Friday 13th. Unlucky For Some?

As fate would have it, I met number 9. I asked if he was out and he was, came to my rescue as I was being followed by a creep through town after work. We seemed so surprised to see each other, even though we knew we would be.

He held me tight, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my forehead softly. I looked up at him and smiled. His head was shaved, I scratched it up and he laughed and he didn't believe me when I said I really liked it. He stroked my fringe and informed me that I'd had a hair cut myself. I was not surprised to hear this, because I had indeed.

I asked what had happened and he said that he had had a lot of feelings for me and felt unsure as to what to do, so ballsed out like a real man, and just stopped talking. He thought our friendship had been too intense. I thought we were just fucking in his car?

I said not to worry. I told him I had been confused and he should have just said something.

"I mean of course I like you but its not the romance of the century".

We went for a drink, he dropped me lots of compliments and kissed me. I touched his hands, still firm and calloused. His arms were still muscular and his eyes still creased when he smiled and I was honest and I said I had missed him. He said he had missed me too.

So why do I do these things? Why do I decide the way to cap off what could be a return to sweetness or friendship left on good terms, by taking him home and fucking him.

Because that's what I know how to do, better than talk and feelings.

So that's what I did.

I asked did he want to come back with me for a bit. Of course he did. He said in the taxi,

"We can just lay together, I just want to lay down with you. We don't have to do anything"

"But maybe I want to?"

I crept into my home with him, I sat across his lap and we kissed and touched and fucked and it wasn't amazing sex, but it was such a relief. Tension poured out like blood, but there was a knot in the vein, a sadness, a lump in my throat and a hurt in the pit up my stomach. He couldn't feel them but I could.

We curled up after and I lay against his chest, breathed in his smell that I had missed more than anything and let him comfort me unknowingly. A few tears watered out. Slid down my nose. I sucked my thumb. I don't really know why I'm sad. I should be happy that he's back in my life, but part of me wonders for how long. A drunken fumble is not a promise made on the bible.

Am I being used? Or am I still the user and why am I upset?

I sent him a message after I put him in a taxi home. "That was fun. Don't be a stranger". He replied, but will that be the end of it? Should it be?

Shaun, I am sorry.