No, I’m quite certain I haven’t written you about this. It ended, oddly enough, in Niagara Falls of all places. He had invited me to come with him for the weekend.
I don’t know what I was thinking. He was attending this conference for work. There I was, staring down at the falls, alone in our room, wondering what the hell I was doing. He was going to be gone for a few hours, so I grabbed my purse and went out exploring.
I’d ended it, or so I thought, the week before. I was mistaken. He called and I jumped, packed my overnight bag, and threw caution to the wind.
Wandering the streets of the falls, playing this quasi-game of left/right. At the corner of nowhere, and dumpy part of Niagara Falls, I came across this glass factory. Outside was this ragged sign advertising free tours, so I decided, why not.
Inside was a plethora of glass bowls, and mugs, wine goblets, lamps, dragons, and every shape and colour imaginable. This factory is unique, as it’s the only glass factory in Canada that makes Cranberry Glass, made from pure 24k gold.
My mistake was bringing him, even telling him about this little gem I had found. Cause, not two hours later, he completely wrecked it for me.
All the magical awe I had felt whilst watching these craftsmen, with the flames dancing around the blob of stuff at the end of this long poll, fashioned legs, and a body out of that same blob, was enchanting to behold. This act of creation had all the makings of the beginning of it all.
So we walked back from the hotel, down to this factory, oohing and awing over the beauty of the craftsmanship. Ah yes, then the bastard goes and buys a beautiful chandelier to grace the dining table of his matrimonial home.
I almost was sick a little in my mouth, standing beside him, watching him pay for his new acquisition. I’m certain his wife loved it, oblivious.
On our drive back, I could feel every particle of my being shattering, quietly.
It began, you know Mom, with one simple look. Just one goddamn look.
I saw him standing there in front of me at one of the local watering holes, and thought yummy. Just on looks alone, the guy was an Adonis. Standing there, listening to the blues, watching his long curly blond hair, and all of a sudden he turns around, looks at me briefly, smiles, and walks towards the bar.
I honestly can’t tell you what happened next. Did he make the first move? Or did I? I don’t remember, as quite frankly I’ve tried to block the whole episode as much as humanly possible.
We technically never actually had sex. He refused. We played around, and hung out and all that sort of thing, but no penetration, as I guess he thought that was “a line too far”. Whatever.
Man, you know Mom, there were such uncomfortable similarities to my marriage, and I told him so. I explained to him how I had felt, how ashamed of myself I was at how I looked, and the look of revulsion I saw on my husband’s face; or thought I saw. As I imagine does she.
I felt filthy. It happened over the course of about 5 or 6 months, back in 2008 – the year I met Tim. It began the fall of 2007.
I’m certainly not proud of it Mom, but damn it all, I had never, ever, felt that way towards someone. The feelings well up inside, and took me completely by surprise. This overwhelming sense of longing, and passion, and unadulterated desire oozed when I was in his presence.
It took everything thing I had inside me to walk away. Although I admit, in the end, he made it very easy.
That horrible weekend, I saw him for the first time. Those rose-coloured glasses of desire came off, and revealed was the selfish, narcissistic whelp of a man he really, and truly was.
How he normally got away (as he put it), was a smidge unsettling. He was a bass player and told her he was jamming with friends. He went out most Thursdays, and she drove him. Dropping him off outside the local bar in my area, sometimes (often) with his daughter in the back. Yeah, just gives you a warm fuzzy doesn’t it? Creep.
He was unhappy, and since his daughter’s birth, he felt he had been basically ignored. Left to wallow in self-pity in the basement playing video games, or apparently prowling bars for new victims he can leash up and hold hostage to his amorous ways, and Harlequin Romance novel looks.
You know Mom, that bastard still haunts a tiny piece of me. Maybe he always will.
He said it wasn’t like that at all. He said he wasn’t on the prowl, that he had only fooled around on her once before. Yeah, righto-pricko, just once? Only? Well, that’s nothing dear, playing your wife for the fool over and over is the real crime. Diddling an occasional is nada, right?
Ah, Mom. Not sure why I’m telling you this. Not like you had to know. But, it certainly did teach me some valuable lessons.
First and foremost, I had NO IDEA desire could be so blawdy downright physically impossible to ignore. I’d felt it, briefly before. But not with this kind of… intensity.
It taught me that I CAN feel that way towards someone.
And it taught me that I want to feel that way again. And again, and again, and over and over. Towards one man. And that one man will feel that way towards me, and I will know that to the bottom of my toes.
Do you think that’s possible? Guess I’ll find out, cause I’m having nothing less.