Wrong In Every Way

8 Jul

From the memory archives

Dear Doctor,

Our ‘relationship’, if that is what it can be called, is over.  And I am amazingly upset about it.  The whole relationship was wrong, in every sense of the word.  From day one.  I got sucked into a world I did not want to be a part of, but I couldn’t run away.  I spent many sleepless nights thinking of ways to end it.  Many more when I realized I didn’t want to end it.  Many more still trying to figure out why.

We had begun talking many months ago when I was attempting online dating.  You sent me a message telling me my smile was beautiful.  You said you were interested in getting to know me better.  I’m a sucker for someone telling me my smile is great…not sure why.  I responded to your e-mail and we began communicating, exchanging yahoo ID’s.  Eventually leading to exchanging phone numbers.

Soon after we started ‘talking’ you told me you were married.  I was a little taken back by this new twist, but kept writing you.  Soon after e-mails turned into chatting online, lasting hours-well into the night.  You finally explained to me that you and your wife had an open marriage.  That your marriage was starting to crumble, and your wife had thrown out the option of seeing other people.  I was highly skeptical about this.  I have heard many guys at the fire house claim to have an open marriage, only later to find out it was only open on one side with the other side not being aware of the arrangement.  OUCH.  I didn’t want to be a part of that.  I knew I should put the brakes on.  But I didn’t.

I started to look forward to our chats.  I would turn on the computer and wait for you to be online.  My heart would race when I would hear the DING. We exchanged pictures.  You complimented me.  I was able to tell you about my day at work.  We had intelligent conversation.  You continually asked to meet me.  I continually demurred, always having an excuse.  Most of the times my excuses were legit.  Sometimes not.  I was pretty sure I knew what would happen if we met.  And I just wasn’t sure yet.

I have to say I was surprised you kept communicating with me.  Even you said you were surprised you were still talking to me.  I had turned you down on so many occasions you thought I was a lost cause.  However, you said you just liked talking with me.  That there was something about me.  And you didn’t know what.

I was out one night with a girlfriend of mine, and she cut our night short.  It was 8:30 at night, and here I was all dressed up with nowhere to go. I looked at my cell phone for a long moment.  I debated.  I gave in.  I dialed your number.  I was honestly surprised when you answered.  I explained my night, and said I was suddenly free.  Were you interested in meeting me out for a drink?  I think you would have jumped through the phone if it were possible.  You recommended a nice, fairly expensive bar.  I countered with a sports bar-more my style.  30 minutes later I was sitting at said bar, waiting for you.

A few minutes later you walked in.  Over 6 feet, brown hair, brown eyes, glasses.  Fit body, the kind you can’t wait to hold against your own.  I smiled and waved you over.  A big silly grin spread across your face.  You walked over and I stood and gave you a hug.  I was right-a nice strong body.  Damn.

We talked for quite a few hours.  Giggling, flirting.  I finally called an end to the night.  You walked me out to my car and leaned in for a kiss.  Alarms were going off in my head, but I allowed it to happen.  And it made me melt.

What followed was what can be explained as a torrid affair.  I became a mistress, the other woman.  I got caught up in the excitement, the passion.  What made it feel so right was what made it so wrong.  Certain images still flash through my mind…

Your hands entwined in my hair.  Your lips on my breast.  Your irresistable half-smile.  My hands on your biceps, your chest.  Your breath on my neck.  The naughty words you would use.  Your hands on my hips, the small of my back.  The kisses on my forehead.  Your dominating nature in bed, setting the tone.  Sweat-glistened bodies.  It was, quite literally, something I have read about in a smut-encrusted romance novel.

Our affair came to an end when I had to move.  You came over and helped me pack, all the while not talking.  After my car was filled with boxes, and I was ready to drive away, you took me into your arms and buried your face in my hair.  I’m going to miss you, you whispered.  I know, I replied.

One last kiss, then I drove away.

Love, Esme

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