If you remember a while ago I told you about my central European ex, unaffectionately referred to as The Slov. A few years after we broke up I went to spend the summer with other friends of mine in the city she was originally from. This was when I was still with B who I mentioned last Friday, and I wasted no time in cheating on him when I got to the place I would be staying.
I have a funny feeling this was on a Friday but I could be very wrong; in any case, I got up at about 4am and left B’s apartment where I’d been staying the last few days, and took two trains to the airport. One domestic and one international flight followed by a domestic train journey and, finally, an international one, and I arrived at my destination. The friend I was staying with, Rosy, met me on the platform, and we went to get some food immediately and then we went back to the house, dropped off my suitcase and went straight to the pub. Several pints later I found myself in an illegal nightclub located in former army baracks, making out with an old classmate of Rosy’s who had a very silly name on the dancefloor. The three of us got a taxi back to the house and the guy and I spent the night together.
I found out the next day from Rosy – and from numerous friends of hers who invariably would congratulate or high-five me when they heard the story – that the boy with the silly name had never even been known to have kissed anyone before, let alone go home with someone. I supose in a country as homophobic as that one was (not as bad as some of its neighbours but still, not exactly Icelandic levels of acceptance either) it’s not surprising, but still it was a surprise.
Over the next few weeks we ran into each other a few times but didn’t really have much to say to each other, and anyway I already had my sights set on another target; a friend of Rosy’s friend, a girl from the east of the country called V. The first couple of times we met we flirted harmlessly, but the third or fourth time we were next to each other at a table outside the bar we were at and somehow – a massage was involved – we started kissing and left to go to her apartment. She was, it turned out, into violence in a way that really freaked me out. Not just a bit of slapping or hitting, she wanted to be left with bruises and to bleed, so I think in that respect she didn’t really get what she wanted out of it, though she did a week or so later invite me over to have a threesome with her and her friend A so it can’t have been all bad (this threesome hasn’t happened yet, though, and I’ve not been back to that city since so will have to wait until I somehow get back there).
That week, B and I broke up over skype. He didn’t – and to the best of my knowledge still doesn’t – know about those two people in the overlapping period between me moving away and the actual breakup itself and I didn’t see the need to tell him. We put it down to growing apart and too long a distance, which in part it also was. At the end of January I’m going back to the city he lives in, to spend some time with Magenta, so if he’s also there (he travels a lot with his work) we’ll probably go for a coffee or something at some point, won’t that be nice and civilised (and awkward)?