I Love You From Afar

This story is more of a drama than a romance (I think), and it only has a little erotica. It's based on a true story. I technically wrote it as a gift and a confession to a friend for Valentine's Day. I asked her if I could write a story about her, and she said she didn't care, but I didn't tell her when I would do it. I hope it surprises her, but I'm still nervous about her actually reading it. If she does, I hope it brings her as much enjoyment as her stories brought me, and I hope my attempt at mimicking her style doesn't make her cringe and roll her eyes.

-G

*

I was fed up with life until I saw her. I literally had everything going for me, but I didn't like any of it. I had worked myself into a hole of continuous stress. I became an episcopal priest at thirty-two years old and married a cute woman that I met in a college group. I thought I was on top of the world. After five years passed and the addition of two great kids, I still loved my family and church and would do anything for them, but misery had taken hold, and I couldn't shake it. My life lost its spark. Nothing brought me joy anymore. All anybody wanted to do was complain, every task was painfully repetitive, and it was driving me crazy. Annoyances are amplified when you're under stress. Everything I thought was cute and funny about my spouse started to annoy me, and it wasn't her fault. Well, she could have tried to be kinder after our many conversations about her hostile attitude, but I had no one to blame but myself. I loved her despite her flaws because I had to. It was my choice. Why did I overlook her bad traits when I met her? To be perfectly honest, I was horny, and I didn't really know what I wanted in life at that point. I was just checking boxes to see where it would take me.

All I ever wanted to do was serve God, teach, start a family, be a good man, and be respected, so I followed the most obvious path and became an episcopal priest. That way, I could still have a family and be a church leader. I enjoyed it at first, but then I realized it was nothing like I thought it would be. A majority of my parishioners were not nice people and not capable of a deep conversation about the nature of God. They happily talked about football or politics, but anything deeper scared them away. They definitely didn't have the time to dedicate a weekend to charity work. Their lack of compassion was depressing, and I was constantly left craving deeper satisfaction. Then the chaos of the pandemic brought out the worst in people and added an extra hundred pounds of stress to my existence. I never expected life to become that disappointing. The only exceptions were my kids. They were wonderful and always made me smile, but I couldn't have a deeply religious conversation with a four-year-old or a two-year-old. So, in an attempt to give myself a weekly mini vacation and save my sanity, I began visiting a local coffee shop on Wednesday mornings after confession. That's where I saw her. My discontent caused a lapse in my normal prudent behavior, and I let myself be distracted by her beauty.

I remember it vividly. She was sitting at the bar in the front window of the coffee shop, right by the door. I was in the parking lot when I first noticed her and had the privilege of admiring her as I walked in. Her dark hair was cropped just below her small chin. Her large dark eyes were daunting in such a perfect face. Her small, shapely mouth was an instant turn-on, coral pink lips that were naturally flirtatious. She was like a living Renaissance painting. I didn't understand how the whole world didn't stop to admire her. My stomach fluttered at the thought of being in the same room with her. Her delicious floral scent hit me as I walked through the front door. Coffee aromas quickly chased it away. A pity, really, but I was suddenly determined to get close to her so I could smell her again. The pandemic wasn't over, and social distancing was still encouraged, but I doubted anyone would confront a priest about it. I loved the authority of my black robe. I was disappointed that the angel in the window didn't notice me.

Hardly anyone was at the shop that chilly January morning, so I ordered my tall black and quietly sat down at the table right behind her. I could reach out and touch her if I wanted. I leaned back and looked around her arm to see what she was focused on. She was playing a game of chess on her laptop. I couldn't help smiling at such an interesting discovery. A beautiful young woman that played chess was a rarity. It announced she wasn't simple-minded. It made me admire her more. By God, she smelled good. I was ashamed of how my body reacted as I indulged in her scent. Then the guilt hit me. What was wrong with me? Had misery turned me into a creep? It had, and at that moment, I didn't care. That was the best cup of coffee of my life. Sitting close to her was a mini vacation. I enjoyed it as I stealthily admired her, wishing I had the nerve and the freedom to speak to her. She wasn't wearing a ring, which was a great sign, but I did wear a ring.

My God, what had I done to myself? The misery I had allowed to pile up was making me question my morals and my life focus. Had I delayed marriage for a few more years, perhaps I could have met the angel and become a part of her life. It was so unfair. She was like a secret fantasy that came to life before my eyes, and I had to suppress my overwhelming desire to reach out and touch her. God had to be punishing me for my discontent to place someone so tempting within arm's reach. My life would crumble if I did anything to endanger my hard-earned position in the church. I needed to be respected if I wanted to get paid. My family's livelihood was in the parishioners' hands. I wouldn't dare do anything to compromise that.

The angel softly cursed at her laptop, distracting me from my racing thoughts. She must have been losing her game. I smiled as I watched her, wondering how old she was. I assumed she was close to my age, but it was hard to tell. Her baby face was almost ageless, but her demeanor was refined and elegant. She wasn't lacking financially, judging by her clothes and stylish winter coat. I wished I could know her. I wished I could turn back time seven years and follow my heart instead of the expectations of everyone else.

What was I doing? I shouldn't be sitting so close to a beautiful young woman in a mostly empty coffee shop during a pandemic. What had possessed me to think that was okay? I needed to move before someone noticed my lapse in judgment. Suddenly, she sighed and began collecting her things to leave. I almost panicked. I quickly opened the philosophy book I should have been reading. She hopped off the tall chair and turned around. She flinched to find me sitting so close. I casually sipped my coffee and gave her an awkward nod, with my stomach fluttering manically. I was caught in her incredible gaze. Thankfully, she gave me an equally awkward nod before making her exit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched her beautiful figure saunter across the parking lot over to a sporty silver sedan. I watched until she drove away. Being close to her was simply exhilarating, a short vacation away from the stress of everyday life. I was already looking forward to seeing her again next Wednesday if she came back.

I felt better and a little guilty after my coffee shop encounter. Guilt aside, I couldn't get over how she looked at me. She seemed surprised and startled with a hint of recognition thrown in. That's when I realized something. She reminded me of a cute woman from one of my philosophy classes many years ago. She was blonde then, and less striking. I wondered if it was her. Blonde didn't do her large eyes justice. Her natural hair color was perfect. It was fun to think I had met her before. It was a potential conversation starter. I feared I would sound ridiculous. "Hey, it's been about ten years, but I remember your gorgeous face." That would not go over well for me.

I was nervous as I drove to the coffee shop again the following Wednesday. Thinking about seeing her and smelling her again had me almost flummoxed. My stomach filled with excited nerves when I discovered her silver car in the parking lot. Then I saw her again, the angel in the window. I sat in my jeep and stared. I couldn't help myself. She was a work of art. I eventually gathered my nerves and my stuff and walked into the shop. She looked up and gave me a casual smile as I entered, sending my heart rate up even more. I hurried past her with my cheeks burning. I hadn't felt like that in a while. There were a few more people in the shop that morning. Thankfully, the table right behind the angel was free again, so I ordered my tall black and quickly claimed it. She was playing chess again and smelled heavenly, as usual. I relaxed a little and opened my philosophy book, ready to pretend to read.

I couldn't help noticing how everyone looked at her as they walked in. Men and women would stare. It made me smile. I wasn't the only person that thought she was a work of art. Suddenly, my morning was derailed by Tom Barton, a young deacon in our church that hung on my every word. I straightened up and smiled as he walked in. He gave a passing glance at the beauty in the window. Tom struck me as too self-centered to appreciate art. In a way, that gave him better focus. He greeted me with a smile and asked if he could join me. I groaned internally as I outwardly welcomed him to sit down. He would want to talk about politics again and drone on about obscure arguments on the origins of politics in the church. But who was I to judge what others enjoyed? It didn't hurt anybody. It just annoyed me. I was soon forcing myself to laugh with Tom about his bizarre theories concerning Strauss and Hegel, two very unfunny philosophers. Suddenly, the angel chuckled with us, and my stomach fluttered at the sound. I glanced to the right to see if she was laughing at something on her phone. No, she was staring at her chess game. She was still on the same move she was on when Tom sat down with me. She had been listening to us the whole time. My face suddenly felt hot with embarrassment. It also strengthened my earlier suspicion. She probably was the cute girl from my medieval philosophy class. Why else would she be listening to a dull-as-dirt conversation about Strauss and Hegel?

Tom ignored my onset of embarrassment and continued his explanation. I eventually regained my composure and continued listening. The angel went back to her game. I could tell she was smiling, and I suddenly felt exhilarated to have caused that reaction in her. There was no doubt in my mind that she was laughing at us, and I had no clue why that made me happy, but it did. I guess I felt a connection with her at that moment. Was I getting a little obsessed? I was, and I was enjoying it. Enjoyment was rare in my life. I took what I could get, and I was suddenly grateful that Tom interrupted my morning. I refocused on our conversation about Hegel, enjoying the thought of the angel listening. A few minutes later, she collected her things and left, not giving me a glance. That disappointed me even though I didn't have a right to be disappointed. She didn't owe me a glance. I just wanted it.

A wave of guilt washed over me as I tried to keep my focus on Tom and not stare at the angel as she walked across the parking lot. Why did I suddenly feel so guilty? I wasn't lusting after her. I was respectfully admiring her, and that caused me to want her attention. I admit her scent caused arousing feelings in me, but I didn't let my imagination run wild with it. For years, I had trained myself to keep my eyes to myself and think of everyone in a respectful manner no matter how I felt about them, successfully avoiding the pitfalls of lust. But, thanks to my self-inflicted misery, I stepped off the straight and narrow in a precarious way. I let myself admire the angel in the window because I was attracted to her. As Tom droned on about political influence in the church, I searched my heart to see if I had backslid over the past two weeks.

Was I really admiring the angel or lusting after her? No. I really was just appreciating her beauty. I wasn't imagining myself kissing her perfect mouth or anything.

Oh hell, I should not have thought that.

Suddenly, my mind was hijacked by an image of her beautiful face an inch from mine and our lips were about to touch. My chest felt tight, and my face felt hot as my mind betrayed me. The biggest shock was how my body reacted to that simple image. It felt too good to let go despite how wrong it was. That was the instant I fell down the rabbit hole of lust, and my thoughts ran away with me. I imagined backing her into the hidden corner next to the lady's room and kissing her to my heart's content. I imagined her warm body against mine as I greedily tasted her small mouth. I knew her lips would be sweet and soft as rose petals. Her tongue would be hot and delicious against mine as her perfect curves encouraged my palms to explore. Suddenly, Tom snapped his fingers in front of my eyes, pulling my focus outward again. I looked at his face in confusion for a moment, feeling outright dizzy. My heart was pounding, and my body was excited in an embarrassing way. Tom asked me if I was about to throw up, and in a moment of panic, I said I might.

I quickly excused myself to the men's room for some needed privacy. My long black robe helped hide the evidence of my actual condition as I locked myself away from the world. I leaned against the wall with my hand over my eyes. My heart was pounding from arousal, shame, and anger. I suddenly felt like I was losing my mind. I had never felt that way before. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the boring plans I had made for that afternoon, trying to bring myself back to reality. I needed to visit and pray with a hospitalized parishioner that had fallen out of their tree stand and broken both of their arms. I seriously needed a real vacation. I felt tired once my heart finally ceased its pounding. My pleasant coffee shop vacation had turned into a roller coaster of emotion, and I wasn't sure how I felt about the ride. I suddenly had a bit of irrational anger toward my angel. She wasn't mine in any way. It was stupid of me to think of her like that, but I did.

Why did she have to be so distracting? Why did she have to come to my favorite coffee shop and catch my attention? I suddenly went from admiring her to begrudging her. It wasn't my best moment. I knew the annoyances in my life weren't her fault. She was a pleasant part of my Wednesday mornings until my thoughts slipped. I needed to be more rational and stop putting a strange woman on a pedestal just because she was incredibly beautiful and smelled delicious. She could be a terrible, morally corrupt, simple-minded person for all I knew. But, I knew simple-minded people didn't usually play chess or eavesdrop on conversations about philosophy. I wished I knew what she was laughing about earlier. No. I needed to stop thinking like that. She was nothing to me but a pleasant, good-smelling distraction. I would never be her friend or an acquaintance unless she went out of her way to introduce herself to me, and why on earth would she do that? She had no reason to. She probably had an amazing life and a handsome boyfriend. Befriending a priest probably wasn't on her radar for that year. I eventually talked myself out of my bad mood and returned to Tom with an explanation for my behavior. I blamed it on tacos from yesterday's lunch and changed the subject.

The rest of my week and weekend were boring and full of complaints as usual. My dear spouse bought a new jacket that was expensive enough to make my eyes bulge out of my head. It was the same jacket I had been planning to buy her for Valentine's Day. I didn't understand why she wasted half the month's budget on a new one right after Christmas and before another gift-giving holiday. What really hurt was the fact that I bought her a lovely jacket for Christmas that she had said she wanted. I asked her why she didn't wear it, and she said the color wasn't quite right. Then she blew her top when I asked her why she didn't return it if she didn't really like it. You would think I insulted her mother, which she did all the time without remorse. I actually thought highly of my mother-in-law. She was a saint compared to her offspring. I blamed my father-in-law for his daughter's spoiled and insulting behavior. Please forgive me for speaking poorly of my spouse, but her complete lack of consideration for others made her terribly hard to live with. That fight happened right before I left the house for my Wednesday morning coffee retreat.

I was in a bit of a fume when I arrived at the coffee shop. I didn't even look for the angel's car that morning. A man was sitting in her normal spot, making me assume she wasn't there. I was disappointed and relieved at the same time. I just needed a carefree coffee break so I could unwind. I walked through the front door and froze to see her sitting at a table in the center of the room, looking gorgeous as ever as she stared at her laptop. She gave me a passing glance and smiled before she looked away from me. My heart did a funny thump when our eyes met for a short instant, and I had an overwhelming desire to sit down with her. That would be the dumbest thing for me to do. She was facing the couches on the right wall, so I quickly walked in that direction, eager to sit where I could sneak glimpses of her beautiful face.

I was in the process of putting my stuff down on the couch when I realized how stupid I was acting. Her presence was commanding me, and I was allowing it. How could I be that weak-willed? My anger flared up as I picked up my stuff and looked around the room for a different seat. I didn't want the angel to catch me looking at her, and I was tired of her presence making me act stupid. I would sit at my normal table facing her right side. Then I could watch her all I wanted without her knowing. There was another table separating our tables, so it wouldn't look suspicious if a random parishioner showed up. It was a tight fit with the man sitting behind me at the window where the angel usually sat, so I noisily scooted the table over a little as I sat down, catching her attention. I saw her head look over from my peripheral vision, tempting me to look at her face, but I kept my focus as I removed my books from my satchel, and she eventually looked away. Once her focus was on her laptop again, I took a deep breath and smiled at my accomplishment, then I allowed myself to observe her while she was unaware.

If you haven't realized it yet, my mind was in a bad place that morning, and I was acting out because of it. The shame and regret from the previous week were forgotten as I blatantly spied on the beautiful woman I had lusted after in a moment of weakness. It was satisfying to admire her from a different angle. Her winter coat was hanging on the back of her chair, allowing me to admire her thin burgundy sweater. The material hugged her body perfectly, and against my better judgment, I let my eyes wander. Her elbows were propped on the table as she leaned forward, scrutinizing her laptop screen. The perfectly round curves of her breasts strained against the sweater's stretchy fabric. I could see every detail below her slender arm. Her nipples were pointy peaks interrupting the smooth lunar crescents. My body reacted when the obvious dawned on me. She wasn't wearing a bra. I'm ashamed of the word that came to my mind at that moment and how much it aroused me. I seriously needed to get a hold of myself. I lowered my eyes and reached for my coffee and quickly realized it wasn't there. I had completely forgotten to order it.