the lawyer
is my lawyer, and while I've known Gee since I was three and he'd just started school with my brother, and while he's been my lawyer since he graduated law school, I've never really known him. That's not code for "I've never known him *exaggerated wink while I jab you in the ribs with my elbow*" because if I'd meant to infer we've never mamboed horizontally (how's that for avoiding metaphors?) I'd just say we've never mamboed horizontally. That's not to say we have done the mambo, because we haven't. What I mean is I've never known him as anything more than my brother's best mate and the guy in a suit behind the desk at my lawyer's office. I always figured too, that he took me for as much as a loser as I take myself. He is my brother's best friend and my brother thinks (or thought as having a kid seems to have absolved me of all previous stupid) I'm a total waste of space, so it followed that he did too. He took on a lawsuit for me a few years back and whenever we met, I felt so intimidated because he's so successful and I was so...emaciated, and to my recollection, a total squirrel snack.
Earlier this year he did my will - which amounts to "I bequeath thee with my jam jar collection" but, whatever - and had some guardianship paperwork put in order, and as usual, charged about five cents to do it. I thanked him and having a service that I can offer in return, made the comment that if he ever wanted some personal training or some bowen bla bla bla. I never in a million years thought he'd say what he did, which was "Bowen? Great! How about next Friday?".
People, I about shit myself. This man is the kind of, well, to be honest, annoying fuck that if you walk in soaking wet, carrying an umbrella and saying "it's raining outside", says "only if I see it with my own eyes". I mention that not because I don't like him. I do, in the context I've known him. Polite, business like, short but kind of hot in a swarthy, Italian way. I mention it because dude is factual. I mean, FACTUAL. He's a lawyer so if it's a grey area, it ain't so, and a) I'm all about the grey area so if someone so RIGHT! says "nope, your name ain't aibee", I say "Really?" and start wondering "Is my name aibee?" b) Bowen is all grey area, but I smiled weakly and mumbled something about Friday being fine, see you at 6.30.
Next Friday came and I ushered him in and folks, it was really weird seeing the dude in a suit lounging on my sofa wearing jeans and....hello! Sidebar. Gee is loaded and despite being of the annoying fuck variety, has a heap of charisma and looks awesome in his designer label suits thanks to the aforementioned hot in a swarthy Italian way, but fuck me a frikkin' duck, casually? he's relying much more on Swarthy and Hot than he is on Designer and Label. We're talking biker tight, super skinny jeans with a high rise waistband. Granted, skinny jeans look The Shit on someone like Kate Moss, but so, so, so not so much so on a guy, especially when they're echoing the eighties with a button that does up around the Adam's apple region.
ANYWAY! Some Bowen Therapy and a bit of casual chit chat later, Gee says something or other about something and then says "but you know me, aibee, bla bla bla, something about something bla". I looked at him and said that actually, I don't know him, not really. I know him in context as a lawyer but that's it. He said something deep like "Oh yeah" and that was that. We chatted some more, we talked about some more bowen sessions and then he left.
Oh, that's right. The whole "you know me" line was after he'd told me that when my brother found out I was pregnant, he'd called Gee to ask him if he was the father. Which is totally surreal because I've only ever seen him a couple of times in the last twenty years and it's only ever been on professional terms. Gee said that it made sense because he was a slut and that my brother knew it and if anyone in My Town gets pregnant my brother automatically thinks it's him and "you know me, aibee" and etc.
A few days after that, Gee sent me a text and asked himself over for coffee. I was all, the fuck? because I figured he thought I was a frivolous hippy and as he was sensible lawyer, that I was annoying and stupid. yes, I do have an inflated sense of myself, shut up. I knew that he didn't want to come over for coffee *wink wink* because of the man code, the one that says "thou shalt not drink coffee *WINK!* with thy best friend's sister", so I put on the kettle and when he knocked on the door, I let him in.
The first thing he said was "I don't want to fuck you"(seriously, when I was younger I thought only grown ups in the movies spoke like this so paint me pink and call me Norma when I found out that movies I was watching were based on real life conversations) and I replied that I never thought he did. He said "but you're confused why I'm here" and I nodded. Seems he was here because having thought about my comment about us not knowing each other, he thought that it was kind of sad, especially considering that we've known each other so long, that he lived just up the road from me, that his mother practically raised me (one of my fondest memories of that time is the school jumper she hand knitted me. I loved that jumper more than anything. It was like wearing a hug each time I wore it) and that as we were had sons, we had a lot in common. So we sat and we talked and who knew? W talked about general this and that and ourselves and each other and we covered the topics of (him) the curve of my ass as I was lying face down on the li-lo in the pool at home way back in 1982, and how I'd batted his hands away from my flat chest after my brother had prostituted me to him back when I was twelve, the caveat to the man code being "unless I want to feel up my sister's best friend on a night both she and you are sleeping over at our house", and of (me) having no recollection whatsoever of any of those events. But he didn't want to sleep with me and little lambs eat ivy.
He's been over a couple or more times since then, and the general gist of the evenings are some bowen followed by coffee and a chat. We get along actually, despite him being the Black and White hero and me seeing life in shades of grey, and while I think I'm no mystery, he has a whole side that no one would ever in a million years know existed unless he expressly told them it did. He writes poetry, has written an historical novel, was a total romantic (until he was emotionally and metaphorically buttfucked by his divorce), and all sorts of frilly shirted things like that. I believed him when he says he doesn't want to fuck me, because he also said that he's done with the being slutty thing because he wants to be a better person for his son. I told him that, while my 'type' involves swarthy hot wogs, I was uber glad that he wasn't interested in seeing me naked because I had absolutely zero interest in getting laid by anyone anytime in the foreseeable future and that childbirth and motherhood must be the best contraception ever, I'm just sayin'. We both agreed too, that the curve of my ass has improved since 1982.
One night he came over one with a bottle of wine, and we hadn't drunk enough to explain it, but he reached over to hold my hand before moving to sit next to me on the sofa. I was all, uh, what are you doing? He was all, what are you thinking? "Mate", I said, "I'm thinking that this is some kind of joke because you've been very clear that you're not into me and I've been very clear that I have no libido, moreover, I do not even mourn its loss." He doesn't usually drink wine either, he'd bought it for me because...I guess that's what you do when you're trying to woo a woman. My stance was that I wasn;t interested in Just Sex anymore, and while I wasn't saying he needed to love me or me him (because truth is, I don't believe in that delusional bullshit), if we were ever going to pursue anything more than the platonic relationship we were forming, I'd like us to have a platonic relationship so that the sex thing wasn't THE thing that defined whatever relationship we were forming. Also, I like the guy. He likes Daniel and Daniel adores him and while we're just discovering each other now, we've known each other forever. I don't want to throw all that good history away by being uncomfortable or embarrassed after a (probably very satisfying) roll in the hay.
My friend Enn (a big shout out if you're reading, Enn!) told me I think too much and not surprisingly, Gee thought so too. Yes, I do, which is a problem and not only when I want more children and am given the opportunity to have unprotected sex days before I'm about to ovulate. The time line would have been the same as when I conceived Daniel too. Sex on a Saturday, ovulate sometime after the following Tuesday.
So that's the story about the lawyer.
He came back on the following Monday to apologise too. Seems he'd had a few drinks before he'd come over and bla bla bla but he really was deeply and most profoundly sorry to have put me in an uncomfortable position. I'm not sure where things are at now. He's been here once more since then, and before that night, we'dtalked about my going with him to visit with his mum again, and I'd have been comfortable sending him a text asking "today?". I'd not have thought twice about telling him that the kettle's boiling, drop by on your way home, we'd like to see you - but now? I haven't done so so I guess I'm no comfortable any more. I wonder too, because I think too much, about why he hit on me when if he just wanted to get laid, he could have gone out and picked up any of the bimbos he admits to adoring in the past. There's no strings attached with any of them, but with me? All that history? My son? My own history of hurt and abuse that he knows about? I imagine I'd be the last person he'd want to screw and walk away from because I can't imagine he wants to invite anyone that complicated into his life, as much as I doubt he didn't think about creating it in mine. This all happened over a month ago and I don't know what to think. So I think some more and still, I'm wondering if that awkward hand holding plus sofa sitting was because he doesn't know how to say to me "I like you, let's think about more." Maybe he doesn't know what to someone he's interested unless he's buying them a drink before asking if they want to fuck? And maybe I'm delusional to even entertain the idea that he'd be remotely interested in me. Not that I think he is. Recap: he knows me. Why would someone as successful as him want to know, much less be involved with, someone like me?
See?
And yes. Esteem issues. I KNOW.
Earlier this year he did my will - which amounts to "I bequeath thee with my jam jar collection" but, whatever - and had some guardianship paperwork put in order, and as usual, charged about five cents to do it. I thanked him and having a service that I can offer in return, made the comment that if he ever wanted some personal training or some bowen bla bla bla. I never in a million years thought he'd say what he did, which was "Bowen? Great! How about next Friday?".
People, I about shit myself. This man is the kind of, well, to be honest, annoying fuck that if you walk in soaking wet, carrying an umbrella and saying "it's raining outside", says "only if I see it with my own eyes". I mention that not because I don't like him. I do, in the context I've known him. Polite, business like, short but kind of hot in a swarthy, Italian way. I mention it because dude is factual. I mean, FACTUAL. He's a lawyer so if it's a grey area, it ain't so, and a) I'm all about the grey area so if someone so RIGHT! says "nope, your name ain't aibee", I say "Really?" and start wondering "Is my name aibee?" b) Bowen is all grey area, but I smiled weakly and mumbled something about Friday being fine, see you at 6.30.
Next Friday came and I ushered him in and folks, it was really weird seeing the dude in a suit lounging on my sofa wearing jeans and....hello! Sidebar. Gee is loaded and despite being of the annoying fuck variety, has a heap of charisma and looks awesome in his designer label suits thanks to the aforementioned hot in a swarthy Italian way, but fuck me a frikkin' duck, casually? he's relying much more on Swarthy and Hot than he is on Designer and Label. We're talking biker tight, super skinny jeans with a high rise waistband. Granted, skinny jeans look The Shit on someone like Kate Moss, but so, so, so not so much so on a guy, especially when they're echoing the eighties with a button that does up around the Adam's apple region.
ANYWAY! Some Bowen Therapy and a bit of casual chit chat later, Gee says something or other about something and then says "but you know me, aibee, bla bla bla, something about something bla". I looked at him and said that actually, I don't know him, not really. I know him in context as a lawyer but that's it. He said something deep like "Oh yeah" and that was that. We chatted some more, we talked about some more bowen sessions and then he left.
Oh, that's right. The whole "you know me" line was after he'd told me that when my brother found out I was pregnant, he'd called Gee to ask him if he was the father. Which is totally surreal because I've only ever seen him a couple of times in the last twenty years and it's only ever been on professional terms. Gee said that it made sense because he was a slut and that my brother knew it and if anyone in My Town gets pregnant my brother automatically thinks it's him and "you know me, aibee" and etc.
A few days after that, Gee sent me a text and asked himself over for coffee. I was all, the fuck? because I figured he thought I was a frivolous hippy and as he was sensible lawyer, that I was annoying and stupid. yes, I do have an inflated sense of myself, shut up. I knew that he didn't want to come over for coffee *wink wink* because of the man code, the one that says "thou shalt not drink coffee *WINK!* with thy best friend's sister", so I put on the kettle and when he knocked on the door, I let him in.
The first thing he said was "I don't want to fuck you"(seriously, when I was younger I thought only grown ups in the movies spoke like this so paint me pink and call me Norma when I found out that movies I was watching were based on real life conversations) and I replied that I never thought he did. He said "but you're confused why I'm here" and I nodded. Seems he was here because having thought about my comment about us not knowing each other, he thought that it was kind of sad, especially considering that we've known each other so long, that he lived just up the road from me, that his mother practically raised me (one of my fondest memories of that time is the school jumper she hand knitted me. I loved that jumper more than anything. It was like wearing a hug each time I wore it) and that as we were had sons, we had a lot in common. So we sat and we talked and who knew? W talked about general this and that and ourselves and each other and we covered the topics of (him) the curve of my ass as I was lying face down on the li-lo in the pool at home way back in 1982, and how I'd batted his hands away from my flat chest after my brother had prostituted me to him back when I was twelve, the caveat to the man code being "unless I want to feel up my sister's best friend on a night both she and you are sleeping over at our house", and of (me) having no recollection whatsoever of any of those events. But he didn't want to sleep with me and little lambs eat ivy.
He's been over a couple or more times since then, and the general gist of the evenings are some bowen followed by coffee and a chat. We get along actually, despite him being the Black and White hero and me seeing life in shades of grey, and while I think I'm no mystery, he has a whole side that no one would ever in a million years know existed unless he expressly told them it did. He writes poetry, has written an historical novel, was a total romantic (until he was emotionally and metaphorically buttfucked by his divorce), and all sorts of frilly shirted things like that. I believed him when he says he doesn't want to fuck me, because he also said that he's done with the being slutty thing because he wants to be a better person for his son. I told him that, while my 'type' involves swarthy hot wogs, I was uber glad that he wasn't interested in seeing me naked because I had absolutely zero interest in getting laid by anyone anytime in the foreseeable future and that childbirth and motherhood must be the best contraception ever, I'm just sayin'. We both agreed too, that the curve of my ass has improved since 1982.
One night he came over one with a bottle of wine, and we hadn't drunk enough to explain it, but he reached over to hold my hand before moving to sit next to me on the sofa. I was all, uh, what are you doing? He was all, what are you thinking? "Mate", I said, "I'm thinking that this is some kind of joke because you've been very clear that you're not into me and I've been very clear that I have no libido, moreover, I do not even mourn its loss." He doesn't usually drink wine either, he'd bought it for me because...I guess that's what you do when you're trying to woo a woman. My stance was that I wasn;t interested in Just Sex anymore, and while I wasn't saying he needed to love me or me him (because truth is, I don't believe in that delusional bullshit), if we were ever going to pursue anything more than the platonic relationship we were forming, I'd like us to have a platonic relationship so that the sex thing wasn't THE thing that defined whatever relationship we were forming. Also, I like the guy. He likes Daniel and Daniel adores him and while we're just discovering each other now, we've known each other forever. I don't want to throw all that good history away by being uncomfortable or embarrassed after a (probably very satisfying) roll in the hay.
My friend Enn (a big shout out if you're reading, Enn!) told me I think too much and not surprisingly, Gee thought so too. Yes, I do, which is a problem and not only when I want more children and am given the opportunity to have unprotected sex days before I'm about to ovulate. The time line would have been the same as when I conceived Daniel too. Sex on a Saturday, ovulate sometime after the following Tuesday.
So that's the story about the lawyer.
He came back on the following Monday to apologise too. Seems he'd had a few drinks before he'd come over and bla bla bla but he really was deeply and most profoundly sorry to have put me in an uncomfortable position. I'm not sure where things are at now. He's been here once more since then, and before that night, we'dtalked about my going with him to visit with his mum again, and I'd have been comfortable sending him a text asking "today?". I'd not have thought twice about telling him that the kettle's boiling, drop by on your way home, we'd like to see you - but now? I haven't done so so I guess I'm no comfortable any more. I wonder too, because I think too much, about why he hit on me when if he just wanted to get laid, he could have gone out and picked up any of the bimbos he admits to adoring in the past. There's no strings attached with any of them, but with me? All that history? My son? My own history of hurt and abuse that he knows about? I imagine I'd be the last person he'd want to screw and walk away from because I can't imagine he wants to invite anyone that complicated into his life, as much as I doubt he didn't think about creating it in mine. This all happened over a month ago and I don't know what to think. So I think some more and still, I'm wondering if that awkward hand holding plus sofa sitting was because he doesn't know how to say to me "I like you, let's think about more." Maybe he doesn't know what to someone he's interested unless he's buying them a drink before asking if they want to fuck? And maybe I'm delusional to even entertain the idea that he'd be remotely interested in me. Not that I think he is. Recap: he knows me. Why would someone as successful as him want to know, much less be involved with, someone like me?
See?
And yes. Esteem issues. I KNOW.
posted by aibee at 13:12
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