I’m going by number 3. here!
I am not much of a gusher. As in I’ve never had much to gush about but lately it seems that that is all I do. I gush. I gush and gush and gush. And smile when I do it. The biggest smile ever! The boyfriend and I are doing OK. We had a little bit of a rough patch (already?! you may ask) but we hadn’t seen each other for 10 days and he was missing me (or so he says). And it’s difficult being in a “secret relationship from your family” and thinking of excuses to be out of the house as often as he’d like me to be. When B lived around the corner, it was handy but she lives 200 miles away now. 😦 I can hardly justify “just popping out to see B”!
But we made time to spend the weekend (just gone) together. And we went to Brighton. I love the seaside. Especially a good old British seaside. With arcades, rides, fish and chips, candy floss and all other things that make a quintessential trip to a British seaside. He arrived at the station looking all sexy and all the awkwardness that I’d felt whilst “fighting” just melted away. The train journey was uneventful. There was a lot of just staring at each other and holding hands and lots of little light kisses – the ones that trigger an infinite amount of emotion. I was constantly staring at him wondering why this guy was interested in me.
Brighton was romantic. I had been there before previously with S – there are always going to be comparisons. I guess that come with being emotionally broken – baggage. But my previous trip didn’t even compare. I had been asking Baba* to me candy floss for a while so here he had the perfect opportunity and I didn’t even have to ask. Constantly telling me I’m beautiful. Having a drink and letting him guide me home as I felt the effect of all those Jagerbombs. And making sure I ate. And holding my hand. And telling me I’m beautiful. And the things that I’ve not had the chance to appreciate in a long long time.
He’s had a stressful time lately – trying to get his sister married. Tuesday night, he came with the good news that they’ve fixed a date for the engagement. We sat in my car for what can’t have been more than an hour. Him just talking and me just listening. Holding his hand. I am over affectionate. I can’t help myself. With people I love. I am always stroking or cuddling or in Baba’s case – kissing. His cheek, his nose, his forehead, his hand and sometimes (though only sometimes!) his lips. He told me that he’s got so used to this that if I ever stop, he’ll get very angry! I came to work the following morning and my answer phone was flashing. NOBODY ever calls me at work. EVER. Let alone leave a message. As I checked the missed call, I saw his number and the time (a little after midnight) and automatically assumed he was drunk. But in fact he wasn’t. “Good morning baby. Just wanted to say that I hope you have a nice day, try not to work too hard and I’ll see you later tonight. Love you.” The smile that I had etched on my face when I was listening and for the rest of the day is not even describe-able (is this a word?!). And now we are at last night.
“I want you to meet one of my friends” Oh shit. “And I want you to look sexy” So I don’t usually?! WTF? I spent about half an hour deciding what to wear. I couldn’t wear jeans – I wanted to make somewhat of a feminine impression! And his friend bought me flowers – he really shouldn’t have but it was such a sweet gesture. Apparently all Baba does is talk about me. And how I make him happy. In the restaurant, both were perfect gentlemen. The waitress took a shine to Baba. He’s such a charmer and she did tell him to come back when he’s in even more of a party mood. Even managing to drop in the days that she works! The conversation was easy and I’m hoping his friend likes me. Dropping his friend home after the meal, Baba comes back. We sit in the car and he takes my hand and tells me loves me. That he’ll look after me. The amount of affection and emotion he shows me is overwhelming.
Every time I see him, he takes another piece of my heart. The heart that was broken into so many pieces. And he’s putting it back together. He doesn’t know this. But he is.*Baba – because that’s what I call him. And calling him “The boyfriend” doesn’t really do him justice.