Evolution

At one pinnacle of my life, I found myself: a mother, a wife, a satisfied professional and unhappy. I felt weighted, struggling for the definition of who I am, not how I am defined.

And then I met my techie. He talked to me about sports, weather, books, food and everything under the sun. He smiled and me and didn't see childbirth in my history. He wanted me, he called me sexy. I let him have it all.

Our first venture into the dark land seemed innocuous to us. We went for drinks after work and after a beer or two, I confessed that I had a little crush on him. As the fates would have it, he felt the same way. We laughed and shrugged at the silliness of two grown and married people having crushes. That was Wednesday.

By Friday, we were convinced that the only way to dispel the flirty aura around us was to share just one kiss – get it out of our systems. It was ridiculous but we were consumed with the thought of it. How would it happen? Where? Who would make the first move?

I met him in an isolated room near his office. Neither of us would make the first move. It was so juvenile, but my heart was racing like he was the first boy I’d ever kissed. I leaned in for a hug and his mouth was on mine, fevered and wet. I was insane with kissing, but it was all wrong. He didn’t taste right, he didn’t kiss right. His hands were all over me. I pushed him away. This was no longer funny. We’d really crossed the line.

I shrugged and laughed. Told him that he needed some practice before we did that again. He joked about teaching him the tricks. I left.

Later that night I called him and offered that lesson. We’d officially crossed from flirting to fucking.