#8 CAPTAIN CAMBRIDGE: THE MAN WITH THE MASSIVE APPENDAGE

Why I wasn't ready to let go of toxic relationship patterns until later in life

Originally, I planned to write these posts chronologically. But as in one of my favourite poems, One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop, “the art of losing’s not so hard to master.” In that the closer the relationship, the more painful and difficult it will be to write about – so I’ll probably save many of the biggies for the end.

I have spent far too many hours in the past week combing for timestamps of “encounters” and some of them I’ve found but others I haven’t so I’m not exactly sure entirely where everyone fits into the puzzle that is my life.

Of course, there are some key people that are milestones and I know that this person was between Person A and Person B but where the other people fall along that spectrum beats me. But what does it matter? It’s the lessons I learned that count. I’m not a forensic accountant after all.

Photo by Jerel Coles on Unsplash

So, in mid-October 2012, right before I met my first husband I met the guy who we will call Captain Cambridge.

We met at this bar in Columbus, Georgia called The Tap which I was known to frequent with Annie (who had grown up very cooly in the Ivory Coast with her family), Anna (who was from China but had gone to a Canadian Ivy), and sometimes Victoria (who had moved from Russia to Columbus when she got married). I met Annie at work as we both taught at a technical college (a place where Brittany had gotten me an interview) and then I met Anna through her and Victoria through her. All amazing women! 

Anyway, I’d had a disastrous breakup with the person I’ll call Captain Thor, AKA the first person I met at Starbucks (spoiler, there was more than one) and along comes this tall, handsome Englishman. We bonded over the fact he was from Hull in Yorkshire (where my grandfather had once lived) but had grown up in California with his family but he still sometimes went back to visit.

We were both northerners except I bet my version of the north was different. Whereas I grew up in a red brick terrace house, on a tree-lined street that had views of the countryside at the end of it (thanks to the cemetery), he was closer to Prince Charles’ family than I’ll ever get (sorry, our reigning monarch now, King Charles). Judging by photos of his “family home” in California, I bet his home was more the stately home kind, not the two up, two down.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Before our date, we went to his gorgeous apartment for a tipple, one of those converted factory apartments on the river made of brick and sixteen-foot windows. It was like the apartment that my sister had lived in with her (hot to me then) housemate S in New Orleans, a place so fancy (and stretching their rent budget) that their upstairs penthouse neighbour had been Lawrence Fishbourne from The Matrix and also some other rich arsehole kids who played basketball into the wee hours. Jae had been in New Orleans working at Tulane during her biochem degree and I visited her one Thanksgiving when I was sixteen. 

Captain Cambridge’s apartment had beautifully bound leather books, a tasteful Chesterfield sofa, actual (not dead) plants, and a drinks cabinet where he offered me port. I’d never drunk port in my life. I don’t remember if I liked it.

Photo by Tim Alex on Unsplash

When we met, he’d attended Cambridge University – he even sported the coat from time to time, a cream wool coat with royal purple piping and an embroidered crest on one pocket – but was stationed very briefly in Columbus as a US Army Officer (hence the Captain Cambridge thing, but I think he’s now a Major but Major C doesn’t have the same ring).

Later, he attended Harvard. Talk about a double whammy! I think he does some kind of foreign policy thing but I really have zero clue.

I felt intimidated by his intelligence. Was I even smart enough to be in the room? (Maybe this was insecurity seeping through from unfulfilled career aspirations.) But I loved his easy laugh.

I was also not in the place for a healthy relationship with a nice person (see post seven where I talk about how my therapist says some people choose familiar patterns – i.e. my familiar patterns were toxic boyfriends). Plus, he wouldn’t be around for very long and I didn’t want to be flavour of the month. But I think something else intimidated me more…

Photo by Simon Hurry on Unsplash

I remember we made out once and I got the shock of my life. His, cough, member was the most massive appendage I have ever felt against me (later seen thanks to #dickpics). Like, when I say big I’m not talking about the “standard” big of over seven inches. I am talking this was a full ruler. A whole actual ruler. I know because I saw the picture next to a ruler and the ruler was losing. Even he (a six-foot-tall man) could not wrap his hand around it so I do not kid when I say there was also probably a good eight inches in girth.

I was not about to get familiar with that. 

Remember when I said here that men with big cocks are often proud and love to show it off? He told me that he and his friends had a bit of a game where they take photos of it (usually “clothed” in a modest sock) in a friendly game of “compare objects” (i.e. cock vs remote; cock vs foot; cock vs punting oar). Let me tell you, cock won every time.

Plus, he loved a nude beach where his appendage became quite the attraction (with people asking to take photos and to touch it).

Photo by David Jones on Unsplash

Back when I moved to England in July 2016, I found out he was going to be in Leeds that August. I’d begun dating Michael then and we met up for a drink on a rooftop cocktail bar in the city centre drinking Mad Hatter steaming (dry ice) cocktails from teacups. We had a lovely catch-up with what we’d been up to, heartbreak, and new relationships – and we still chat on the old FB from time to time. 

Back then, he said he remembered meeting me and I had on “some sort of Mad Max outfit.” Reader, it was a floral dress. Floral! (I do have a side note, though, he probably did see a picture of me in some kind of black dress with puffy shoulders and overdone black eyeshadow, which I guess could be perceived as Mad Max-esque.)

And that he had been frustrated that I blew him off with “being busy.” I was probably busy (I was working two teaching jobs and as a legal assistant three days a week so the thirty-plus hours of grading a week kept me busy hence why I was in Starbucks often enough to meet four people) but after the emotional birdcage that was high school sweetheart and the emotional vacuum (and fuckwittery) that was Captain Thor, I was also probably afraid, afraid of dating someone who seemed more “settle down” material, who seemed nice, who didn’t jerk me around, ghost me, and come back later full of excuses.

Hell, maybe I’m flattering myself, maybe he saw nothing in me at all. 

Photo by Ash Edmonds on Unsplash

If he had been interested, he lucked out, though, and dodged a bullet as he and his absolutely gorgeous doctor fiancé live this amazing jet-set lifestyle, travelling to the most beautiful and Instagram-worthy locales with more frequency than I can count (how does he get the time off, I wonder).

Like with all (most) people I’ve encountered on my journey, where I’ve crossed paths ever so slightly with theirs, I really do wish the best the universe has to offer for them.

Captain Cambridge, thanks for the memories. Maybe one day I’ll see you again in Leeds! 

Next up, how I met my high school sweetheart.

Don’t forget to check out the other seven posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place.