Page 14 of Ship of Fools

That’s all I can say. Damn it. What do people talk about on dates? The ones I have had have all been with guys that I kind of knew, and then we snogged and shagged, and laughed about it afterwards. There were never feelings involved. I never felt this... this stupid magnetic pull like what I am feeling with Andreas Mitchell. And here he is, and he is sitting right here, talking nonsense and being all charming and delightful and my poor little heart is slowly crushing my breath, suffocating any sensibility out of my brain.

“I need to tell you something,” I hiss out, because now I actually feel like I am suffocating. It’s panic, and it’s nothing new, because I sometimes get like this. All overwhelmed and anxious, mostly when I have to fit some godawfully expensive part that will ruin the garage and put Dad and me into serious debt if I fuck it up, or when I have to talk to particularly tricky customers, or apparently, when it comes to talking to Andreas Mitchell? I apparently panic, then too.

“You can tell me anything,” he says, putting his tea down on the floor.

I need to get a coffee table. Or a side table. A stool. Anything. Why the hell do I not own anything to put teacups on? I usually just plonk one on the armrest, hence I have tea stains all down the side of my expensive sofa. And now Andreas Mitchell is staring at me, expecting me to talk.

“My best friend Geoff mans the bar at Eden. We grew up together, discovered we liked blokes better than girls... he was my first…” I snigger at the memories. “We were goddamn awful at both kissing and blow jobs, and never did it again. Instead, he’s my best mate, and I go down and see him at the weekends at his club, just to catch up. That’s it.”

That’s a total lie, and Andreas knows it, because he just stares at me, kind of the way I stare at him, so I feel compelled to continue my bad word vomit of a confession.

“Then I saw you... a few months ago. I just... you know, when you just see something, and you want it?”

“Like a magpie?” He says, “You wanted to magpie me?”

“Is that some kind of new weird sexual thing?” I giggle, because now? Now we are both being utterly ridiculous. He puts me at ease, laughing freely at my weirdness. Like I adore his easy ways. Like he just relaxes into my sofa and makes himself at home as he smiles at me.

“No. But yeah, go on. You wanted to have me. And yet, you turned me down.”

“It’s not the same. You know... when you kind of dream about something? Fantasise about someone? But you know it’s not real, and that the person you are making up in your head is not the real person. You are you, and you are this kind of free-spirited guy, who jumps from guy to guy and it doesn’t affect you, because people just love you. They all want to magpie you. I just don't want to be the guy whose heart gets broken, because... you’re not that kind of guy. You don’t want what I want, and in my head? You are someone different. It’s not real. That’s why... I said no.”

“Bea said you are a big chicken. She said you are so scared of getting your heart broken that you will turn anyone and everyone down.”

“You shouldn't be talking to Bea. She’s full of shit.”

“She’s awesome.” He giggles. I smile and take another sip of my tea.

“So, you crushed on me badly,” he continues, looking deep in thought. “Then you came back and sat there staring at me, every weekend, as I picked up some other bloke to go home with. You should have done something. Gone out there and thrown me over your shoulder. I would have totally gone for that.”

“What? That? That, would have been stalkerish and rude. And dangerous. And I’m not a psycho.”

“It would have been romantic…” He laughs, “In a messed-up way.”

“Yeah, perhaps in porn.”

“Porn is good. It’s not a bad thing.” He says, and he looks serious as well.

“Porn is a fantasy. Just like you and me being together is a messed-up fantasy.”

“Why would you say that?”

He sits up and leans over towards me. “Why would you and I be messed up? You clearly fancy me, and I think you’re gorgeous. What is messed up with that?”

“We are not compatible in any way!” I almost shout, because he is messing with my head, and I have no chill anymore.

“Chill,” he says. Like he can read my mind.

I breathe. In and out. My chest pretending I’m having a full-on heart attack again. I just want this to be over. I want to clear my head of him, so I can go back to life as I knew it. I also want to rip all his clothes off and kiss him until I pass out. That’s a fantasy, by the way. I would never. Ever.

“Why do you say that? You barely know me. You have no idea what my fantasies are, and what I really want out of this.”

True. I should be ashamed of myself.

“I don’t know you. I only know what I see every weekend and it pisses me off.”

“Judgemental and rude.” He says, and takes another gulp out of his tea, before putting it back down on the floor. He spills a bit too, because now he’s pissed off with me, and I don’t blame him. I would be pissed off with myself too if I was him.

I don’t know what to say. I have nothing more to tell him, because I’m definitely not telling him about what I do to him in my fantasies at night. When I punish him for choosing all those other men, and make him cry and beg for……

---