The Pain of Being A Misunderstood Man: a short story

written quickly and unedited:

I am a man who is entirely sure of about five things. I know how to look good in a pair of boots and skinny jeans,I can deliver lines convincingly in order to bed a variety of women, I do a good job of plastering houses, and I have a gift for music. Ok, make it four.

I am a man in my late thirties, but I cannot shake the feeling that I'm still 24, or even 14, and it hardly seems fair that I should be expected to grow up just yet. I'm kicking against it. All the growing. It's painful. I feel disconnected from myself most of the time, but I've a talent for saying things people find interesting or amusing, so I watch for your facial expression and sometimes tweak my delivery in order to get the best reaction. I sometimes forget to do this and blurt out what comes to mind, for despite caring about what people think of me, I forget to care about what they feel.

I don't mean to. It isn't like I'm going around purposely hacking into people's hearts with a machete. I'm not a cruel person, I promise you. I didn't mean to hurt Dorothy at all. Oh I can see you don't get me at all, but you have to understand that it was her sister that made the move on me. I would never have gone there otherwise. I'm quite depressed about the whole thing really. It's all taking a bit of a toll.

One of the problems is time. Dorothy just seemed to take up a lot of it. Then there was her sister Helen, she kept coming over, wearing impossible clothes and quoting Sartre. I do like a bit of existentialism, gets me quite hard. Not as hard as two women in the bed at once, but close. Helen had the added x factor. She also played music, like me. She got me. She really seemed to understand.

The problem is, Helen is now taking up too much of my time, yet I feel quite out of control if she decides to go home for an evening. Am I looking for an answer in another? Possibly. I want to be left alone, but as soon as I'm alone I feel somehow adrift. I enjoy the process of falling for someone. I like how it feels when I look deeply into a woman's eyes and see myself reflected there, it can't be helped.

Dorothy still cares for me. She told me just last night. I said I still care for her too, but I don't know if that's true. She's very nice of course, and I like her taste in decor, but Helen is a little better suited to my needs. Helen is younger too, which is always a bit of a bonus. Ah, dear Helen. I could possibly fall for her, and she's definitely fallen for me. That's the thing, as soon as I know I've got someone, really got them, I get uncomfortable. Someone told me that was fear getting in the way. I don't know, maybe they're right. All I know is that I'm quite down. I feel exhausted and could sleep for days, but still, Helen's a good sort and seems to think we're going to be fine.

We celebrated Valentine's Day two days after Dorothy found us having a sixty-niner in my bed. She'd popped over with a cake for me. It was a carrot cake with cream cheese icing. Really good actually. Helen and I ate it later, after we had more guilty sex and lamented the loss of the relationship. I know I might sound callous, but really, I'm a very good guy. People would tell you so. Even Dorothy.

End.