The True Colour of Prussian Blue
This happened to me.
Dear Amber,
Thank you for the beautiful letter. I received it today and have just read it.
Your honesty is almost overwhelming and I am lost for words really. You write beautifully, with eloquence and from your heart.
You express your feelings in a very profound way and I can’t say enough to express my appreciation.
I wrote previously that I enjoyed every day, every hour, every second with you.
What a fantastic time imprinted in my memory. You brought joy to my life when I needed it most.
You made me laugh, you inspired me (your very conscious choices regarding food, your knowledge of literature and film, your honesty, your love of life).
The word love has been perhaps a word which was in someway difficult for us. I don’t know. What I do know is that when you held me so tight, especially when I stepped in your door and the way you were in bed with me… It felt like you loved me.
The words to describe what we had are many and here are a few;
Beautiful, sweet, intense, fun, inspiring, erotic, joyous, humor, magnetic desire, honesty, appreciative, open, emotional, philosophical, relaxing, authentic, open, flowing, connected.
Thank you once again for your beautiful letter.
I wish you well in everything you do.
Love
Prussian Blue
After that I just left things alone and tried to get on with my life.
I had a friend staying at the time, let’s call her Ella.
Prussian Blue had met her once at my place, briefly, about six weeks before. For some inexplicable reason, he rubbed her up the wrong way, she disliked him immediately.
In hindsight, maybe he hit on her but she didn’t tell me, it’s just speculation.
In fact, and I don’t want to blame her for this (but I’m gonna), Ella got me so fired up one day bitching about him that I called him and broke up with him.
When I showed another friend the email he’d sent me after the break-up, she asked me for his number for herself, in jest. And I began having second thoughts. So I contacted him again.
After he’d played hard to get, as was his prerogative, we got back together.
Two weeks went by and suddenly he broke up with me. Two weeks after that I sent the letter.
Ella had been asking me for a while to help her to upload a dating profile and I did.
I had her username and password and we used to talk about the guys who approached us. I had my own dating profile on the same site.
The first time I saw Prussian Blue’s profile there, I felt like I’d been hit in the chest with a brick.
He was at the beach and looked tanned and healthy.
One evening, Prussian Blue writes to Ella:
“Those lips are made for…”
Ella didn’t want anything to do with him (no deals behind closed doors there) but she said that I was welcome to chat with him as her.
I’d had lots of practice with Prussian Blue so I knew exactly what to write.
I linked to this quote from Goodreads:
“Your lips were made for kissing. They are lips. All lips are the same. And all lips are made for kissing. ”
“Good answer”
“Just a tip …Never make eye contact when eating a banana.”
“Why not?”
“Mmm, some people maybe associate a banana with something else.”
“Is it really true ??? Do you do it? ”
“It was meant as a joke. Obviously fell on stony ground, never mind. Enjoy your summer …”
“Now I sense a genuine person who does not hide behind stupid jokes … ;-). I like that much better. ”
“Haha, you got me gorgeous. Don’t you think it’s important to be genuine? Are we all genuine?”
“Words can sometimes be empty platitudes, we use meaningless principles to avoid considering individual situations.”
“Can I tell you something about falling in love? Maybe you know it already …”
“When you fall in love with someone you see them as they really are, you see their authentic self. Something else …. when we fall in love it is because that person makes us whole. They make up for something lacking in ourselves. Almost spooky huh?”
“Have you been on many dates lately?”
“I’ve been on two in the last ten days. What about you?”
“Yes, at the weekend”
“How did it go?”
“I wonder if it’s possible to find “the whole package””
“What is the “whole package” for you?”
“It could be that our expectations are far too high”
“It went ok. But I have doubts.”
“Did you score?”
“What about your dates? Love at first sight?
“One was a former policeman, a little too primitive for me. The second was a doctor I met Saturday morning in a rose garden.
I rather liked him.”
“So, maybe a summer romance”
“Did you have amazing sex?”
“No, unfortunately not … but I have been on a date where we had great sex on the first date…”
“That sounds exciting. Tell me more…”
“We met each other in Antwerp around 11 one morning in a café.”
“We had written a lot of erotic correspondence. We turned each other on via messages, emails and phone calls. It was very intense foreplay.”
“It was somehow so easy for us to tell each other what we wanted, our secret wishes, our fantasies, our desires.”
“We freely shared our experiences, we were very open with each other. We laughed a lot together.”
“We were a little shy at the cafe but after a while we relaxed. I was pretty cool, I could manage my expectations. After coffee (she had a ginger shot) we chatted a bit about what we wanted to do. Perhaps go around town; an art gallery or something. She invited me to her house for lunch. She was brave but I could tell that she liked me.”
“So after lunch we talked about what to do. I stood up and was just about to get ready to go out the door.
She stood and smiled at me without saying anything.”
“So I said …
“or we could do something else”
“I went over to her and kissed her.”
“Tongue work and everything?”
[Now he writes an x-rated description, in minute detail]
“I think I’ve said too much”
“Sex was unbelievable all the time with her. And not one glass of wine. I feel okay about it now, I often think about how lucky I am that I experienced something like this in this lifetime.”
“Lucky, how? Were you in love with her?”
“You look beautiful…”
Anyway, I chatted with him another evening and he tells me-as-Ella that his colleagues’s widow had shown up at his place late one Thursday night with a bottle of wine. He told me-as-Ella that they’d slept together about four times, including bathroom sex.
“FUN! FUN! FUN!”, he wrote.
And then my heart starts to pound:
“How”, I ask myself, “can he go to work, go to Crossfit four times a week, have an affair with her, see her four times and get tired of her in the two weeks since we’ve broken up? How can that happen? We broke up on a Saturday, that meant that he must have contacted her immediately, if not before.”
My body starts to shake and I am gulping for breath. He and I-as-Ella have been chatting until 2.30 in the morning.
I reach for my phone.
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