THE END OF AN AFFAIR Part 1

It seemed right but it wasn´t was it. It seemed astounding and as if I had mentally envisioned this man beforehand and summoned him to me. I actually had.
Five solitary years here in Barcelona with broken romances or short term sentimental anxiety, but not what I was really looking for. Need and want are two very different things. I had learnt this and held on fervently to the image of my ideal partner, leaving the young pretty boys and easily accessed seduction behind.
With clarity of mind and a clear vision of what I wanted, at the start of May I met him online. I hadn´t been dating this way for some time but I then got the urge to try one more website for seemingly more discerning and serious singles. It´s terrible and terrifying how our daily lives can potentially function so well, and in my case be filled with almost constant joy and happiness, and yet we must resort to actively searching for love on an online menu of candidates because society or our own fears and lack of social interaction skills have failed us.
His first message arrived on 5th May. I remember dates, I cling onto time. He asked me if I could tell him something about myself. I did. He lived in Madrid but also worked here in Barcelona and in London. He sold himself as International. A Financier, an Investments man. Basque. I had no experience of them as people. It has to be said that previous to meeting him I had realized I needed to be with a Brit. However, fate ( or manipulating it via the internet ) got in the way and delivered me up my Basque.
We exchanged various messages, he asked for my number, we began speaking on the phone. He asked when he could ring me. At 4pm on a Tuesday I said. He rang on the dot. His voice was like a radio announcer. He had already bragged about that one. A detail of himself that he was proud of I saw.
The communication via messaging and phone calls grew quickly. He rang me everyday and a habit formed. I soon became accustomed to seeing his name flash up on his inbound calls. It made me smile every time. I was happy. Although worried that I would not find him attractive in person. We got to know each other via a plethora of photos and once a short video. I yearned to be with him. His height, his glasses, how his face changed when he took them off, his clothes, his laugh. I liked his upbeat energy, and responsable attitude to life. He was his own boss, but perhaps only in the confines of his office; his emotions seem now not to have been governed by himself.
We met on a Tuesday evening. He had asked his representative to find him a good Fish restaurant as I wanted to try oysters. He choose the best there was, a local institution of fine dining and a place that I knew from my 30th Birthday. He gained status in my eyes for having such good taste. Maybe I should have dated his representative in retrospect. He promised me red roses too. I sat down at the table and they arrived in the arms of the rotund waiter in his white jacket. 20 red roses and too heavy to carry. I remember laughing nervously and happily with my face obscured from the curious stares of the fellow diners by an aggressive red mass of petals.
 It was a perfect dinner and although he wasn´t quite what I expected, I found him attractive. He was affectionate and hugged me. He later on asked if he could kiss me. Should I have said no? Is that what you are meant to do?I wanted to experience that kiss to see if I liked it. I did. We had a lovely dinner filled with anticipation and wonder. He had known he wanted to be with me longterm even before meeting me he said. I had been sceptical but secretly delighted to have met Mr Commitment. I was searching for the same staple requirements.
That night we went for another drink and then to a club. He wanted the night to continue endlessly I saw. Impulsiveness, fantasy. When tiredness took over, he waited for me outside the toilet clutching my roses, petals falling thick and fast and leaving a trail of romance behind us as we left.
Outside on the street a gay guy tried to pluck a rose from the bouquet and was met by a frosty, defensive reception. Was the Basque homophobic? I have always been suspicious of a homophobe´s own sexuality..
He took me home in a taxi and left me and my roses there on the corner of my street. I had made it quite clear that I wouldn´t be spending the night with him.

The next morning we went for breakfast close to my house. He arrived late but dressed in an expensive suit and with a different hairstyle. He was in work mode, he had changed persona somewhat. The phone calls started and he lost concentration but kept his hand on my knee and there were kisses in between calls. It was only an hour and then he left in a taxi and I left for work. He kissed me passionately outside the taxi and it made me embarrassed. I walked up the hill and saw his reflection watching me in a billboard. I turned to wave. He later told me that he had shed a tear as I left. What for?