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Saturday, January 28, 2006


It was inevitable. We both know the same people. It was only a matter of time before we bumped into each other again. So when I was standing by the edge of set this week, I wasn’t surprised to hear my name being called by a familiar voice – SP’s.

It’s been more than a year since I last saw him. I always thought that when our paths finally crossed once more, that I would find it difficult; that seeing this man – who preferred to sleep with a younger woman, than to commit to me – would be intimidating for me. I was anxious that my emotions would be stoked once more; that I would feel vulnerable in his presence, insecure with the fact that it was him who dumped me.

But most of all, I worried that seeing him again would remind me of the intensity of our passion and that I might succumb to wanting him again. I feared that I would remember how much I used to enjoy him pushing me onto all fours, spanking my arse and then fucking me hard; or my pleasure in his handcuffing me to the bed and forcing repeated orgasms upon me as he licked me for hours; or when I had anal sex for the first time with him and I climaxed so hard I was scared I would bang my head on the wall. I always thought that these things would be at the forefront of my mind were I to see him again and it terrified me that I might weaken through my desire and end up in bed with him.

But I didn’t.

As I turned back to see SP standing there grinning at me, beyond the building-site scaffolding of the set, I was struck by how little I felt; there was no stirring between my legs, my breath didn’t quicken. I looked at SP and barely recognised him: he didn’t look like someone I used to love; I felt nothing for him at all.

Ironically it was SP, not me, who was intimidated by our meeting again: he was visibly nervous - stuttering and fidgeting all the time we were talking. For some reason I felt calm, distanced, indifferent. He looked like he had aged ten years since I last saw him; a haggard, tired, lifeless, middle-aged man. There was no light in his eyes; instead a sense of emptiness and sadness. I looked at him and thought of our last night together.

I could have made you happy. I could have loved you; nurtured the yearning in your heart; stoked the passion in your soul. I could have held you close and helped you lose the pain. I could have made you feel whole once more. I could have fucked you so hard you would have felt young again.

But in a millisecond, these thoughts were gone: they were wishes of the past, not of the present. I don’t want those things any longer – not with him. I have moved on; I am in a better place now than I was then; but he appears to have hit rock bottom. As I looked at this tired old man whom I used to care deeply for, the only emotion I felt for him was pity.

SP commented that life for him wasn’t great – it hadn’t changed: he was doing the same job, lived in the same house, had the same phone number. I said I wished him all the best – and I meant it – but I was thinking to myself that the days of me contacting him were long gone: I deleted his numbers from my phone a year ago.

The pity I felt for him soon changed to annoyance as he invaded my personal space, standing too close to me for comfort and letting his eyes graze my curves a few too many times. I tried to move away discreetly as we made idle chit-chat and I wondered how quickly I could leave him, without appearing rude. I explained I was due back on set and we said our goodbyes; his hand on my waist as he reached in to hug me tightly. As I opened the door back to the set, he insisted I walk in front of him and when I walked down the corridor, I caught sight of him staring at my arse.

A year and a half ago, I knew that for him, that sight was enough to warrant a slap on my behind, his hard-on pressed up against my arse cheeks, or a quick hand in between my legs. Now, it would just be an image permanently embedded in his brain: the rear view of a woman he lost, walking away from him into her future.

I stepped back onto set and quickly became immersed with my work. It was only later that day that I remembered SP had been there - I had continued working, unaffected and unaware of his presence: a fitting analogy for the way things have turned out for him and I; and a happy conclusion to what was once a painful time for me.

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