The exes who don't stay ex

Well, this weekend was quite the weekend for it. But then every weekend is like that when you have a reasonably small scene to go out on.

It is, perhaps, because I have exhausted the options. But then I have long said I need to move away, move on, move somewhere where nobody knows my name. I’m the anti-Cheers.

There are certain occasions when the fortunes of fate swirl in a mischievous manner to collate all of history in one moment. If you’ve been out on a gay scene for any length of time this will have happened to you: you will at one moment glance around and be surrounded by people with whom there has been some sort of relationship. This weekend wasn’t quite that bad, but it did happen to me a month or so ago, and had such an effect upon me that I immediately left to go home and think about what I had done. Or who I had done.

Now, I have to say that – for me – this isn’t a particularly devastating occurrence. There are few of my ex’s that I really regret going out with; and those that I do I have managed - either by avoidance, deterrence or removal – to avoid. Either I have moved scene, they have, or there is an unspoken understanding between us that we shall not meet.

But for the others, I am usually on good enough terms to say hello and co-exist in the same room for a period of time without going crazy. It’s just that sometime the coincidence is just too much.

It doesn’t help on the occasions where they don’t want to be an ex any more. There have been a few occasions recently where I have woken up with someone I shouldn’t. “You can’t go home again”. It’s the title to a Thomas Wolfe novel about how you can’t relive the past; you can’t go home and expect the experience to be the same. It has the same kind of devastation of Brideshead Revisted (which, until I read it, I had always assumed was the sequel to Brideshead; but it isn’t).

But yes, if it didn’t work out the first time, there is probably a reason for it. And there are probably more reasons that it won’t work out the second time. Well, unless immaturity was the first reason. But the reason for the first break-up will reside, together with all the mud and muck thrown up in the disintegration, and the resentment or jealousy which festers in the meantime. After all, you can’t expect them to have been angelic and pure and not have some rebound sex with someone else, can you?

But this weekend was an oddity.

We’ll call him the impossible elastic band. Because that’s kind of how he is. We know that we are impossible as a couple, and yet we keep returning to each other, unable to break that draw.

So, we’ve known each other for almost 10 years now and tried to date each other three or four times during that time. It hasn’t worked out on any occasion. We seem unable to make a firm commitment.

Back when I was 22 and he was 30 there were maturity issues – I was still very much in the party mood, and whilst he enjoys going out on occasions, he wanted an off-scene relationship. This was fine during the week, however I had just come out of a relationship where someone exerted emotional influence over me that meant that I didn’t see my friends for weeks at a time. I wasn’t going to have that happen again quite so soon.

The next time the issue was a distance problem. I had just recently decided to go without a car. My car had been broken into and damaged to such an extent that the insurers said it was not economic to repair, and so I thought I’d give it a go to cope without it. Which was all well and good until it comes to trying to get from the next city either back to my place late at night; or to work first thing in the morning. It just wasn’t compatible.

And we weren’t sexually compatible either. It may be that in due course that becomes a non-issue; or that there is some sort of compromise; but, for now, it’s there.

And so is there a reason that we snogged on Saturday night?

The eyes have it.

There is something about them. And this is a real weakness for me. That and a hairy chest – which is there as well. I can fall for people based purely on one of those two factors sometimes.

And it was insipid on this occasion too. I had some time to kill until my friends turned up; we saw each other; and what started out as purely polite conversation turned to tongue-wagging-without-talking.

But that was all. This time.

So, when will it stop? Which of absolve, avoid, deter will I use? Well, until I get that job in London, Manchester, Leeds, Newcastle, Anywhere-else-but-here, removing myself of the situation isn’t going to happen. Removing myself from romantic opportunity – by attaching myself to some other poor sod – will happen when pigs fly.

Accidentally (as in unorganised) avoiding – as I have found out – lasts only so long before coincidence throws us together at the same time.

Deterrence? Well, he is moving to Portugal to open a shop selling second-hand artwork. But he’s been saying that for 10 years. And he wants me to go out and see him. Bearing in mind we have difficulty meeting up when we live in adjacent cities, that may not be a realistic prospect.

So, who knows. Perhaps the only exit may be attrition – after a decade of never-quite-nearly, one or other of us may get bored; go off the other.

And there is a possibility that this is already happening. This weekend, for example, it isn’t as though we pounced on each other. It was only with his imminent departure at the end of the night that he asked if we could have a snog. I didn’t realise people still used the word snog but apparently he does. Until then it has been a polite-to-friendly catch-up chat. His hair was longer – I’m not a fan of it when it is longer. It tends to go curly and look greasy. I think he thinks it makes him look or feel younger; but again – it doesn’t. For the first time in a long while he actually looked his age – 39. I don’t wish to sound bitchy – I know I already do – but perhaps that attrition has already started to buff off the shines of youth. Perhaps not – perhaps it is just me in my ever insatiable need to remain in contact with my (or someone else’s) twenties; to always have newer, better, cuter. Or because you can never go back – you’ve been there, they are spoiled goods, you know the faults already, there’s less unknown – less excitement. Maybe for this reason I will stay single for ever, holding out for impossible perfection until I’m so old that it could never find me.

So, spell broken?

Until next time.