I have spent the last five nights at The Library Officer's house but need to go home and get my clothes ready for work, do some washing and let my parents know I'm still alive. Before I leave, while we're cuddling on the sofa, he says how much he's enjoyed the last few days. "I can't remember the last time I was with someone I liked so much. You're intelligent, beautiful and fun," he whispers into my ear. I stroke his face then kiss him. "I wish you were the mother of my children," he murmurs. I freeze, stunned by his words. "That's quite intense," I finally reply. "Especially as that's not something we will ever get to do." I can't believe we're having this conversation. I've known him for three weeks and we only went out for the first time less than a week ago. He can't have more children though, and I was surprised by how sad that made me feel when he told me. "If that's something you want to do one day then we will have to deal with it," he says. "I will be thirty-six in a couple of months time, " I point out. "I should be making that decision now before I get involved with someone I can't have children with." He looks sad and I get an idea of the serious issues surrounding a relationship with such a big age difference.
"You wanted a fling," Mrs B had texted me earlier. "Enjoy yourself!" I did want a fling, an ego-boosting sexual relationship but it's obvious that he wants more and I realise I would have been disappointed if that's all he had wanted. But the sensible part of my brain thinks this is all we should have. Too more is too complicated.
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