Ah, damn. So, last night I tried to write another post, telling you from the beginning how She and I met, and so forth. I hated it. I hated going through that story one more time. I have thought about it, dreamed about it, fantasized about it too many times! I am tired of this story! I am writing this to release it, not to rebuild it one more time.

So, I am just going to write about what is up for me on a given day. No novelas, no reality t.v. blog. Just whatever raw emotion is up for me on a day.

Today, I feel angry. Angry with myself for not steering the relationship toward a lovely friendship, which it should have been in the first place. I am married, after all. Then We never would have had to say good-bye.

“At least you have the memories,” you might say.

Oh, really? That’s exactly what She would say, as well, every time (and there were, oh, far too many) I would come to my other senses and tell her we should just be friends. She was so understanding, so patient, so tolerant, really. I wouldn’t have put up with my indecisive behavior for that long.

“We have our memories of love,” She would say. “And we are very best friends.”

But those memories are what haunt me now. Those sweet memories of Her. So many memories. If I had to count instances of memories, there were far too few. But the richness of each encounter, each conversation, each hand holding, each kiss–ah! Each single moment has a million instances of memory.

Let me just list the sweet memories, since there are more of those, and those are the ones that haunt me. Perhaps if I make them public in this way, I can turn off the computer and never return to them again!

The hardest to release are the memories of kisses. Oh, Her sweet kisses! Her lips were perfect for me, and they knew exactly how to kiss me. Hers were the kisses I had waited my whole life for, that seemed to match me perfectly. I have not kissed anyone else (all men, before Her) that fulfilled me in the way She did when we kissed.

And those chocolate kisses! Beijos de chocolate!

She is very creative and romantic. She took the chocolate I had given her, bit off a piece, then shared it with me when we kissed. Then I passed it back to her, and we exchanged it until it had dissolved. Our mouths were covered in chocolate, which is easy to take care of…and fun, too.


And there were the white wine kisses. We did other kinds of wine kisses, too. Lovely.

There are some things you can’t undo. One of them is a first sexual experience with the opposite sex from what you have been used to. My best-friend-who-also-happens-to-be-lesbian said to me, “You can’t unknow what you know”, after I shared with her how much I loved being with Her in every way.

When I first kissed Her, I expected an alarm to go off in my head, saying, “Are you crazy? You are married, you shithead!” But as we kissed, the only thing I knew is that it was the most natural feeling in the world. There was no alarm, not even a voice that said, “You realize you are kissing a woman, don’t you?” She was absolutely delicious, desirable…and this was before the chocolate or wine.

After a while, we laid back on the bed and my leg naturally went on top of Hers. It was so easy, so natural. My body responded to Her so easily, She referred to me as Her volcano at one point.

Ah, sorry, buzz kill…You’ll have to go back and read my previous post to understand what I’m saying next.

I enjoy sex with my husband. He is wonderful in bed. Very handsome, sexy, and he enjoys going down on me. That’s a good thing for someone who is bisexual (third time ever that I typed that now). I have no complaints with him.

But having sex with a woman–at least with Her, since I have no other experiences–is so soft and sweet. There is no hurry, no extreme intensity, then BAM! it’s over. Just love. There is so much room for sharing love, not having to get to some goal (although goals are just fine…). So soft, so sweet, so easy. Hmm.

Again (continuing from last post), I was not out for some fling with a woman for some sort of experimentation. I was truly in love with Her. I loved Her with all my heart by the time we kissed for the first time. If we had never kissed, I would still have been deeply in love with Her from a distance.

We had everything in common. Interests, humor, even the silent spaces in our conversation were comfortable, nurturing even. We would be able to finish each other’s thoughts. We would start speaking at the same time about the same topics. Synchronized, in tune with each other completely.

We tried not to kiss, really. We agreed that since I was married, we would just be close friends. That’s real easy when we were living in separate countries. The monkey-wrench in that plan was that She has relatives close to me whom She visits regularly.

We wanted to see each other in person. Last time saw each other, it was as two people becoming friends who were just getting to know each other. I stayed with Her for a weekend that first time. If She had shared her feelings for me at that time, I would have run away screaming. The dust under my rug (last post reference, and pardon the sexual innuendo–it was unintentional, I swear, but clever, nonetheless) was not yet unsettled enough to be aware that it was there, strongly, on my part.

But She waited to tell me when we were again at a distance. By then, I had become obsessed with Her. I thought of Her all the time. I was so afraid She would forget about me, or think, “Well, that was nice, now I am on to other things, back to my busy professional life.”

But She did not forget about me. Little did I know how much She had been thinking about me!

See what She does to me? I began this post wanting these memories to stop haunting me. Do you see why this is so hard? Thinking about Her makes me all melty and swoopy. What difficult things do I have to say about Her? Nothing. She is perfect. Perfectly wonderful. Why couldn’t She have pissed me off or something? Why did we have to disconnect altogether?

Oh, yeah. My husband found our emails. That was unfortunate. She doesn’t even know that this is why I had to unfriend her, block her even, from any social network that I use. The last time I ended the intimacy part of our relationship, I promised her I would never put her in that position again–to be hurt by me who, well, is married.  We had agreed not to talk for awhile. My back and forth, “I want to be with you”s and “but I’m married”s were getting too much for her, understandably so.

It was during that hiatus that he found our emails. Our juicy, sweet, romantic poems, words and empty promises.


That door must close.


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