Page 2 of Opening It Up
But there was something about this studious tender-hearted sweetheart that made me absolutely blossom.
And now? I wasn’t blind to the fact that women wanted me now.
Before I had been an awkward weirdo. Now I was confident and charismatic, so at the top of my therapeutic field that I even had my own podcast.
I had become something of a celebrity. Women recognized me everywhere I went, and everywhere I went I saw naked lust in their eyes.
Maybe it was my tall, athletic frame, the dark hair that was just now starting to silver on the edges, my chiseled cheekbones. Or maybe it was the appeal of my brain or intellect.
Either way, it had powered me to a prosperous podcast distribution deal and millions of listeners who tuned in every day to hear my therapeutic advice on happy families.
Yet I had never had sex with any woman besides my wife.
And at 44 years old, Ilustedfor them.
I wanted to feel another woman’s arms around my neck, wanted another woman’s pussy clenching around me, wanted to pull down Makayla’s silky top and run my tongue across her breasts, suck on that plump nipple I saw straining to escape her bra.
But I wasn’t some kind ofscumbagasshole.
So I didn’t.
Even though her every motion advertised the fact that she wanted me, too.
She shifted on the desk, exposing the bottom edge of her garters, her leg shimmering with some kind of sparkly makeup.
Just a few inches closer and I could have run my fingers under her skirt, snapped that garter off to feel the silky skin underneath. . .
Icouldhave, but I didn’t.
Because I was a man of honor who could keep his throbbing cock in his pants.
“Do you believe in other lives?” Makayla asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I haven’t seen any scientific evidence for that.”
She took a sip of her coffee, her bright red lipstick staining the plastic lid, and she inched a little closer.
“I can’t help thinking,” Makayla said breathily, “in another life, things could be different. . . In another life, maybe we could be together. . .”
The pain in her big brown eyes almost broke me.
I got up and began to pace back and forth in my office, my long strides taking me quickly from one end to the other. The big city of Santa Rosa stretched out underneath me.
“But we are inthislife,” I gritted out.
“If we kept it very quiet. . .” Makayla began but I brushed the idea aside.
“I will not cheat on my wife. That’s not who I am. My podcast isn’t just for show. I am committed to full honesty and transparency in all aspects of my life.”
“I know,” she said breathlessly. “That’s what I love about you. I know I should fight these feelings I have for you, but I—can’t.”
My hands tore through my hair.
“We are professional colleagues. Nothing more. If there was a way. . .but there isn’t.”
Makayla hopped off the desk and walked toward me. How sensual she was, every movement a symphony of beauty and grace.
“You’re so lovely,” I said. “So lovely and so wrong.”
