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Not that it ever wants to but semen will have to wait.
Friday Charles, my ex-lover, signed a quitclaim dead on the house we bought together.
For me this is (as the Pet Shop Boys sang it) Liberation. No longer can he just bust in whenever he feels like it. How many evening with Alex did not reach happy fruition because of the sound of Charles' car pulling into the driveway.
I'd been trying to get him to do this for months. But Charles had his nutty schemes.
The property includes a rickety old garage we call the outbuilding (since his cars were never actually parked inside). More properly it might be called the temple of discards and refuse.
Charles had plans of living in the outbuilding. I knew this was a bad idea: his basic hunger for sociability would leave him unable to not show up at just the wrong moment.
Adding a functioning bathroom to the outbuilding would've been impossibly expensive. So he also wanted on demand access to the one in the house.
While is body's needs would've been legitimate it would've merely sabotaged many erotic enjoyments. Not to mention simple quiet and privacy.
Finally he became reasonable enough to let me just pay him to take his name off the property. I could've taken him to court and saved at least a couple of thousand dollars. But I'd rather give him more money and do it civilly. Though it isn't easy I'm trying to remain his friend and advisor.
For the first time in my entire life I live in my own home. I'm not sure that I'm glad to be here. But here I am.