Three in bed, two in the bedroom

The idea of a man holding a woman, secretly holding a stuffed toy in bed paints a bizarre picture. She is not caught between woman and girlhood as the situation without a context might imply for the toy is not a leftover token from her childhood but a gift from her previous lover. Unbeknownst to all but her, there are three people in that bed.

Last night, I shared my bed with another. Although there was no romantic or sexual nuance to the scene, I am sure my inspiration Miss Havisham would have been shocked. Had I lived in the 1860s, such conduct would ruin me: my reputation and honour destroyed, I would have become damaged goods.

And so, I found myself in a most conflicting predicament. The unfamiliarity of the touch brought too vividly to mind that of another which is still too familiar. And so our night was choreographed into a strange and repetitive dance where I would seek refuge in warm affectionate arms only to feel the sudden urge to move as far away towards the opposite end of the bed as possible until he pulled me back towards him only for me to pull away once more.

I used to find physical contact with men comforting and so felt I was better suited to this age where the sexes are less segregated. It is most contradictory however that the more I progress in life and experience, the more I see value in limiting one’s self to the touch of few if not but one. Every adventure one undertakes leaves an inerasable mark. We can possibly choose to what extent it affects us but that does not make it any less indelible.