|A conversation piece.|
Recently, Tilly has changed her working patterns so that she writes with her literary buddy every other night. On the 'off' nights she can work on her novel, her blog presence (to create the market to sell her work later and create her own circle of friends online) and have 'her' time. Once a fortnight we shall have a Friday night together. We have had two of these 'date-nights' thus far. They consist of some film/DVD and wine for her, beer for me, and sitting together on the sofa. They are nice, we actually touch a bit, she has her legs on mine and we have a watch of something. All of this is a definite step forward from earlier in the year and I'm not going to knock it.
|This will do.|
|Doggerland, before and after the great slide that caused|
a tsunami to devastate the islands that remained at the time.
|And we're considerably less close than this couple here.|
Definitely less touchy-feely.
Not long ago, when we were talking about physical intimacy, Tilly got a little heated (she wasn't alone). She spat: "all you really need is for some woman to spread her legs for you!" Right there, I feel, we have the nub of the issue. Tilly views pretty much anything sexual as being dirty and undesirable, something that is devoid of closeness or love. I could just get the sex and be happy and then we could go on and forget about it. She's wrong. I view the sex as being part of something else, something larger, but still a part of it. What if she's partly right, but not the way she intended, and there is nothing bigger for the sex to be a part of? This isn't existential angst about the relationship, just a musing. It would explain a great deal.
Hmm, rapidly becoming unfocussed. I shall sign off here.