An Affair to Remember (part 2)

We left off the Monday of my first weekend in London, having said my farewells to my holiday fling and left to visit Madam Alsop in Essex.

I hadn’t been on the train to Chelmsford long, looking at the snow covered fields passing me by when I realised that there was no way I was done with him.

Some facebook messaging, an exchange of numbers and an unexpected block of free time led us to arrange a rendezvous for the next weekend.

The prospect of seeing him again filled me with a strange sort of calm happiness.  This all sounds ridiculously cheesy I know, but you all know that deep down I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve always wanted to be swept off my feet with grand romantic gestures.  Through my 27 years I can count on one hand the number of times a boy has even tried.  But sweep me off my feet he did.

It’s not every day you meet a man who will willingly indulge your childish whims (hand-in-hand tour of Christmas lights.. sigh).  The Ex did everything he possibly could to get out of taking me to see the Christmas lights, and here was a man that did it just to make me happy. Jerry Maguire may have had Renee Zellwegger at hello, but this man had me at “Shall we go to Winter Wonderland?”

So readers, I was hooked.  It was nice to have someone around to text again when I was feeling frisky (a lack of available men has seen my love of drunk texting go unfulfilled recently).  It was nice to completely be myself around someone, in full geek mode, and STILL have them want to shag me senseless.  It was nice to have a man encourage me with my pursuits instead of telling me I was dreaming.  It was nice to have someone take care of me, hold my hand and hug me when I was feeling sad.  And after the calamities of my love life it was nice to have my faith in men restored again. 

So after three and a half weeks, hours spend in bed, two of the most earth shattering orgasms I have ever experienced (ever), much wine and food I said goodbye to my “5 foot 8, very good in bed and good looking” (to quote him) man for the fourth and final time.  And instead of a classy farewell like Casablanca, I cried like a baby and it took a lot of strength to walk away. 

I’ll probably always wonder “what if”, but in all honesty it’s probably best I came home before I got my heart broken or ruined it like I always do. 

So there are no promises of meeting on top of the Empire State Building a’la “An Affair to Remember”. Just happy, lovely memories of a wonderful man.