M's Farm

Zebra

M is dyslectic so I am pretty sure will not be reading here. I’ve hinted again and again that I write, and he was persistent in not wanting to read any of it. Good. So I have a private corner to hide in.

The affair was doomed from the start. He was completely unaware of the role he was playing and unable to understand I was responding with a role of my own. That’s why dress-up parties are so fantastic – because of the awareness… But let’s not deviate. M was being the babe-magnet, soft and cuddly with an iron core. Brrr. I was completely turned on, though of course it’s very difficult to tell what exactly I was attracted to, unless it was the way he said “excellent” with a deep South African accent.

It floored me every time. I’m still floored, no matter how much I tell myself it wasn’t meant to be. M’s image of himself, as I’ve said, is of a magnificent babe magnet. The memories that make his eyes twinkle are to do with being attractive to women, and he refers to all of us, every single one of us, as ladies. Even in contexts that are not entirely positive women always appear in his stories as ladies.

M is actually quite a story teller and one of his great attractions, from the start, was that he said he was planning to write about his life on the farm, a promise he later reneged on. I think the fact I didn’t walk out on him then and there is testimony to my real feelings towards him. I wanted so much to hear about that South African farm.

I can tell you M would take his dogs – at one point there were as many as eight – for 10-kilometer-long walks. I can imagine them in the setting sun, miles of beauty in each direction, but that’s the extent of it. I don’t know anymore. Wait a minute!

I’ve just thought of something.

Perhaps M was repelled by the idea that I wanted his stories. You know, like natives of different places not wanting you to take their picture. They’re afraid you’ll be able to steal their soul this way. (My ex mother-in-law was like that; she identified me as a witch, out to steal her son’s soul, from the word go).

So perhaps M, instinctively wishing to defend himself, did so first by refusing to tell me about the farm and later on by removing himself altogether. Mmm. Sad, because I’m still lusting for those stories…