Some time ago I met this man who had, among other things, decided to become a lover of mine. He was not what I'd expect, he was younger than me, way taller than me and not exactly the intellectual type. He was very smart and he was quite hip, we took on a different journey. In some days we spent more time than others, in some days we drifted apart. But inevitably every few weeks we'd get together and spend an evening together, or at least, a few hours. We did not really have very much in common, but the things we did have in common are were significant. He liked food, making or eating. He loved electronic music, so did I. We had much to talk about in terms of work, and in some ways we were similar and in some ways we were extreme opposite.
He was married and he had trouble conceiving with his wife. Over the years they tried and the more they tried the less he became enthused about sex. Eventually sex with me became a highlight of his pass time. He read, he masturbated, he watched porn, he worked.
When his friends came over for food, he thought about inviting me but he was concerned that his wife would become a friend of mine, because he knew she'd like me, and he was afraid that she'd want to spend time with me.
In those days we met up, we spent hours in bed, he explored my body and I did his. I often worried that I'd get too attached to him, but instead we barely made any contact with each other, so that each time it felt like two strangers meeting in a bar and decided to hook up for the first time. In truth I knew he was going to go away one day but I hoped that he was going to be here a little longer.
The last time we had sex it was a raining night. I had come with him and we rested, I folded into him as he drifted. I never told him about B. I thought he would be hurt and frankly I only shared my private life with those who I considered friends. He was not a friend, he was barely someone I fucked. I didn't want that information to be known to him.
That evening after sex I told him the truth. I told him that I had fallen in love with a man who I barely saw also. But I knew that he was my soul mate, he was the person I would like to grow old with, even though I had never spent more than a few hours with each time. I did not know how to go from point A to point B, but I needed to stop seeing him, so that I could start anew with B. I wanted to be B's and his only.
That night he was shocked and showed a little bit of emotion for the first time. He said, "why can't you have both? You are already married. You barely see this guy. You barely see me. How could it matter? You have been doing this for years. Plus do you really know what love is? I've never seen you with any emotions other than happy, up."
I paused for a bit. I had nothing to say. Because it was not important what I had to say really. It was about time. I needed a clean slate. An untainted heart to give my real relationship a chance.
When we parted ways, he said, "See yo around."
I saw him from time to time. I ran into him on the street recently. He asked me out for lunch once or twice.
We never spoke about our affair again. We moved on and we moved away from one another's orbits.
Sometimes he'll say when he had a drink, "I loved having sex with you back in the day. You were great in bed. You gave the best head".
I'd pretend I'd not heard of him.
That was what was so interesting about women. When we move on, we move on. We never looked back and went back to those we used to be with, we simply put one foot in front of another, and we looked for uncharted path not as possibility but as eventuality. I supposed that's what happened when we women fall in love. We tried to do things right.We wanted to be guilt free. We moved on.
He was married and he had trouble conceiving with his wife. Over the years they tried and the more they tried the less he became enthused about sex. Eventually sex with me became a highlight of his pass time. He read, he masturbated, he watched porn, he worked.
When his friends came over for food, he thought about inviting me but he was concerned that his wife would become a friend of mine, because he knew she'd like me, and he was afraid that she'd want to spend time with me.
In those days we met up, we spent hours in bed, he explored my body and I did his. I often worried that I'd get too attached to him, but instead we barely made any contact with each other, so that each time it felt like two strangers meeting in a bar and decided to hook up for the first time. In truth I knew he was going to go away one day but I hoped that he was going to be here a little longer.
The last time we had sex it was a raining night. I had come with him and we rested, I folded into him as he drifted. I never told him about B. I thought he would be hurt and frankly I only shared my private life with those who I considered friends. He was not a friend, he was barely someone I fucked. I didn't want that information to be known to him.
That evening after sex I told him the truth. I told him that I had fallen in love with a man who I barely saw also. But I knew that he was my soul mate, he was the person I would like to grow old with, even though I had never spent more than a few hours with each time. I did not know how to go from point A to point B, but I needed to stop seeing him, so that I could start anew with B. I wanted to be B's and his only.
That night he was shocked and showed a little bit of emotion for the first time. He said, "why can't you have both? You are already married. You barely see this guy. You barely see me. How could it matter? You have been doing this for years. Plus do you really know what love is? I've never seen you with any emotions other than happy, up."
I paused for a bit. I had nothing to say. Because it was not important what I had to say really. It was about time. I needed a clean slate. An untainted heart to give my real relationship a chance.
When we parted ways, he said, "See yo around."
I saw him from time to time. I ran into him on the street recently. He asked me out for lunch once or twice.
We never spoke about our affair again. We moved on and we moved away from one another's orbits.
Sometimes he'll say when he had a drink, "I loved having sex with you back in the day. You were great in bed. You gave the best head".
I'd pretend I'd not heard of him.
That was what was so interesting about women. When we move on, we move on. We never looked back and went back to those we used to be with, we simply put one foot in front of another, and we looked for uncharted path not as possibility but as eventuality. I supposed that's what happened when we women fall in love. We tried to do things right.We wanted to be guilt free. We moved on.
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