The ex factor – day 1

The age old question of can you really be friends with an ex, recently came into play in my life.
We had been dating for 4 months, we spent a lot of time together and enjoyed each others company. However there was no deeper connection, other than the great sex, we were more like friends.
So when he announced that he had met someone else I wasn’t overly surprised. I can’t say that I wasn’t hurt, of course I was. I cared for him and know one wants to feel like they have been traded in for a newer, thinner, completely opposite model of themselves.
I had seen pictures of them together before he had told me. She was attractive, dam I probably would have cheated on me with her too.

We had already planned to vacation together, everything was booked, so we decided to go ahead and go on holiday anyway. Everyone I knew advised against it, ‘going on holiday with an ex,’ they would question, ‘an ex who left you for another girl non the less?’
Never one to follow advice, noble as it was, I had already set my mind. We would vacation. I mean we were both adults right? I viewed it as a challenge, an experiment almost.

In the two weeks that led up to our holiday we didn’t talk, other than to discuss flight or hotel details. This provided me with lots of time to catch up with friends, who, once they heard the whole story, thought I was crazy and that he was an asshole. I had two weeks of ex hating, skanky hoe slating, man trashing preparation talks. Inevitably by the time vacation day arrived my level of hate for the ex was incredibly high and the fact that he was running late did nothing to eleviate that hatred. I stood beside him at the airport with a face like thunder, fury running though my veins. What the hell was I doing?

I practised my breathing exercises, thanking my lucky stars that airports had such a strict policy on sharp objects.

We made it to the plane, all body parts in tact and no blood shed. Our flight was a night flight, and as I yawned trying to stay awake, he pulled me towards him, I hated him, I didn’t want to be close to him, yet exhausted and tired of fighting I gave in. I rested my head on his chest, breathing in his familiar smell, feeling him running his fingers through my hair, I relaxed, I closed my eyes and for that brief moment between conscious and sleep, I forgot about everything.

I woke up feeling groggy and as the sleepy mist cleared, the what the hell am I doing feeling returned. I pulled away from him sharply, angry that I’d given in to sleep, well not the sleep, I’d given in to him. In mere hours he’d used sleep depravation to con me into forgiveness. I sat up and allowed the angry frown lines, to once again take their place upon my face. He wanted to be friends? Well I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

When we finally arrived at our beach side villa, the view, the smells, the sea and the sun had softened my frown so much so, that the resort staff thought we were married. Hiding a smile, he touched my hand.
‘Honey, lets go to our room,’ to the strangers surrounding us, perhaps it sounded like a statement. To me, I knew it was a question, a question laced with seduction. He was crossing into a grey area. An area friends shouldn’t cross into. Was this a test? I could feel the frown making an appearance again.
‘Yes darling,’ I murmured, scowling at him. He laughed. He knew I was on to him.

As we entered our villa, we were greeted by a four poster bed covered in flowers. It took approximately 5 minutes for the boarders of the grey area to be infiltrated and the troops were making no effort to drawback.
Day 1 of friendship with an ex – fail.

As with everything we indulge in, we told ourselves the little white lie everyone tells themselves to justify their actions… We’ll start tomorrow…

Reggae reggae, it’s so nice you say it twice.

By April, I was well and truly settled into life in Doha. I had met an amazing group of people and the lifestyle and weather was so different from Scotland that I had had the opportunities to do things I had never done before.
Male colleagues from school had started to play basketball in an organised league. When they had a game we would go and watch them play, not because we had a particularly large interest in basketball but because we, sorry I, ( as the other ladies were all marrieds and quite obviously don’t need to look) liked to check out the talent.
We began to become familiar with the basketball faces and we often bumped into players when we went out.

On the night of the Reggae Reggae beach party we bumped into one of the players. He joined us for drinks and stayed for most of the night, obviously enjoying our dynamite moves and killer wit or maybe it was our makeshift scarf limboing and shoulder rides. Whatever the reason we seemed to have a connection and I went home with him to see his villa.
His villa was very impressive. He led me outside we took off our shoes and sat by the pool, the cool water washing away the sand from the beach party as we swished our feet back and fourth.
I remember gazing at a tree whose branches swept into the pool. It was in full blossom, the pink flowers had fallen into the pool and lay scatters across the garden. I remember thinking how strange it was that a tree could be so colourful in the middle of such a bland, dry, desert.
That’s when he kissed me, I had been so lost in awe at the strange tree that I had forgotten where I was. He pulled me up and pushed me against the cool brick of the villa. Everything happened in a blur from there. We slowly worked our way upstairs. Our hands not straying far from each others bodies as we frantically undressed each other.
The next morning when we emerged from the room we found our clothes strewn across the floor. It felt like a very clichéd movie moment as we retraced our steps, reclaiming our clothes from the night before, which lay hung from the light shades, across picture frames and on the stairs.
Things were not strained or awkward, things were easy. We went out for breakfast and in the late afternoon he dropped me home. We swapped numbers and promised to be in touch.

As I saved Icarus into my phone book, I smiled. Maybe boys were not so bad after all… Maybe…