We are having a baby together. I can’t say anything more as details would identify me to people who know me who have inadvertently found my blog at one point or another. Things are harder, and now another life is involved. I can only hope that 2011 is my year.

Wish me luck.

I got trashed Sunday. I drank half a bottle of vodka and some guy working at a shop bought me a bottle of wine and  Igot myself a K cider. I downed the cider in two gulps and did the same with half the wine. After that, I was so far gone that I did not remember anything else that happened that day. From what I was told, I hit on our flatmates, accussed the Russian of lying about so many things, brought up how I hated that he was married, and told him how much I hated seeing those pictures of him and those girls. ‘You don’t have to get drunk to tell me things, you know.’ he said to me the next night.

‘Just before I met you, I dumped a girl for telling me to take down those pictures. `We’ve been dating for two months and those pictures are still up. And you should take your condoms out of the bin before I come around!` At least I was using a condom! And we weren’t even dating. I never saw her outside of this house except for the time we met. She would come over once a week to have sex with me. I like those pictures because of the way they look, not for any sentimental reasons, but I would never take them down. Never. But if you want me to take them down, I’ll take them down for you.’

Maybe an hour later…

‘Should we get married?’ he holds my arms above my head on the bed and looks into my eyes. I smile.

‘Yes…’ I say

‘No!’ he says at the same time.

‘…but later later on down the line……I have a schedule, remember?’ I quickly add.

‘No one knows I am still married. No one. Fo three and a half years we’ve lived completely separate lives. Why pay all that money just to get a divorce? But if we did get married, I wouldn’t hesitate to pay whatever money. We’ll see.’

Fuck my life.

Oh, and he lost his job, so I can’t quit working because we need some sort of income. He can’t possibly be angry at incalls at this time. Screw that.

That was from February, before things started to change. I want to go to him, and ask him, ‘Do you remember that? Do you remember which night that was? I do. I remember every sight, every taste, and yes, every minute touch. It was the night I knew I was yours and only yours. It’s imprinted on my soul.

‘Still, I would rather get more money this way, and you not have to work.’

I know what I am doing. I willingly started working. I loved to work. I still do. I just hate working while having a boyfriend. (I do not understand how someone can enjoy working and be in a committed relationship. Call me old-fashioned. ) I know what I am doing. I am prepared for this. Even if she was working in Russia, it would be completely different for her here. In England. In a working house. With a stream of other women like here. Who barely know the language. Who will be getting only £30 an hour for the things I do for at the very least 4 time more than that. Every bad experience she would have, every struggle she would have here. It would be his fault. Because he was the one who brought her here. Whether she wanted it or not.

He told me that to let me do that felt like he was being cheated on. ‘Even when I cheated on my exex, It was nevr in our bed.’  We were drinking wine and talkming about the business, how he almost wnet into it for gay men, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He said something about me not liking my job and I told him that I did. I said I thought the men were generally nice and it wasn’t bad. He got up and went to the loo and when he came back the first thing he said before even closing the bedroom door was ‘How would you feel if I took on two lovers?’

I looked at him confused and (obviously so) a bit upset. ‘It’s the same thing, don’t you think? I mean, yes, you get paid for what you do, but I am only just fucking them. How is it any different?’ he continued.

I didn’t know how to react so I looked away. It’s nothing the same. I don’t choose what men I see. I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t getting paid for it. Whereas he would be taking on women he would be fucking on a regular basis besides me. Opening the way for emotions to get involved. He would want to do everything he did with those women. I like what I do, but I wouldn’t volunteer any of it. There is no comparisson whatsoever. I did see his point though.

‘I’ve thought about situations like that before.’

‘So, what do you think then?’

‘Do you think I like that I am doing this? Do you think I want to be with other men when I only want you? Yes, I said I like the men, but I would never do anything like this if it weren’t for the money. I am always thinking about you. You make me feel so ashamed, and I never felt like that before. I hate myself for this. Do you not see that?’

Honestly. sometimes it makes me angry. Yes, I do see his point, and why he wouldn’t like it. At the same time, however, he does not complain when I am spending that money on us. On him. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

I told him that the semester was almost over and I needed to find a real job anyway so I can get my working visa. I already know the ideal place in which I’d like to work, and am mustering the courage to start the application. He said he’d help me and he was glad that I was leaving the work.

We are a poor, poor couple, especially as I haven’t been working in weeks (which should be able to change from tonight) but I managed to get drunk pretty fast. At least this diet is good for more than just one thing. When we left, we started talking about our relationship and I went off about everything that bothered me about it. From the stories he would tell me about other girls to the pictures of that girl everywhere in our room to the way he phrases things.

‘Then why are you with me?’ he asked. Of course I attempted to speak eloquentlly in my drunken state and probably failed miserably.

This coming week is my last week of uni and then there are exams. I’m not so sure how I will do with them, I just hope they are impressed with my knowledge of the areas outside of what they teach as I will probably only use theories I learned from my old university.

The Russian told me a few days ago that we should take a break from sex because we never talk. I didn’t want to seem like a sex fiend, so I agreed. Not so shockingly, the amount we spoke did not really change at all. I just don’t think he realises that I am not much of a talker. We went out on St. Patrick’s Day to this Irish bar he knew. It was over-crowded, and most people tried to start things with us, so we left after a pint to meet up with one of his co-workers. There was a two-man Irish band playing traditional Irish Folk music which pleased me to no end. After saying my hello’s to his co-worker and her friend, I turned my back to them and danced alone to the music. The Russian’s co-workers happily bought us some drinks, which we took without hesitation and were soon drunk. I started trying to grab his attention by grabbing his arse and sticking my hands down his jeans to play with his cock. No such luck. He kept his attention on ‘The Sarahs’ so I made frequent trips outside to smoke hoping someone would come to entertain me. By the end of the night, he refused to leave the bar, and instead started speaking to random people, but whenever I would come by, he would leave.

I started talking to a musician he was speaking to and he ran out the bar. I left the musician while he was in mid-sentence to chase after him, afraid he’d leave me behind. We weren’t far from home, but I still didn’t have a clue as to how to get back. The Russian glared at me and went across the road to the bus stop. Police officers were swarmed on the street, standing there silently looking around at the empty road.

‘I’m going to ask them what’s going on.’ The Russian mumbled. ‘Don’t be silly. Just let them do their jobs. They don’t need us bothering them’ I told him. The Russian took out the weed and said he wanted a spliff and I volunteered to do it. When I saw how little there was, I put it in my pocket and told him we’d wait until we weren’t so close to the police. ‘I can just walk home from here.’ he said, looking down the road.  The bus came and we went on. After only two stops, we were home. I went straight to the loo and The Russian went into the room. When I came in, the compter was on, cigarettes were all over the place and he was passed out in the middle of the bed.

I tried to wake him, but no luck. So, I pushed and pulled him into a better position and took off his trousers and shoes and turned off the computer. I crawled over him to my side of the bed and he pushed me against the wall, still fast asleep. This went on for some time, and I even pushed him off the bed completely at one point, only to feel bad and pull him back on again five minutes later. He didn’t wake up even a bit.

The next morning he said he was grumpy and frustrated, which makes him a sarcastic asshole, and I couldn’t argue. He looked at me and told me he really liked me and stopped and said he loved me. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ he said. I didn’t know what to say. I knew he was going to say it, but I didn’t really feel anything….so I smiled and kissed him. He said it four times again that day and each time I reacted the same. That night he asked me if I loved him and I couldn’t escape answering. After an awkward 30 second pause, he said nevermind and wished me a goodnight. ‘I do think I love you….it’s just complicated.’

We just went to sleep.

Yesterday after counting CCTV cameras with E in the rain for a research project we volunteered to partake in, I came home cold, wet, and grumpy. After a shower and nice long massage from The Russian, I asked him if he really loved me. ‘I do love you. But… I guess only time will tell…what about you? What do you feel?’ He laid down next to me and studied my face. I closed my eyes and buried my head in the pillow. ‘I don’t know. I’m worried.’ I told him how I was scared of the things he said. That I knew it was inevitable that he would break my heart, that his eyes and mind would wander to someone else and he would forget about me. That I felt like I was just a whim.. a temporary amusement. He said he didn’t want me to feel that way apologised in advance for any pain me might cause me because he didn’t want to hurt me. It’s not what a girl would want to hear, but it’s the truth ‘at the moment’ and the best he could do. At this point, I know he wouldn’t say something like he would try to not hurt me. All I will ever get is, ‘I’m sorry for whenever I do hurt you, if I do.’

I know I’ll never be fully happy or feel secure with him. But I can’t leave him either.

He’s been away most of the past month for business and we didn’t have the chance to meet up when he was around before, but since I was pretty free since The Russian has family over, Mr. F said he’d make sure he made his flight land in London for the night for me.

E and I get ready and head out to his billards bar down the road and it was pretty empty, but the closest thing near us that we thought we might be able to tolerate. The whole place smelled of generic loo cleansers and the people were sparse and didn’t even give us a second glance. We both wanted to leave, but were damned if we were going to leave our drinks behind. Mr. F sms’ed me saying he was home and I asked him to come and save us from the hell and much to my surprise, he came. I was abit nervous as this would be my first client that E has ever met. Not that Mr. F is just a client of course. He’s Mr. F for crying out loud.

E was polite and made nice conversation with Mr. F and gave me a few glances, but none of the usual ones, so I am not 100% sure how she felt about him, but I think she did take to him well enough. I did notice that once he came, she started ordering more and more expensive drinks.

I always had ‘Sugar Daddies’ so to speak throughout my life. Nice men who I slept with who would always make sure I was taken care of and would also do the same for my friends. Often times, they would take us out on group dates, paying for everything without so much as a blink of an eye. The most notable would be a guy we called Sami the Afghani. The name says it all really. He was a student, but he obviously had some sort of work on the side he would never really be very honest about, but he always had lots of money on him at all times…hidden away in the most odd places. When Sami and I were hanging out, we would be the most productive we’ve ever been. Strip bar, Billards bar, drug run, grocery shopping, dinner, pub, rave – all in one day. E, V, and pretty much everyone loved him. I still miss the guy a lot and often wonder what ever happened to him. Perhaps I’ll tell you more about him one day.

E is used to my guys not being bothered about the prices of the things and I never begrudged anyone for taking advantage of that, but I wasn’t really appreciative of her behavious this time only because I know Mr. F and I know that the money he has on him is the money he was going to give me, and whatever money he spends… the less I get at the end of the night. I am very fond of Mr. F, but he is a bit cheap, but you don’t become wealthy by spending exhuberantly all the time. Mr. F didn’t seem to mind anyway. I just needed to know that he was going to pay me because if he didn’t….I’d feel as if I were cheating on The Russian… and I still kind of feel that way because Mr. F is more than a client, but a good friend.

Anyway, to the sex. Mr. F sees me a lot and talks to me often because we get on really well and it’s always a really great shag. He has a nice thick cock, only slightly curved, but it only makes it feel even better. I think besides that one time I was riding The Russian, he is my favorite man to be on top of. We used to shag for ages and ages, but since he broke my vagina, I haven’t been able to take him like I used to.

The Russian and I are looking for a flat together

We were in the kitchen cleaning his cupboard and smoking spliffs, listening to 90′s techno/dance music. His choice, not mine. I tried to put on classical and he switched it back off every time. I’ve never been so open with my concerns with anyone the way I am with him.

‘So you would really have your job transfer you just so you can be with me?’ I looked up at him scrubbing the cupboard door as I rolled a spliff. He said yes without skipping a beat. I didn’t understand it. We haven’t been together for very long and he is willing to move far from his job, even get transferred and far from his kids. For a 22-year-old who has lived with only one partner in her life, this is a lot of change, but for him, it didn’t seem like anything. Especially living so far from his kids. Sure, it is only Sundays, but still. Sharing rent and bills and a flat together seems like a big commitment so soon. What if it didn’t work out? What if I have to go back to America? I would end up leaving him there in a flat he can’t afford on his own and away from his friends and family. Could I really do that to him?

I made him pour over it for about half an hour until he looked me in the eyes and kissed me. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s just see what happens. Take the chance. Let’s move in together.’ He whispered, our foreheads together.

Half an hour later:

Me: ‘So……you see this as a long-term thing then?

Russian: ‘You mean you and me?

Me: ‘Yeah….’

Russian: ‘No. I don’t really have any expectations. If it lasts, it lasts. If it doesn’t at least we tried.’

It’s going to be weird spending a whole week away from him now.