Over the next few months we stayed in touch and he booked a few more sessions. Each time we saw each other I could feel myself getting dangerously infatuated. The first time he mentioned the second chance at love that he hoped he’d get, something that would come up again and again, it was as if my heart was leaping up and raising its hand, yelling, “Pick me! Pick me!”. When he talked about his wife or other providers, jealousy flooded me like a hot rash. It was during a trip out of town to see my boyfriend that I found out Matt had met a civilian girl and was having a kinky, albeit online only, relationship with her.
This wasn’t especially surprising as he used Twitter and two blogs to ease his loneliness and women were attracted to his writing. He’d been known to send money or gifts to some in an attempt, I think, to be more likeable. Still, I tossed and turned for a few nights, wondering what this girl was all about and, more importantly, why it was bothering me so much.
The sex was better every time we saw each other. In addition to having a rare kink, there is also a particular way I like to have it enacted. While I’d shared it with a few people, I hadn’t found anyone who had the approach I preferred. It had been the center of my fantasy life since I was a teen and I’d accepted that the faceless man I imagined at night was likely the closest I’d get.
The second time I saw Matt, he asked me to get myself off in front of him. Curling his body next to mine, he started to whisper things in my ear. Very specific things; things the faceless man says, things I was pretty sure I’d never written down or talked about. It was a trend that would continue and at times it was as if he’d watched videos of my imagination – of the very few things I didn’t freely share with him – and was bringing them to life.
We’d met in summer and by fall my relationship had imploded. Matt had a pay cut at work, which meant our visits had to stop indefinitely. I couldn’t handle the thought of not seeing him and asked if he’d like to stop being a client and come to my apartment instead. It worked out that he could come by on his way back to his work town on Sunday nights. He slept over the first time he visited, and we spent the whole night spooning. I woke up in the middle of the night and had both deja vu and a premonition; a feeling that we’d done this before and that I would spend the rest of my life doing it. He’d later tell me that he’d never been a snuggler before he met me. We quickly created a rule that we would only have sex if we were able to sleep together, too.
We went on like this for months, with me starting to visit him during the week and communicating several times a day through email or text. He was the first person I heard from in the morning and the last I heard from at night, even when he was with his family on the weekends. He slowly stopped talking about his wife and I stopped talking about work as much. We didn’t discuss what we were doing or how we were feeling, though, until Matt told me he and his wife had started couples counseling and I responded that I wanted to end things. He’d never promised me anything but it hit me like a punch that he was working to fix his marriage. I realized that I had subconsciously assumed that the distance would eventually push them into a divorce. It also struck me as unfair to all involved to carry on an affair while going to counseling.