I didn’t know what would happen when he showed up. I was nervous. I hoped I would be able to control myself. But he looked more fantastic than I remembered. Dear God, why did he have to come back into my life just when I thought I was over him? And why was I letting him come back??
So I begged him to leave. We can’t do this, I said. Please, just go. You know how badly I want you, but I just can’t. He was completely indifferent to my pleas. He just sat there and watched me. He knew he always made me weak in the knees and he was enjoying this. I hated him for it. I loved him for it.
Who was I kidding, I knew I’d submit to him. More than once. I always did. And he knew it.
And ohh, it was soooooooo good. I was shocked by my raw animal passion for him. Before I knew what was happening my eyes were rolling back in my head and my toes were curling. Primitive grunts escaped my throat. Every cell in my body ached for him. He rocked my world. I couldn’t speak but in my mind I screamed “YES YES YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS” over and over. He satisfied me utterly and completely. He fulfilled primal needs I didn’t even realize I had.
I would have done anything for him.
I felt like I was in a fugue; I was intensely aware of the sensation of us coming together but it also seemed otherworldly, like an out-of-body experience. Sublime. And so right.
For a while I basked in the afterglow. This is how it should always be, I thought. What was I so afraid of?
And then, slowly, the glow faded. I looked over at him and realized that these encounters of ours could never amount to anything more. I loved him desperately. But our relationship was obsessive—so intense, so all-consuming, it would destroy both of us if we stayed together. With us it was all or nothing. A healthy long-term relationship would be impossible for us.
With tears in my eyes I pushed him away. I’m so sorry. I wish I were stronger.
As I turned to leave, I looked at him one last time. I snapped a quick photo of him so I would have a memento of this special evening.
Goodbye, my darling mashed potatoes. My beloved spuds. My delicious, buttery master. You are absolutely wonderful, but I can’t be with you. I lose control whenever you’re near me. I’m afraid you can never be anything more than an occasional booty call.