleeping with several 27 or 35 year olds, or what have you. I wouldn’t say no myself but I would also hope for something a little more deep and permanent, and not to be just one of countless cloves in the pomander.
What I have over the taut-twat brigade is something no amount of youth and pelvic-floor exercises can replicate, namely history – and I KEEP hearing about people in middle age marrying old friends; such a simple but stunningly good idea. History, and a biological clock which has so stopped even a mugger in Chelsea wouldn’t give it the time of day.
This old friend fancies me, and me him, and I make him laugh, and him me.
We have exchanged emails. He has told me what happened; I have sent a sympathetic one back.
I have, at my reckoning, before some taut-twat – or some other not such taut twat – gets him, about ten minutes.