Five minutes after he left that day, he was texting me. We were both in shock. Had that really just happened?!? I asked him how he was feeling about the whole thing. Surprisingly he said he felt okay about it, so far he didn't feel guilty. I was amazed to find that I didn't either. In fact, I wanted more. More of him touching me, fucking me, and wanting me.
Besides the physical attraction to him, I began to realize how deeply I actually felt for him. It wasn't love yet, but the highest level of respect, an indescribable feeling of wanting to always be around him, a desire to learn more about him, and the way his mind worked.
We began going on "dates" after work or during lunch hours. Most of the time our dates consisted of going to a coffee house and talking. We could talk non-stop about anything. Though we would sometimes steal away to a dark corner for a quick kiss, or to tease each other over our clothes, half the time it wasn't about sex at all. It was just a hunger to know more about each other. We would discuss religion, politics, work, music, our hobbies, our fears, passions; it seemed there was no end to what we could talk about.
Over those several months after we first had sex, it only happened a dozen or so more times. And somewhere in there he told me what we were doing had to stop. He confessed that though he wasn't feeling guilty about what we were doing, he was feeling guilty about not feeling guilty, since he knew what we were doing was wrong.
He said he still wanted to see each other outside of work, go for coffee and that sort of thing, but the sex and other physical inappropriateness had to stop. I remember the sinking feeling in my chest, but at that point being more or less alright with it, because getting to be with him, even in a platonic way, made me incredibly happy.
Over the next month we continued our little charade of being "just friends", though occasionally he would slip up and end up pinning me against the wall in my office to kiss me, or pushing my hair back to bite my neck while I sat at my desk. But I never initiated anything - I didn't want to be able to be blamed for him doing something he would regret. He would kid me that it was my fault anyways though, for being too sexy, or smelling too good.
I can't remember exactly what happened, but one day when we were out together he gave me this look, and suddenly we were kissing, our hands were all over each other, and it was as though we never took our "break." I began driving him home every night after work, and each trip in the car would turn into roving hands, roving mouths, pulling onto the side of the road to claw at each other, him getting out of the car just down the street from his house, both of us breathless and flushed.
Then again, a few months later, he came into my office and closed the door. He looked nervous, and sat on the edge of my desk, facing me. He cast his eyes down and told me that once again, he felt this needed to stop, it just wasn't right. As I processed that information I decided spill something I'd been keeping in for several months. I was pregnant. By SH*. And that I understood that it had to end, especially now with me carrying a child.
The thing was, the only reason I hadn't told him yet was because I didn't want it to end. I was trying to keep it to myself as long as possible, until it was going to become physically obvious I was pregnant, and then end it on a sweet note. Delusional I know. A sweet way to end an affair, when you've been keeping the fact that you were pregnant a secret for so many months?
But when I told him about the baby, his face went from shock, to surprise, to happiness in about 5 seconds. He was genuinely happy for me, but I believe he was also secretly relieved that now there was another reason to end our affair.
So, we went awhile again being "just friends" before Bang! We were on again...and now, two years later, the cycle continues still...
*SH - sweet husband