The days passed so quickly and soon we were together for more than a month. Each time I would meet him my knees would buckle when I saw him waiting for me. We had fallen into a rhythm of meeting which was pretty much every other day. In the movements I allowed myself to reflect I knew there was something unusual, out of character, a maybe, in how I felt for him. I had always thought my perfect man would need to be an eloquent bookworm, someone I could talk to for hours about my deepest fears and desires as well as the most trivial aspects of life. Yet, here I was, completely obsessed with this man who, while far from being stupid had rough, almost uncultured edges.
There was also a darkness in him. Nothing I could say was threatening but there was always an edge, though he rarely let it show like he had that night when I had been at his place and received an angry suggestion that I should leave. I would so often find myself speechless in his company and hours could pass in almost total silence. But it never felt awkward, our desires still simmered just below the surface giving those quite moments a devilish feel of anticipation. Feelings I didn't fully understand bubbled up in me whenever we were together. He was a mystery in so many ways, and in so many ways "not my type" but I could not deny the mysterious, wild emotions that ruled me in those days, emotions that grew from my very core.
Then, one Friday afternoon I was staring longingly out of my office window, willing the minutes to tick by so we could be together. Fridays had now been established as my favorite day of the week because I knew we would meet and not have to worry about the demands of work the next day - freeing us to stay up into the small hours of the morning. The minutes ticked by and an excitement rose in my stomach, as I somehow knew he was approaching. Then, there it was, his car pulled up across the street. My heart raced as I grabbed my handbag and shut down my computer. I guess I would have seemed pretty rude to my colleagues as I rushed past them with only the most functionary goodbyes.
I jumped into the car and turned to kiss him, but the look on his face stopped me cold. It was clear something was troubling him and there was darkness in his eyes. I asked what was wrong and he replied that he could not stand the thought of other men flirting with me. It was driving him crazy. I felt excitement flutter in my chest, flattered as I was by his jealousy but a little worried at the intensity of it. I knew I had to be careful in case I said the wrong thing causing the darkness descend over him again and probably bringing our weekend to a premature end.
I wanted to tell him that he was the only one, that no other man looked at me but I could not tell him a lie. I took a deep breath and decided to gamble on honesty. I explained that he had no reason to be jealous. Yes, other men would approach me, others, would just stare undressing me with their eyes. I took his hand before continuing to explain that I barely noticed them anymore because he had won me. I looked into his eyes. They were glistening but I could not be sure if it was because he was glaring at me or tears were forming.
