Him – A Short Essay On Love & Mostly Lust – Betting on the Betlyons

Advice To My Younger Self (Part 2) – Betting on the Betlyons

He came into my life like a hurricane enters the shore, wild and raging full speed ahead, taking no prisoners.  Like the shoreline, I had two choices.  I could fight his powerful force and be left in ruins, alone with nothing.  Or, I could allow myself to be swept up in his magnificent power, allowing him to alter the direction of my life.  I chose the latter.

When I met him, my life was a chaotic mess.  I was single, drifting aimlessly through my day to day existence.  Lost and alone.  I had a job, friends, and family.  Weekends were full of family dinners and nights out with friends.  These things were just noise, drowning out the cries from a lonely heart.  My lonely heart had too much time on its hands. Time that I filled by going out to dinner with friends and honestly, drinking too much.  Sure, I went on dates, very bad dates with not so great guys.  I had to keep myself busy, if not, I would spend too much time in my head.  That’s not a pleasant place to be.  You see, my past had all but destroyed me.  But this story isn’t about that, it’s about Him.

It all started innocently enough, thanks to social media.  Technology has taken the personalization out of meeting someone.  Between the poking, winking, and private messaging, you can “meet” hundreds of people without ever leaving the comfort of your pajamas.  Not to mention the fact that we overshare every single detail of our lives so readily, that after twenty minutes of online stalking, we can learn more about a would-be suiter than if we stumbled through an awkward first date.  It’s no wonder that relationships are moving at warp speed these days. This relationship would be no different.

The chatting was innocent, but flirtatious. Grazing the line of inappropriate by talking of tooting one’s own horn and making sure the other knew we weren’t just referring to a pat on the back. The light, flirty banter quickly turned into deeper, getting to know you type conversations. He was taken, spoken for. This was dangerous territory. I told myself to proceed with trepidation. I did what I always do. I failed to heed my own warning.

After a month of endless texting and emailing back and forth, I knew I was in trouble. He had a mind like no other! He was smart, obviously well read. He was funny. He was charming. I knew I had to meet him face to face. We were so good via text, could he be too good to be true?

Late one wintry Friday night, I settled into my comfy bed to watch a movie and relax with a glass of wine when the familiar tone of a text message came through. It was Him. He wanted to get together. I told Him I was in for the evening watching a movie, thinking he would suggest another time to meet. After all, I was settled in, which meant no make-up, bra off, ready for bed. He persisted. Offered to bring a bottle of wine to my apartment and watch the movie with me, a little “Netflix and chill”. My heart raced so fast I thought it was going to leap from my chest as I typed, “great, see you soon!” and gave him my address. I started to sweat as I ran around my apartment, throwing on a pair of jeans and a flannel over my tank top. I rushed to the mirror to make sure I didn’t look horrendous. I made my bed and set up Netflix in the living room. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea! I set out two wine glasses on the counter, lit a candle and waited.  My nervous mind started to race, but before I could talk myself out of this rendezvous, there was a gentle knock on the door.

I felt giddy and anxious as I answered the door. I was so nervous that all I could muster was a breathy “hey”. There He stood, all six feet of Him, in the flesh. My God He was handsome. I drank Him in slowly. His eyes were dark espresso brown, beautiful and mystifying. I could feel myself getting lost, like He was swimming for the depths of my soul. His crooked smile was sexy yet telling.  I knew I was heading for trouble. A smile like that typically belongs to a guy who’s up to no good. He stood there with confidence, and even though he was wearing a sweater, I could still make out the definition of his arms. As usual, I was feeling awkward, so I leaned forward without invitation and gave him a hug. I could feel myself melting in his strong arms. He smelled amazing. An earthy yet spicy, manly scent. I would later find out He wore Polo Red by Ralph Lauren. It had been so long since I had found myself in the arms of a man. I lingered a little too long before pulling back. I stepped out of the way and gestured for him to come inside.

      “Why hello there.” He said, His voice was deep and confident. “I hope this will do,” holding up a bottle of merlot. I hadn’t even noticed He had anything in His hands.

      “Looks great!” I quipped, still breathless. “I’m so happy we finally decided to get together!”

      “Me too.” There was that sexy voice.

Why does He have to be taken? How am I supposed to just be friends with a man who, so far, was everything I could have dreamed? I am in trouble. These thoughts would play over and over in my mind as the evening progressed. He followed me to the kitchen. When I started to open the wine that He brought, He said, “allow me” and took the bottle from my hands. He quickly uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. Gesturing to the sofa, “shall we?”

      “Of course!”

      We sat down on the sofa, an appropriate distance apart, facing one another. Netflix already playing softly in the background. Soft light spilling over from above the kitchen sink. A candle flickering on the coffee table, and the gentle glow coming from the electric fireplace on which the television sits. I may not have set the right mood for “just friends”.

We chatted for hours. We talked about everything. At first the conversation was casual and light. Once our nerves settled we relaxed into a natural rhythm of conversation that made me feel like I have known Him forever. He felt comfortable, like your favorite pair of jeans. The jeans that feel so soft against your skin from frequent wash and wear. The jeans that hug your curves in all the right ways. He was charming. Those dark eyes sparkling when He laughed. His laugh was genuine and sincere, and felt like music to my ears.

He asked me questions, making me feel like He wanted to know me. Really know me. When I answered His questions, He probed deeper. He asked me about my hopes and dreams, my plans, my take on religion. We talked of our failed marriages and failed relationships. Nothing was off the table. He listened intently, drawing me closer to Him. I have never met a man like Him before. Maybe it’s because He is a bit older than the boys I normally dated. Maybe it’s because He is not a boy, but a man. And He was starting to make me feel like a woman.

By the second bottle of wine we were sitting closer on the sofa. Our thighs touching gently, our inhibitions gone. The fact that He had a girlfriend had completely slipped my mind. He put His hand on my knee. He didn’t seem to mind that the wine was making me giddy. We were laughing and smiling. I would touch His forearm. He would touch my thigh.

I excused myself to the restroom. I needed to steady myself before I took this to far. I wasn’t that girl, I thought. I’m not the kind of girl to sleep with a guy on the first date. Was this even a date? I wasn’t the kind of girl to sleep with a guy who was taken. At least not anymore. Standing there in front of mirror, looking at my flushed reflection, all I could think about was kissing His perfect lips. I washed my hands, gave myself one last stern look in the mirror and emerged from the bathroom.

He was no longer seated on the sofa where I had left Him. He was standing in the kitchen in front of the refrigerator, looking closely at the variety of photographs stuck to the front. I walked over to where He stood. Standing next to Him I suddenly felt small and vulnerable. He was asking me questions about the people in the photos. Somehow, I was answering them, albeit my voice was shaking. He placed His hand on the small of my back. My heart started racing again. The fire between our bodies was a palpable energy. I could feel His breath against the back of my neck. His hand left my back and traveled to my neck, and He turned me around. I was facing Him. I looked up Him. His eyes were burning with longing. I knew what was going to happen next, and I wasn’t about to stop it from happening.

There in they tiny kitchen of my two-bedroom apartment, He kissed me for the first time. His soft lips lingered upon mine for a few moments before breaking away. It was perfect and sweet. His eyes searching mine, He leaned in and kissed me again, passionately. His strong arms pulled me in closer to His body. My breath caught in my throat. Friends kiss, I told myself. When we finally came up for air, I laughed nervously as He gestured towards the sofa.

When He sat down, I slid even closer than I had been before. Our conversation continued as if nothing had happened. The heat between our bodies felt like fire, a fire deep down in my belly. It was getting very late. It was now the wee hours of the morning. Our wine glasses sat empty on the coffee table. I was dreading watching Him walk out of my apartment, but I knew I could not allow this relationship to progress beyond a platonic friendship.

I walked Him to the door, where we exchanged close, whispered goodbyes. He grabbed me around the waist, pulled me close, and began kissing me with a hungry intensity that I have never felt before. I clutched His strong shoulders as He pressed me against the door jamb, His body holding me in place while His hands wandered with lust down my sides and across my chest. My body ached for Him.

He pulled away from me, taking a step back He looked at me with those dark fiery eyes. Like a gentleman, He kissed me on the cheek and disappeared into the dark night. I closed the door behind Him, lingering a moment as I tried to catch my breath, my head swimming with uncertainty. I had no idea if I would ever see Him again, or if I even should see Him again, but I hoped whatever this was didn’t end before it really began.

Two nights later, He was back on my doorstep with another bottle of wine. It was 9pm on a Sunday evening. Late by my standards, considering I would have to get up at 5:30 the next morning for work, but I was happy to see Him. He was dressed more casually this time. He was wearing a t-shirt, which perfectly showcased his muscular arms, and a pair of Calvin Klein’s that fit him like a glove.

The conversation was light, fun and flirty. There was tension in the air. It didn’t take long before I found myself wrapped up in His arms.  Before I found myself lost in the heat of a passionate affair that was sure to burn the depths of my soul.





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Author: Carl Wright