A Certain Chemistry: A Novel by Mil Millington

Author:Mil Millington [Millington, Mil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women, Humorous, Romance, General
ISBN: 9781588364012
Google: 8mk2xrb_G2MC
Amazon: B000FC1MEG
Publisher: Villard
Published: 2004-05-11T07:00:00+00:00

I spent the whole of the rest of the day repeatedly checking that my phone was working. George had said she’d call, and I was so hyper with expectation, longing, and frustration waiting for her to ring that you’d have thought I was trying to get my own syndrome. I couldn’t sit down, or watch television, or read, or concentrate on anything. I drifted off halfway through whatever Sara was saying, and every single thing in the world—presumably owing to the simple fact of it not being George calling me—was unbearably irritating. Only yesterday I’d started smoking again; right now I really could have done with hitting the town and scoring some Ritalin. Except that was probably being optimistic. Attention deficit disorder and obsessive compulsion? I was bringing together two disparate dementias. Yeah, check me out—very experimental, very crossover.

Sara couldn’t fail to notice that I was agitated and prickly. I told her it was just because I was overtired, and I kept apologizing. When we went to bed, it was obvious I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, so I had sex with Sara in the hope that it might help. That sounds dreadful, doesn’t it? Cold-bloodedly having sex with your girlfriend, just so you can siphon off some of the tension that’s there because you’re thinking about another woman. Well, it wasn’t as black-and-white as that. I got some pleasure from the sex with Sara as well. Hmm . . . that sounds even more dreadful, doesn’t it?

Okay, listen, I’ll tell you something: even though I might have started it just to help me sleep, and even though I was getting enjoyment from Sara while deceiving her, I tried the best I could to give her simply excellent sex. Really. I thought I owed it to her. I was having this extra sex, so I owed it to her to make sure the sex she had was perfect. No thought of myself. My only purpose was to serve her. If need be, I was going to be there for her until my jaw locked. Making sure she had great sex was my duty, a penance I gladly performed. Ahhh . . . now that sounds like just about the most dreadful perspective of all.

I should have stuck to talking about giving myself a wank—that way I’d have retained your respect.

What you have to remember is that I was the victim here. I don’t think you could say I was having an “affair”—it was just the one incident. That’s not an “affair,” is it? That’s what you call a “slip.” Okay, I’ll admit, I was, um, less than resolute that it would end with that single night, but that’s all there’d been so far. You can’t go all hysterical and over the top and start giving labels to things simply on the basis of what they might become, can you? That’s unfair. But anyway, even if we call it an “affair,” purely for rhetorical purposes, it wasn’t an affair like other people have.

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