The Mistake

I missed him.  It was my fault that I would never see him again.  Never hear from him again.  One of the things I was attracted to was his ability to take charge and make a decision.  His ability that once he had decided something he didn’t waffle.  I knew once he said that I would never hear from him again that i wouldn’t, but I could keep hoping that the memories of us would haunt him.

He had been perfect.  Tall, well-built with eyes that sparkled as he laughed.  Immediately we hit it off when he stopped to ask me directions in Spain.  He wasn’t put off by my lack of knowledge and suggested we go find the tourist spot together.  I accepted b/c hey what else was I going to do.  Over dinner at a small out of the way place where the waiter knew him by name (he wasn’t that lost as I came to find out) we laughed and talked and talked. Although he was American, he traveled extensively and considered himself a citizen of the world.  Before I knew it, we were back at his hotel.  But there was none of the rush that usually happens when people are in for a one-night hook-up.  He kissed me.  It was intense, but I’m a grown woman and know the drill.  I wasn’t expecting anything more than some great orgasms and to be on my merry way.

Plus the distance since he lived on one coast, I lived on another and was currently in Europe on a 3 month assignment for work.  He asked me if I was single.  Rather than risk him leaving I lied.  Although my husband and I had been seperated for more than a year, the ink on the papers hadn’t dried yet, while we worked out our many business finances.  My American lover told me he considered a marriage only over if the two people involved were divorce.  I knew he wouldn’t understand my situation.  A hasty marriage, amicable seperation but life is complicated.

We laid down that night touching, exploring.  I kept waiting for us to get to the slammin & bammin, but he said he wanted more from me.  He wanted to know what made me tick, why I did what I did.  Fast forward from that night to six months later.

After months of meeting in various countries, states, counties, cities and homes, we were laid in my bed.  The feather bed smashed from the weight of our pounding, and the bright red duvet thrown on the floor.   I opened up to him in a way that never though possible.  He taught me about multiple orgasms and emotional intimacy.  He went to the kitchen to get us water passing my desk along the way.

“What the fuck is this?” he screamed running in holding my divorce papers I had left on my desk ready to be sealed and mailed back to my ex’s attorney.

I was caught and the time for lies was over.  I told him.  About my marriage.  The nights of sitting there lonely and how much I loved him.

All he heard was my lie to him.

“You won’t be hearing from me again.  God Bless you and I hope you find the peace you are seeking,” were his last words to me as he walked out of my bedroom leaving me dripping with tears, my body convulsing now not with pleasure but with pain.

I knew better than to contact him again, but I wanted him to know.  I sent him one last letter, outlining my dreams and hopes and fears.

He never responded.

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