He kissed me and said nothing, since nothing needed to be said.

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“You’re in love”, she said, although with the element of surprise it was, almost, a question.

I couldn’t see his face since he was sitting next to me.  Although, looking at his profile, I could almost see the look in his eyes, the pursed mouth; the withering look he gave her that said that she shouldn’t have asked it.

‘You are, I can see, you’re in love’.  OK, so this was more of a statement.

She looked over at me.  I felt it necessary to help him out; to answer for him.  Some seconds had passed.  He hadn’t denied it.  If he had wanted to deny it then it would have been immediate.  My heart jumped a little at this understated, undeclared but obvious ‘truth’.  Yes, he was in love, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

‘No, he’s not’ I replied, smiling as I did so.  He added ‘We’re taking it slowly’.  It’s a slow, slow road to the admission, that’s for sure.  But I know the truth and so did she.  And so does he.

The only nights we are apart, now, are those that are inevitable or occasionally, when we feel it necessary in order to keep up the pretence of keeping it ‘slow’.  No, maybe that’s unfair.  I do understand that it’s difficult for him.  I think he would like it to be slow but it just ain’t really happening that way.

And, afterwards, I told him that I liked the fact that he hadn’t answered straight away.  And he kissed me and said nothing, since nothing needed to be said.

Making an effort too, even if it’s really no effort.

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OK, so, if there’s one thing that we are completely different about, it’s food.  So far, it’s not been that big of a problem.  Although he will eat everything, more or less, if he’s confronted with not much of a choice.  He even had red wine on Saturday night.  I think it was his way to say ‘thank you’ for picking him up from the airport – not that it was necessary of course.  In fact, he’s always considering me with regards to the restaurants chosen.  He’s always looking for a restaurant that serves meat, even if I keep pointing out that it’s not that important.  It’s his way, I think.  Of course, this only becomes clear to me in the morning (like now) and not at the time.

Yeah, my head works better in the morning.

Also, he got milk for me at his home, so that when we had coffee, I could have some milk.  And, the fact that he comes to my house even if it means waking up so much earlier……..and he’s not good in the mornings………he’s like porcelain, you may remember?  I have a spare key so that he could leave later but he wouldn’t take it.  Perhaps tonight I can persuade him to take it?

And I do things too that I wouldn’t normally do.

Last night we slept in our own, respective flats.  For reasons of this morning (I have clients for two days and, so, probably won’t be posting much).  And I left his place later than I had intended last night.  He wanted me to stay.  I wanted to stay.  He wanted to be at my place.  I wanted him at my place.  But this is the problem when you don’t live together.  There’s time (and, yet, no time).  I was strong, even if I really did want to stay so much.  There was no way I wanted to be late to work today and I had to wear a suit and stuff.

Sunday was brunch with FfI and friends at Indiana Post, in the Navigli.  It was nice and got us out of the house.  He is good in these situations but has explained to me that it is a ‘show’ where he is an actor.  And I get it.  He seems even better than V at this stuff.

And I asked him more about his job on Saturday night.  I had been getting the impression that he was more than he let on.  And I was right.  And he takes it seriously and that is good.  And, on many things we think alike, including work, even his is a field I don’t really understand.  But, even if it is a different field, it is all the same.  There are customers and there are the producers and the same shit happens.

And, he told me again he was worried with so much stuff to do, so many things going on in his head.  And I said, again, I would help with anything I can, even if it is a little the same for me (well, certainly for work).

And tonight we go out with some friends who are from the place he lived as a kid.  Then he comes to mine.  Again, not a huge thing but enough to say that he is making an effort too even if, if he’s like me, it’s really no effort..

Waiting is both agony and ecstasy!

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In an hour from now, I shall be on my way to pick up F.  As the day has worn on, the feelings I have became more intense.  It’s one of excitement, of longing.  Just to see him but also to kiss him, to feel his body next to mine.  This is the Karl Spark, I just know it.  I think he feels the same but you can never be sure.

He’s coming in an hour earlier than he had told me, so the meal I had planned is not done.  However, we’ll see how it goes – maybe I’ll do it anyway – at his house.  Or maybe we’ll go out to his favourite Sardinian restaurant, or get a take-away pizza or something.

To be honest, I don’t really care.  Just to be with him is enough.

My stomach churns with the excitement.  I can’t eat and yet I feel so hungry.  And I can hardly sit still.  I can picture him and the picture is perfect.  His eyes, his mouth, his hair – there, right in front of me.  I want to squeeze him so hard; I want him to know that I’ve missed him, although I think he might get it anyway.  I hope so and I hope he feels the same.

The excitement is so bad I want to leave now, as if by being there it will make the plane early!

Waiting is both agony and ecstasy!

For V

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People ask how it feels to live the kind of life others dream about
I tell them everybody gotta face their highs and their lows
And in my life there’s a love I put aside
‘Cos I was busy loving something else
So for every little thing you hold on to
You’ve got to let something else go

How I wish I, wish I’d done a little bit more
Now shoulda woulda coulda means I’m out of time
‘Cos shoulda woulda coulda can’t change your mind
And I wonder, wonder, wonder what I’m gonna do
Shoulda woulda coulda are the last words of a fool

I hope he does the right thing, if he can and it’s not too late.

Anyway a great song by a great singer for everyone to enjoy.

Who’s the thief?

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My cleaner, one time, asked if he could take some biscuits. To be honest, these were in a cupboard that he never needs to go in. It’s never really bothered me that cleaners would look in places they shouldn’t but……the request made me a little uneasy. However, of course, I said ‘yes’.

I had some apples in the basket on the kitchen table. There were four. The night before last, I went to get one and noticed that there were only three. Last night, I had one of the two that were left.

I thought, the night before last (the cleaner comes that day and I was here when he left), that I must speak to him about it. And, then again, it’s not such a big deal, is it.

And so, tonight, I thought, I just fancy the last apple. I was making a cup of tea at the time. I turned to the table and the basket was empty (and, also, slightly moved).

Ordinarily, of course, one would have suspected the cleaner, coming in for food but it’s a long way out of his way just to come for an apple.

I have a thief and I know who it is. So now, in the kitchen, at least, I shall have to ensure that there is nothing out that is within reach of ………… Dino, of course!

I can’t wait until tomorrow afternoon

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Overall, it’s not been too bad.  I didn’t get paranoid apart from the other night, when he didn’t text back quickly enough.  Oh, yes, and then after Monday night when I got drunk and phoned him so late.

And then there’s today.  And today I start to worry about how it will be when we meet at the airport.  I mean, after a week apart, will I really feel that something again?  And this is after this morning, when I had woken before the alarm and started to think of us, in bed, and sex and all that and how good that made me feel and seeing him and holding him and being with him and being turned on by only the thoughts of him.

So there!  It’s just being stupid.  Although not helped by the fact that I’ve had no message this morning.  Normally one of us texts in the morning and the other replies and then we have several text exchanges during the day.  Today, so far, there have been no texts from him, which is strange.  So I texted and went for the receipt on delivery thing you can do.  No receipt.  This means he has no phone (forgotten) or it has no battery or something else.

Of course, the “something else” worries me.  I am a worrier, it seems; no, it’s not ‘seem’, I know I am.

And, tomorrow, I shall make Shepherd’s/Cottage Pie (one of his favourites) and, maybe Nan’s Trifle or Treacle Tart and then take them with me when I pick him up, so we can have that Saturday night or, if he doesn’t want that ‘cos he’s too tired, Sunday.

We spoke last night as I’m walking back from A’s house where I had been for a drink.  He asked if we were going to FfI’s house on Saturday night.  I said no and that I had told everyone that he would be tired and that, anyway, we hadn’t seen each other for a week and that we wouldn’t be going anywhere.  He was pleased with that and said so.  I remember how it is when you’ve been away.  And then there’s the adjustments that you (have to) make when you’re back together – although we haven’t been together long enough for there to be a real problem with that – that comes later with time I think.

So, there’s me worrying about how I will feel when we are together again………and then, seconds later thinking about how I want to hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and stroke his feet and caress his back and run my hand over his head like I do and play with his ears and kiss those too to turn him on and look at him………..and?

__________________________________________________________________________

A friend said to me that V wasn’t very nice (to the friend).  I feigned not knowing and not understanding.  But I knew.  And V was like that sometimes.  It made my life more difficult.  I don’t know what to say/didn’t know what to say.  I said that I still loved him and that you can’t just let 20 years go and that V was a little strange sometimes.  I had to stop the friend bad-mouthing V.

It was true but I don’t want to hear someone else making out he was not perfect.  I can do that but can’t hear it from someone else.  Strange, I thought.  What does it mean?

__________________________________________________________________________

I look at his picture on the screen.  I look into his eyes.  I love that face.

I can’t wait until tomorrow afternoon.

Tuscan and Chinese eating

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What I didn’t mention was the restaurants over the first couple of nights this week.  And I should.  And so:

Monday night we tried to go the Mexican but it was closed.  So I told them there was the new Milanese restaurant in the parallel street that did great food (even if the service could have been better).  Unfortunately, Monday is obviously not a good day for restaurants as that was closed too.

However, next door was a smallish Tuscan restaurant.  FfI’s sort-of-boyfriend, O suggested we go there and I was quite up for it.

Trattoria della Zia (Aunt’s Trattoria) was fairly nondescript from the outside.  It looked like it had been there for a while.  We went in anyway.  Really we had a main course only (although we did share a portion of Crostini as an antipasto).  It was Fiorentina which, if it is good meat, is truly fabulous although, to be honest, the best one I had was in Florence about 12 years ago.

However, this one was, probably, the best one that I have had in Milan.  The meat was perfectly cooked and with very little sinew which, considering it is blue, is kind of important.  We had some potatoes (a kind of roast potato) and some grilled vegetables and some white beans.

Truly delicious.  Afterwards we had some Mirto and O suggested I try Chino Martini, which I did and had a couple of glasses of those.  Hence my post about the note to myself.

The night before last was with V and we ended up at the Chinese – Imperiale, on via Plinio….again.

Nice, as usual.  It had been some time since V had been there now that he lives across town.  And I only stuck to one Sambuca afterwards – essential for a clear head in the morning!

But, for me, so far, the Trattoria della Zia is the best Tuscan restaurant I’ve been to in Milan, certainly for the Fiorentina steak anyway.

I’m sorry I made you cry

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When it’s broken it’s broken.

The alarm said 3.  It actually said 3.55 which meant nearly four but my eyes only really saw the 3.  Three whole hours (and a bit) of sleep would I be getting this night.  This really isn’t quite working out as I had planned.

Earlier:
I heard the three words again.  Seems there’s a lot of it about.  Maybe, on that drunken night, a long time ago now, it seems, I didn’t say everything that I could have.  Or, at least, he didn’t remember.  But, then, things, reasons, excuses, have also changed in time and are not the same as they were before.  They are different but no less untrue for all that.

And there’s the heart of it.  The centre of it all.  And still, even confronted with the evidence, with what must be suspected, still there is a reluctance to admit anything, as if, by admitting, everything will be destroyed forever.

But, everything is already destroyed and was, really, all those years ago.  It just took me a long time to realise it and a long time to come to terms with it; me, hanging on to what I thought was real, even if I knew it was not.

Eventually, I got an admission – of sorts.  Not much of one, true, and probably not the whole truth or, even, a tiny portion of it – but something.

I just want to scream ‘Stop fucking lying to me!’ and yet I know that it will continue.  I told him about Karl.  About what happened.  Well, not all but some.  I needed him to understand that, even if he still thought he held a flame for me, it could never be again.

I really want him to be happy, just not with me, in spite of anything he might think that he wants.  I don’t want him to make the same mistake he made with me and it hurts me to see that he is doing it again.  Already.

I guess it must be like some sort of drug.

Earlier he said that I was too honest.  It was true, in a way.  I cannot hide how I feel or what I think very well, except, perhaps, in business.  But not with friends or lovers or, even, ex-lovers.

I fail to understand why people lie.  What’s the point?  OK, so saying someone looks nice even if you don’t think they do is one thing.  I’m talking about important things here.

There were tears but I think the tears were for himself and what could have been…..but isn’t.  And, yet, I still felt guilty.  As if it were my fault, which I know it is not.  Oh, yes, I must shoulder some of the blame for it all, certainly, but it’s not my fault.

This may give a wrong impression.  An impression that the evening was crap or not enjoyable.  And yet it wasn’t those things.  It was good and nice and pleasant and fun, for the most part.  A little like the whole 20-odd years.

Still, I’m sorry I made you cry.

Last night, we made a start

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There was, of course, the trip to Ikea and other ‘out of town’ stores for looking at furniture.  Mainly for his new flat but also a wardrobe for mine.

He had the car from work.  He wanted to be there for about 9.30 a.m.  We stayed at his place.  I woke at about 7.30 first but dozed until it got to about 8 or 8.30.  I would have preferred to sleep in and, in fact, he said at one point, that, perhaps, we should go tomorrow.  I replied that if we didn’t do it today we might miss tomorrow and then, next Saturday, he would still be in Germany and really we should get up.  Even if I didn’t want that.

We got up, had coffee and then went to do the dogs.  Once the dogs had been walked, he drove to the first store.

Now, I should remind you that he is not so tall, slightly built and so very sweet, never really getting angry.  Well, that’s not quite true but almost.  He does have very strong opinions about certain things.  Take the Chinese family living next door to him.  He has threatened to kill them several times now.  Last night, with the children screaming and crying and much shouting going on, he finally snapped and went to get a shoe to bang on the wall.  It had the desired effect.

However, generally he is sweet and without real anger.  Until Saturday morning, however.

I have driven with Italians before.  Italians drive in a particular way.  Cutting each other up; Signalling left when they subsequently go right; Stopping suddenly to ‘park’ (we would say double park); Pulling out from a side road in front of you, etc.  It means you really have to pay attention to the traffic and expect the unexpected.  I do use my horn more often than I would in the UK but that’s because it is really one of the only ways you will survive here.

However, generally, I don’t swear and shout at other drivers.  Why would I? What’s the point?  It’s not like they can hear you and it’s not like it would change their driving habits either.  So I remain quite calm.

Other Italians, when I’m in the car, do tend to be more demonstrative when they are driving, both verbally and physically.  However, Saturday was a little different.  F became a different person from the one I knew.  It didn’t scare me or anything like that and he is quite a good driver but, in the half hour or so it took us to get to the first store, I probably heard all the Italian swearwords (and, in fact, a few more that I didn’t know before) and more than once.

As I pointed out to him, it’s a bloody good thing that our first ‘date’ wasn’t him driving me somewhere otherwise I would have thought him a very aggressive and uncontrollable animal.

As it was, because I know that he is only like this when behind the wheel, I found it somewhat amusing.  What amuses me further is that he is a little like this even when I’m driving!  However, not nearly as bad.

Saturday night we were meeting my friend G and going to the Brasserie Bruxelles on Viale Abruzzi.  A & F2 were coming too.

They have a rather excellent selection of beers.  Once again, F proved to be so good, chatting to A & F2 whilst G & I were able to catch up.  G saying that F didn’t really seem like an Italian – a little more Anglicised – and not only because he drank beer like any good Englishman.  G had phoned me to say he had arrived at the station and I told him what bus to get.  The F phoned to say that he was at the station (the car was being taken by another colleague) and could pick G up.  Of course, neither of them had each other’s number so there were a couple of phone calls with me in the middle.  However, F found G, even if they had never met before and then they got to the bar by car

Then we went for a pizza at Al Basilico, just a block down from the bar.

A & F2 were then going home but G wanted us (F & I) to meet R, the new girl in his life and so we went to this bar/restaurant/club place called Shanghai.

G is going back to the UK.  He hates the mentality of the Italians and the fact that it is so difficult to get things done here – every step halted by a wall that always seems impenetrable.  He hates the fact that the Italians are too busy (well, maybe this is particular to the Milanese) looking the part without the substance (which is also how F feels, certainly about Milan).  He’s been here for 10 years.  I explained that, being here for so long, there’s no way that he can go back and live in the UK.  For all that Italy and the Italians may drive you crazy, there are things that will happen in the UK where he will suddenly think how much he misses Italy (and the Italians).

But back to Shanghai.  I hate and loath these places with passion.  A huge hanger-like place.  Far too full of people; all busy being the best there.  We were going for a drink (but really to meet R).  She was very sweet and very, very pretty.  But neither F nor I were really happy about being in that place.  I mean, it’s a place for people that neither of us really like and exactly one of the reasons why G was going back to the UK ….. but he was there only for R, of course!

If I never get to go back to Shanghai again, it will be too soon.

We go home.  His home.  He wants to spend the night at his place because he has to get ready for his trip and because he wants to have Sunday breakfast at the café.  So, maybe, it’s his ‘thing’ too, after all?

We get up late(ish) and go to have breakfast which, as you know, I love doing.

I go and do the dogs, some washing, etc.  He gets ready for the trip.

I get back later and he does dinner.  I have brought wine and moved the car to nearby his place.

We don’t have dinner immediately.  When I arrive, he is getting ready for a bath, having spent some time doing his ‘beauty’ treatment stuff.  He is in his white underpants.  He is incredibly sexy.  I wonder, at one point, why I think he’s incredibly sexy and why does he turn me on so.  I don’t know.  There are things about him, his body, that, ordinarily, I would not find a turn-on and yet, here he is and every single part of him is so sexy.  Even his feet, which I think are beautiful!  I find myself looking at him and wanting him – all the time.  I sit and chat to him as he has a bath, concentrating on the chat to hide the fact that I just want to look at him.

After dinner he does his Farmville thing.  He sits on the chair with his legs crossed under him, without socks.  I sit next to him and stroke his feet.  I have never had any sort of foot fetish but, with him, I think I could!

I go home later to walk the dogs and come back just after 9.  We go to bed early as we are getting up at 5.30 – I’m taking them to the airport.

Neither of us can sleep.  Not because we aren’t tired.  We talk a little.  I tell him that I get paranoid when I’m not with him (about the lack of things in common) and I worry about that because this will be the longest time we’ve been apart.  I tell him that I know it is stupid and he agrees and says there is so much we can learn from each other.  And I know that is true, still, I think he’s starting to understand me and he is more affectionate than normal.  He tells me of the things going on in his head – the reasons he can’t sleep – work, the new flat, the lack of time to do everything.  I tell him not to worry and that everything will be OK and I will help him if he asks and that, at the very worst, he can stay at mine if everything is not ready.  He knows that and says so and says thanks and means it.  And we talk a little more about his actual work and why this trip is important both for him and the company.  And I have a better understanding of why he is where he is within the company.  He had said over the weekend that he will be introducing me to the big boss as his new boyfriend – and I think that he is proud to do so.  And that makes me happy.

He is having the test soon and is worried about that.  I ask him if he wants me to have the test too.  He doesn’t really say but I know that he does.  I tell him that I will do it.  I know it will make him happy.  He asks when I last had the test and I tell him that it was about 22 years ago.  He is shocked but I explain that there was no need.  I was only with V.  He asks if I wasn’t worried that V was with someone else and I said that no, I wasn’t.  And that was true.  at least it was true for the most of it.  Still, I know it will make him happy and he says it would make a big difference (and you can work that out for yourselves).

The Chinese people next door don’t help.

This morning, he says we’ll just have 5 minutes of cuddling before getting up.  Then another five minutes.  Then we get up.

He says he is so appreciative of me taking him to the airport.  I explain that it means extra time with him.  He doesn’t seem to get it – every second with him is like some sort of bonus.  He has said that I should not come and pick him up but agrees to it as I leave them at the airport.

And so, I shall pick him up on Saturday and be glad to do so.

And, in the space of the weekend, he has become even more demonstrably affectionate, as if he is understanding that I am true.  And, even if there is so much more to discuss, at least, last night, we have made a start.