Are they his tears?! He misses me too. I know it. I finally shut the door. I slip off my shoes on to the rug and begin the climb up the stairs. The king sized bed is made perfectly on his side. Not another man shall ever share it with me. I promise this. I strip down to nothing but my bra and panties. I reach for the nightgown that he had bought me. I plan to make dinner. But all I can do is hold the gown against my barely beating heart. It should cease. I love him. I am nothing without him. Nothing. I stand here for a moment. I shall skip dinner. All I want is a drink: Something, anything to numb the pain. I walk down the stairs with a death grip on the gown and into the kitchen. Slowly, I open the refrigerator. The cool air feels so welcoming. I look around and fumble through the bottles: Whisky, Vodka, Bailey’s Irish Cream, and Wine. I like the idea of a smooth milkshake topped with Bailey’s. Yes. Perfect. I sip from the bottle and the liquid dances in my mouth filling me with. Who knows how it really started – just an innocent comment, a witty statement, a flirty retort? However it began neither of us could honestly recall. Since that first statement, in whatever form it had taken, we had spent countless hours together online. We had exchanged thousands of messages, hundreds of emails, and scores of hours talking on the phone and web-camming. The connections we felt had been much more than simply visual attraction. We had bonded so completely in heart, mind, and soul that we knew each other as well as we knew ourselves. We had shared intimate details of our lives that we wouldn’t even share with our spouses. Our relationship had blossomed into something that neither of us saw coming, neither was looking for, yet here we stood – together in our hotel room…looking at each other with love blazing in our hearts and our eyes. Both knowing that in mere moments we were going to consummate our love in the only way that remained foreign to us. I gazed upon.
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