I was with Emily for three years before it became clear that we weren’t right for each other.

We had got to know each other quickly. She was everything I wanted, and I did everything to please her and make her love me.

We had sex the second time we met, behind a skip outside a bar. I was behind her, and she tipped back her head to meet my kisses while I pulled up her dress and fumbled with my trousers. I could tell this wasn’t her style, and it wasn’t mine either, but we got caught up in the moment. Emily was so pretty and as we sat in the bar, buying each other drinks and moving closer, I couldn’t wait to touch her.

A year later we rented a place together. I found Emily to be kind and well mannered and I knew we would get on well. We worked in the same area; her as a newly qualified primary school teacher and me as a psychiatric nurse. Our friends got to know each other and we built a community. We worked hard and were often short of money, but when I look back on that year I realise how happy we were.

After a year of living together we started getting on each others’ nerves. I felt stuck in a rut at work and applied for all kinds of jobs, in offices, bars, and even for a job as a classroom assistant at Emily’s school. Anything to get me out the hospital. I didn’t get any interviews started thinking vaguely about leaving town to find new opportunities. Emily was committed to her job and wouldn’t discuss my plans.

We began arguing about other things, like the amount of money I spent on alcohol when I went out without her. We became competitive about housework. If I was out during the day, she would tidy up, and get angry at me because she had cleaned up my mess. I don’t know what went wrong for us, but somehow it stopped working.

It took us another year to end it. We both cried a lot, and I still do when I think too much about that night in the bar when we first made love. Our break up was logistically difficult, because neither of us had anywhere to go. We ended up living together. We agreed that I would look for work in another city, and when I found something she would get a room-mate to help with the rent. I wanted to start fresh and find new friends a new life. I stayed in the spare room. These were some of the hardest months.
One morning at breakfast Emily said she had something to ask me.

“I met someone last week at my yoga class. He asked me out for a drink tonight…” She looked worried. She was folding and unfolding her legs and brushing down her dress, which she does when she’s anxious.

“Emily, yes, OK, that’s fine, I mean obviously I’m…” I hesitated. “We need to move on. That’s OK.” I held it together. Emily smiled, unsure, concerned, and then stood up and kissed me on the cheek and left for work. I had the day off and I went back to bed and masturbated, thinking about Emily’s bum in her linen work dress, and the sexy panties she wore.

I had an uneventful day and went to bed early, not wanted to see Emily after her date. I couldn’t sleep and was awake when she came back, and heard her fumbling with the lock, giggling, whispering something, and then a male voice. They went into the main bedroom – her room – and I lay awake, listening to the sounds of their sex through the wall, her laughing, then sighing, him saying things I couldn’t make out, and the bed squeaking and rocking.

Eventually they went quiet, and I went to sleep too.
I woke up late the next morning. Once I had made breakfast and coffee, Emily came out of her room.

“Morning,” she said, smiling at me.

“Morning,” I said. I was looking at the coffee pot.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m sorry Emily. I heard you come back last night. I guess I wasn’t ready for…”

“Oh god!” She looked shocked and came up to me. “You shouldn’t have heard that. I’m sorry.”

“Is he still here?””No. He left early.” She waved her hand, trying to dismiss the whole event. She took hold of me and hugged me. “I’m sorry this is so hard.” She held me, both of us standing, her arms up around my neck. I put my arms around her, felling her slim body through her robe. She smelled good, faintly of sweat and her perfume, familiar, like she smelled in the morning when we used to wake up together.

We stayed there for a minute and she whispered again, “I’m sorry.” My erection pressed against her and she kept her arms around my neck. I looked down into her eyes. She let me go, and, taking hold of my hand, led me into her room and turned back to face me. I stood there dumbly. She pulled open the bow on her robe, dropping it to her feet, standing nude in front of me, her lovely breasts brushing against me. She helped me take off my clothes, gently squeezing my cock as she pulled down my boxer shorts.

We lay down together on her messy bed, with her on her back underneath me, and she reached down to guide me into her. She was still very warm and wet from her recent sex with her date. I held her tight and pushed in and out, and she lay still, stroking the back of my head, with her knees pulled up toward her chest. After a minute or two I came inside her.

We got up, showered and got dressed. I felt confused for the next few days, and a week later I was offered a job and moved out. We’re still in touch – she’ssingle, and I am too. It didn’t work out for us, but I still think about our good times.

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