Since breaking up we'd both strived to demonstrate independence from the other by booking time abroad alone. Travel, investigation and awe connected us; our experiencing alien customs and learning about foreign habits together made these moments more special. A great passion, one more so for being shared.
Both our faces registered the sting from being informed of the others imminent solo ventures. The wide eyed don't-look-bothered, keep-your-face-still expressions gave us both away. We were bothered. I wasn't going to be with Dom, and I wasn't going to be alone either.
Distracting me was soon to be the company of 18 gay men, only one of which I knew, but all of whom I knew were older than me. Aah, the gentle stroking of my precious ego, such facts reminded me that it is far too long since such an event had occurred whereupon I would be regarded as the young, fit one! Benidorm is well known for being cheap, easy and available, I'd happily wager such characteristics are evident in the majority of tourists who find themselves in such a place. A place harbouring barely contained licentiousness that quickly whips out it's cock for unrestricted action at the drop of some strangers undergarments. A place plentiful of loud bars and cheap beer, with even cheaper men populating the gay nudist beaches and cruising grounds that together adequately accommodate the vast selection of infection awaiting.
Observing Dom's failing resistance to react to the sharp sting upon hearing my plans without him, whilst imagining me as the errant young, fit one (despite my being too old regardless) provides a mixed response; I don't want to see him being hurt, I want to see what he'll do to prove he's not. That said, I hate seeing him when he is hurt, I cause that, which makes it my fault. It's strange - I want you to hurt, I want a reaction, I want you to be bothered.
His ensuing trouble causing bravado belies any reported indifference.
Anyway, Sass Fee, Switzerland.
Unlike me, he has told me nothing about his plans other than the country and resort. That's where we differ, he knows telling me nothing results in the sting delivered to me being strong enough to paralyse. All my thoughts become about him, I obsess, I must find out, I must know, what's he doing? Who with? Where is he? Is he really where he says he is?
And so it goes on. And on.
Or, it used to do.
I have recently realised that we no longer have any automatic entitlement to each others affairs any more. We both want to know what the other one is doing, but neither one of us wants to be the first to be told that our business belongs elsewhere. I knew this was going to hurt.
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