Life’s Lectures - Part Four

Sat there, internally frantic at Aidan’s prompt and perky reply was a revisited kind of anxiety – but I don’t recall it being butterflies. After all, I was 28 and quite frankly my fanny had had better flutter than my reminiscent college years had offered me. I guess it was more so a feeling of relief. Relief that another man was welcoming of my presence after the apparent that Sam would rather choke down a Nokia 3310 if it meant not calling me again. Bastard!

Was I really going to pursue this? I certainly was entertaining a very flawed objective in a state of denial and vulnerability. Aidan told me he wasn’t seeing anyone, currently or seriously, and I joked if that included student ‘incidents’ or not. Swerve! It was only ever me he insisted, bashfully (totally pal). 

In all honesty, I didn’t really care who else was on his radar, I just needed a familiar thrill; to get over the ex by getting under the ex-lecturer. But, there was still distance between us, physical miles which encouraged that unavoidable heart-to-heart shit.

“There was always something between us…” he said. Yeah, distance. And your wife. And your girlfriend. Clearly his actions did not speak louder than words as I can’t quite recall Aidan standing in my front garden with a boom-box, or him consulting me while starring in his own episode of “Shaggart” post the Mrs. What was this bullshit? I never used to have to do this much work to get a shag from him, (college work included).

Aidan was adamant he had to see me, that it had been too long. He was clearly on some sort of bacon-backed endorphin’s having discovered his new past time of throwing barbells around at a spit-and-sawdust gym. So, I agreed to him traveling those miles to pay me a visit.

He stepped off the train and okay, maybe he still had it. There were those blue eyes with a familiar glint in them. But he was an older version, and with that came a ruggedly handsome aesthetic and those fine lines that mark a mans expressive lifeline (and a woman’s expiry date FYI). I pressed play on my sensory memories. Those that very much defined my coming of age.

Back at my flat, the hideaway cozily tucked in between rows of trees, we sat side by side on my awkward sofa having to straddle the lap of one another. Aidan spoke – a lot. I was nervous, and I also wasn’t listening. He laughed at me, the way he always did, knowing full well he still had the upper hand.

The vibe was unnatural. I couldn’t really understand why he wasn’t trying to rip my clothes off when for the first time in years we had no agenda or alibis to adhere to. I wondered if I had surpassed my adolescent charm – well, obviously. I wanted to lead him, but that was never my role. Aidan eventually took my hand and lead me to my bedroom.

He went down on me for what seemed like an hour, to the point where I awkwardly felt like my vagina, once a bright pink soaking watermelon, was now a severely dehydrated buffet left-over. I was also stuck in my head. There was no complaint to be made, I mean women should be grateful for that kind of thing, right? Being the head hunters and never the boss. I simply wasn’t used to time at our leisure, or recently familiar with the process.

Then, I was on top, accompanied by what I can only describe as a Buzz Lightyear facial expression, boldly looking down on the man with his eyes closed, moaning (wailing)! I thought about smothering him with a pillow out of embarrassment, but he was functioning normally from the waist down. I also thought about my upstairs neighbour during the interlude, worrying she was going to think I was a call girl with all this fucking carry on! And, I didn’t sleep that night. He was in my bed sleeping and it was just weird. We had never done a sleepover and I couldn’t relax.

The mood naturally eased over the duration of the weekend. There was something quite encouraging about chatting (and not clock-watching), and going for pub lunch (without fear that we would be shot upon leaving quarantine). Had Aidan changed towards me? He was reluctant to leave. I penciled in what would be my first visit to his place. He text me, constantly.