Sexual Truths Too Strong

Sitting in a park with my daughter, watching the children in the playground, my daughter half wanting to play but half wanting to show that she’s too grown-up to do so. Chatting. Steering clear of drudge subjects such as school and house chores and whether it’s okay to wear lipstick at eleven. Just chatting for the warmth of the human interaction, no ulterior agenda.

A question bubbling to the surface, daddy why did you move out from mummy? My daughter trying to make sense of things, this being a crucial part of her world, understandably.

Explaining things to her, low key. Sometimes two people think they’ll get on, but it turns out after a few years they don’t any more. If they’re lucky they’ll have a daughter like you to brighten up their lives. These and suchlike vapidities being intended not so much as truths as a way of giving her salves to her wounds, also showing that discussing it’s fine.

The truth, more basic, too harsh for an eleven-year-old. Her mother, after my daughter was born, suddenly sexless. Hormones building up in me, eventually exploding. Drinks with a pretty woman at work, in bed together, a bright new dawn. Trying to keep it as an affair, the dynamics ultimately proving impossible, too much furtiveness, too much desperation.

In due course, splitting up with the new woman, turns out we both had urgent needs, too much prior deprivation, but once they’d been filled they weren’t enough to share a whole life together. Eventually, meeting my current wife, marrying. Now it turns out she’s sexless too.

My daughter however satisfied with the vapidities, at least for now. She’ll return for more over the years, I’m quite sure. Meanwhile, surrendering to a more pressing imperative, go and play on the swings.

What I could have said to her, but never will, is, shame the internet didn’t arrive earlier, I could have sorted out my sex urges with escorts, your mother and I could have still been together.