It was one of those late night, gin-infused conversations you find yourself having. One of those deep and meaningful chats that you fall into like you fall off a kerb, leaving you a little unbalanced and pensive at the same time.
Him: So, while we're learning stuff about each other, what is your number?
Me: (internally) Shite!
After a bit of humming and harring, I came back with the standard answer to this question, provided by Carrie in Four Weddings and a Funeral. "You know. Fewer than Madonna, more than Princess Di."
And I watched him blanch a little over FaceTime.
Sexual histories are strange things.
Him: Really?
Me: Yep. I'm not sure whether I'm proud of the number or embarrassed by it.
Me: Yep. I'm not sure whether I'm proud of the number or embarrassed by it.
Him: But...
Me: Well, what's your number?
It wasn't a big number. It wasn't two, either.
Me: Part of me wishes my number was around your number. But then again, you were married for the better part of twenty years. I've never had a long term relationship.
Him: But...
Me: And no buts. I look at my life and I divide it up into two parts. Before therapy, and after therapy. I've had one partner in the last ten years. And one partner in the five years before that. They were after therapy.
Him: And before?
Me: Before that, well, yeah, I'll put it down to youth, alcohol and a few poor choices. Before, well, I've never been in a long committed relationship as you know. I can sleep with whoever I want as Sinead O'Connor wailed. Sure, there's a few I'd rather not be on the list. Others I was with for a few months. But I've always seen myself as opportunistic when it comes to physical touch. If it was on offer and I felt safe, and protection was available and used, then why not?
Him: Hmm.
Me: You're sounding a bit judgmental.
Him: I'm not...
Me: You are. You're putting me in your terms. That's passing judgement.
Him: But, what do you think about this?
Me: See, that's being judgmental. It's all part of a life. Besides, I've had the odd STD check. I'm clear. That's a sensible thing to do.
Him: Really? Did you need one? I hate that you felt you needed to do that.
Me: Well having an STD check is just sensible. The last time I saw my gynae, we were talking. I said my relationship was over and she said that while she was down there she'd take the swabs, it was nothing to get tested. I can go in clean the next time around.
He was a bit flummoxed by this.
Him: But, you've...
Me: I've lived a life. I've done nothing which wasn't within my rights to do. You can't change it. Move on.
And I shut down the conversation.
Taking a bit of a stock take later, I pondered the number. Could I name them all? Umm, if I'm honest, no. Do I have my favourites - yes. And they're mostly the guys who stuck around for a bit, or made me laugh, or they were just really good experiences. Others, not so much, but again, it's part of growing up and learning about yourself and others.
There's also a difference between looking at this twenty years after the fact, and looking at who you were, and what your soul was doing in your twenties and thirties, and who you are now.
And Edna St Vincent Millay starts to ring in my brain.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
I remain a bit more hopeful than St Vincent Millay. I think summer may return. Well, I hope so.
And I'll silence the judgmental critics, internal and external, for earlier choices. As these choices form, for better or worse, who you become.
Today's Song:
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