He had promised never to show up on her doorstep
As she walked down the aisle of the grocery store, her mind was concentrating on her list. A husband and four children made a heavy demand on her household budget and she was careful to watch for any bargain. She did not notice the man who followed somewhat aimlessly behind her. The store was not too crowded in the middle of the afternoon, her favorite time to shop. Often she would shop with her mother but today she was alone.
As she moved up one aisle and down another, the man started to move closer and closer.
He knew exactly who she was. They had been corresponding by e-mail for months. He had written a number of stories for a popular erotic story site and it was through her comments on his first story that she made contact with him. As the months rolled by, they became more and more "intimate" with their e-mails. He wrote special stories based on her suggestions. They both wrote lurid scenarios of what they would do to each other, were they to meet. Although he had given her his phone number, a P.O. Box address and the name of his town, she had never disclosed such information to him. She was terrified of what would happen if her husband were ever to find out about her activities. He did have her cell phone number, however, and through some clever sleuthing, he had determined what town she lived in. It was just a matter of elimination until he found out where she lived, what car she drove, what stores she frequented and what her daily schedule was.
It could be said that he was stalking her but yet, he had never made contact, never called her, never wrote any steamy letters to her because he had promised her early on that he would never do that. It wasn't until her husband found out she had a "secret" erotic pen pal that the man decided all bets were off. It took him nearly a month to track her down and now, there he was, just a few feet behind her.
He wondered if she turned around and saw him, whether she would recognize him. He had sent several pictures of himself He idly picked up a few snack items and placed them in his basket. Then he inadvertently bumped his cart into an aisle display of crackers and the stack tumbled to the floor. She turned to look at the noise, stared briefly at him and then proceeded down the aisle. She walked about ten feet and suddenly stopped. As though she were frozen on the spot she paused, her hands gripping the shopping cart so tightly that her fingers hurt.. He then knew she had recognized him.
"My God, it can't be him," she thought to herself. "It's just a look-a-like."
She wanted to move on but her feet were glued to the floor. She could not move. She had suffered so much humiliation and pain during her husband's tirades. She was forbidden to log onto her e-mail site. Her husband was monitoring everything she did. She was forbidden even to chat with her friends on the phone. It was as if she were a prisoner in her own home. One of the few "privileges" she had was to go grocery shopping by herself. She relished the short-lived freedom, the escape from her home which had become a very dark place in her mind. Her own sexual frustrations, which had led her to seek solace outside her marriage, were pushed to the background as her new concern was trying to please her furious husband. And now, her e-mail lover, confidant, counselor and fellow lover of erotica was standing right behind her. Or was he? Could it be that it was not him but someone who looked like him? She finally gave in and turned once more to see him replace the last box of crackers on the display. He smiled at her and her heart jumped to her throat.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. E____ ", he said. "I guess I had better be more careful of how I drive this buggy."
"What are you.....how did you.....I can't...." She was stumbling in her thoughts and words as well. Her body was trembling and her eyes began to tear up.
He pulled up along side her.
"I felt so sorry for you and so bereft that we could no longer talk to each other that I decided to at least let you know in person that I still care very much. I am not going to pester you or make a scene. I plan to walk out of this store and probably never see you again but I want you to know that my short correspondence with you has meant so much to me that when you are hurting, I am hurting, too. S____, you can't know how sorry I am that things turned out the way they did but I admire you for trying to make the best of a bad situation. You have your children to think of and my concerns should be the last thing on your mind."
"You bastard," she croaked at him, her voice breaking with emotion. "What the fuck are you doing here? You told me you would never do this!"
"I know, but I am not the most rational person in the world if I know I have been the cause of someone's pain. I feel an obligation to at least say something, to explain to you that I worry about you, care for you and want to help any way I can, " he said weakly, his eyes cast down on the floor.
She turned her head away and the tears continued to roll down her face.
"I was so happy to have a friend to whom I could say anything. You turned me on so much with your stories and your scenarios. Now that I've resigned to giving all this up, you come back into my life and start up all the emotions all over again! How could you do this to me?" she continued to cry.
He leaned over to her, placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. He planted one soft kiss on her cheek. He could taste the salty tears.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you but now you know how strong my feelings are for you."
With that, he started back up the aisle towards the checkout lanes. He looked back at her and she was wiping the tears from her face with a kerchief. She looked straight at him and with a small smirk, she just shook her head from side to side. She almost smiled and mouthed the words, "You bastard."
He paid for his snacks and walked across the lot to his rental car. He had parked right next to hers. Once inside he sat still and closed his eyes. All that time and effort for just
a few minutes.
"Did I do the right thing or was I being a 'bastard'?" he thought to himself. He drifted off in thought of all the sexy things he had written to her. He became erect as he thought of the time he had described a long, sensuous massage during which he had shaved her pussy and then licked her to a screaming orgasm. He had written a story for the erotic literature site describing a fictional encounter with a priest, knowing she had been enamored once with a priest in her parish. The priest had cruelly spurned her every attempt to contact him and now he had heaped more pain on her shoulders by encouraging her to maintain an erotic affair over the internet only to have it dashed by a snooping husband.
