It’s Just a Feeling. Primal. Overwhelming. Magical.

Trigger warning: everything about this story is a little bit ‘wrong’.

Once in a blue moon like a lightning strikes, magically connecting you to the least expected of humans. It’s often someone you would never rationally choose. But there is not escaping lightning, when it chooses you, your entire being lights up, even if for just one fraction of a second.

Three months ago I walked into my local pub and met him. I was only there for about an hour, yet a light electrical glitch ran through our systems then and there. He was with his wife. A friend had already told me they were in an open relationship, also he enjoys talking about it to anyone who will listen.

Yuk, I thought.

Me, a hopeless romantic, him, a very sexually open man with little to no boundaries on sex, relationships and his own marriage.

On top of this, he seemed a bit sleazy like he was hitting on every single girl around him. Not. My. Cup. Of. Tea.

Yet there I was, wife next to him, socializing with absolutely no intentions of developing any kind of romantic feelings. I didn’t.

I’m not sure why but I call a friend to tell her I had met him.

Something had already happened.

The connection unfortunately was clear.

Fast forward three months and here I was again, same pub, same friend who introduced us, minus the wife.

Look, open as I may be, I am looking for my person, not for a married man with license to sleep around, hence the last thing I was looking for was a random hookup. I figured we would have a little flirt — exactly as he had done right in front of his wife and I knew with certainty was allowed, and that’s it.

I opened up on my inability to have one night stands, on my attraction being based on a real connection, on looking for a love story even in brief interactions. I told him I was looking for a life partner. I told him I only do love, that all my lust falls into the bracket of letting my imagination run wild with a man I trust and love.

He was surprised. It’s not what he expected, but I think he liked it. I think it’s one of the bits he liked most about me.

Me — pure heart, creative mind, vulnerable, multifaceted, extremely confident.

Him — direct, cocky, confident and open yet with a well hidden vulnerable side.

Both of us — extremely sexual, likely very skeptical about the fact that any new human in our lives could shake us, our balance and individual confidence or form a deep connection with either of us. Perhaps cynical but with a deep rooted craving for strong feelings, passions and something unconventionally unforgettable. Both quite fearless.

Dinner & sex stories

We sat at dinner, my friend, him and I. He began talking about sex stories from his past and the openness of his marriage. All things that could make someone cringe. Possibly me too. Yet somehow I didn’t feel so cringe.

In the middle of these conversations there was a lot of unsaid. Sexual tension, looks, words that were directed at each other indirectly. Stories testing where we could stand if we stood next to each other.

Walking into a bar I touched him on his shoulder.

Immediately he called it out, as to embarrass me in front of my friend. I felt it but of course played it very cool, like I had not even registered what had just happened.

Final stop was in a small cozy private member’s club in central London. My friend left, she said she was tired. We both hoped for a moment she hadn’t noticed our heavy flirting.

He stood close.

He came in even closer.

‘You seem to be very comfortable with me standing five centimeters away from you. I have spent all night trying to provoke you and nothing seems to get to you’.

In my mind I wanted to grab him and kiss him. I couldn’t wait any longer at that point, but I didn’t. I stood still, challenging his stare, his closeness, his body, way too close to mine.

My body was breathing to his, with a deep need for him to move in closer to me.

We were playing with fire, exploring our individual boundaries.

The room around us disappeared by this point. For me, at least, as he seemed to always be checking out other girls.

I didn’t move until his lips were against mine.

Looking straight into my eyes, he kissed me.

My mind, my body, my lips, my hands, couldn’t wait to get close to him.

I wanted him.

My body was on fire.

We moved to the side of the room, away from the bar. A little bit more hidden but certainly hiding in plain sight with every single person in the bar staring at us.

This is where we knew we could not help it.

Our lips pressed up so hard against each other, our tongues pressing hard one against the other, deciding who was in charge, needing to be closer, our bodies not knowing the limits to which we could engage.

His hands on my breasts, on my waist, grabbing me tight. In public. No.

My arms around his shoulder, my hands caressing his neck and hair.

Every inch of this territory feeling new, unexplored. I wanted it.

Such a self declared fuck-boy yet so surprised, so respectful, aggressively passionate yet very sweet.

We talked, we held each other, we forgot about the rest of the room and dove right into our lust, with a deep rooted sense that this was not just lust.

I cannot explain it properly but it was more.

More than we expected, more than we had warranted for, more than was allowed.

It was one of those moments when lightning strikes and, well, you know. It’s unescapable. You don’t choose it, it just happens.

‘You know everything I’m not saying, right?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I felt this way’.

This kind of chemistry doesn’t come around very often. For him it had been ten years, for me what felt like an eternity. When was the last time I felt this level of heat, of attraction, of longing, of belonging?

A mix of excitement and safety, of stepping over an edge and of feeling home in his arms.

Somebody else’s arms.

But in that corner of the world, in that instant of time, we found ourselves in that ‘more’.

‘I can’t say it out loud but you know what I’m thinking, right?’ he asked again.

‘I do’.

I did. I really did.

‘You look so beautiful. And when I come closer and I look at you with no distance between us, you look even more beautiful’.

We kissed even harder.

I felt safe, seen, even a little bit loved in that fleeting moment.

‘I would love to turn you around, face up against the wall, right now.’ He whispered.

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea if we do this’. I replied.

‘Let me walk you home, I’ll be good’.

I agreed.

As we left the club, on a dark street, I grabbed his hand. I’m not sure why I did it.

Perhaps because I have no bonds and I can.

Perhaps because I wanted to know what his hand would feel like with mine wrapped inside it.

Perhaps because we both got lost in space and time. In the romance we weren’t supposed to experience. In the desire for each other that was almost uncontainable.

He turned around and said ‘I love that you just grabbed my hand as you walked under the tree, in the dark’. I smiled.

‘This is my house’, he mentioned as we walked past his place. It’s one block away from mine.

As we approached mine we mutually decided it was best he went home.

We kissed. A beautiful, deep, lustful, long kiss. We kissed like teenagers, all night long. And we loved it.

I walked upstairs fulled with a sense of wanting this man to be there with me.

At 4:30 he sent me a message ‘Can I come over and bring you breakfast?’

I checked with my girl friend. Was it a stupid idea?

‘We both know you’re calling me because you’ve already made this decision and you are going to see him.’ She replied.

It was true. I couldn’t not see him. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I needed to see him. My whole mind body and everything I possess was craving his presence in my flat, in my space, on my body. In my body.

Croissants in hand, a light blue button up shirt and looking just amazing he walked into my home.

He tried very hard to turn this into a simple a sex thing.

I could see his initial intention was to come in and get me in bed but somehow when he saw me, when he kissed me, when he saw my smile, he realized he couldn’t.

Everything was a little bit awkward, his undressing, his undressing me, his being on top of me.

His expression gave it away. His eyes were elsewhere.

‘I am used to having everything under control.’

He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned me.

‘I haven’t been with anyone else in five years.’

Shit. I thought. So was this open marriage thing not true?

As if he had read my mind he told me once again that this was okay in his marriage. I will never fully understand but okay, my sense of guilt should leave.

‘We don’t have to do anything, you know?’ I said into his ear.

‘I’m so sorry I’m a bit at loss for words, thank you for making this situation that could have been so awkward so easy and natural. You have this ability you did it last night as well’.

I did. I do. I am very self confident hence I can handle discomfort so well.

Truth is, I was shy as well. I don’t sleep around and I was feeling all the jitters of having this man I barely had even met but that felt just right there, naked on my bed. And he looked quite spectacular there naked on my fluffy white duvet.

We kissed and talked and laughed.

We made love.

As he was inside me, on top of me, he told me to look into his eyes, not to close them. He he didn’t ask, he told me. Twice.

‘Don’t close your eyes, look at me’.

With a mixture of shyness and excitement I did my best to look at him in this incredibly intimate moment with our bodies entangled into each other.

It was simply perfect.

Not because it was the best sex we’ve ever had. I’m pretty sure we have both established that we can have insane sex. He knows and I know that when we go for it it’s going to be insane. No. This was not that. This was connection, vulnerability, it was something else, it was us needing to be together. Fully together. Truly naked.

We laid in bed talking and laughing, with him analyzing every single detail of the evening before, every instant since the first moment he met me. All of this out loud, in words. I could see myself in everything he was, in everything he was saying.

He was a little bit shy, a little bit vulnerable, yet I could feel the secure part of him wanted to make me shy, sexually and in life, to test my limits.

He didn’t dare to yet.

We weren’t at that stage yet.

We both somehow ended up somewhere where we deeply cared.

I loved it.

I was so turned on by all of it.

We made love again. This time, truly attempting to turn it into just sex.

It didn’t work.

‘I feel like I could spend a year getting to know you, getting to know your body, what you like, what drives you crazy’.

I wish, he could spend a year on me, that sounds like the only think I’d like to do for the rest of the year.

We went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. We eat the same things, we like the same things, we like everything at the same time.

We take our coffee with a splash of milk, our steak rare, our white wine dry and chilled.

I cannot imagine how much more comfortable and how much more real and easy this could get.

‘Everything is so easy with you. You are so centered, so serene, so chill. We like all the same little things.’

‘I know’, I thought.

Sitting at the breakfast table talking about our lives, our experiences, our jobs, he stood up and told me to hold him.

‘When I’m not here I want you to have a mental picture of me here, in your living room, us, practically naked holding on to each other like this.’

I genuinely can never forget because in that instant I felt deeply happy.

I was happy.

Everything felt just right, except, none of it actually was.

‘I feel like this is more cheating than if we were merely having sex. The two of us spending 12 hours together talking like this, with this level of intimacy.’

We mutually swore each other to secrecy. This was not something to be told. That’s how you know something is wrong.

‘We would be together now if this weren’t the situation, right?’

‘Yes, I believe we would’, I replied.

We barely made it to him getting dressed to head to lunch with his older kids who live in London. We couldn’t stop kissing.

‘I could spend the entire day here with you’ he said.

‘Me too.’

As he left we kissed and hugged along with sweet words towards each other.

It was truly, just…perfect.

We meet again

My friend messages me to ask if I want to go to dinner with her and him. Again.

‘Sure’ I reply.

Dinner was hard. I kept swinging in between hating him a little bit for trying hard to ignore him and wanting to jump on him at every inside joke we were throwing at the table.

My friend knew. I pretended she didn’t and I’ll keep pretending she didn’t for the foreseeable future.

I followed him to the bathroom.

He barely kissed me before walking back to the table meanwhile telling me how he was hoping I would show up at his door.

One pub later he walked me home.

No hand. No hug. Barely any touch.

I found out later that he noticed absolutely every detail, even when it felt like he was ignoring me.

‘I cannot come up, it wouldn’t be right. My wife asked me why I was going to dinner with our common friend again, it was hard to answer’.

‘I’m a little sad you won’t but I understand’ I replied, with my part that fears endings ringing every alarm bell in my system.

‘I can’t- I though about it all night and I cannot.’

I appreciated this about him more than he knows. I appreciate that in the middle of all of this he had boundaries, he respected the ones evidently he had set with his wife. Open or not, I can imagine this is crucial.

We inadvertently had stepped over that boundary.

Although all of this is so unlike me, I am so against anything happening with someone married, independently from their own arrangement, unfortunately this was the case.

We bid each other a good night and went off to separate beds.

The morning after

I woke up to a voice message, one where he says we made the right decision, that he was not expecting this kind of intimacy that he’s not used to it, but that he looks forward to seeing me again. Thank God he no longer lives in the same city.

He proceeded to send me a song called ‘Questione di feeling’ by Italian singer Mina.

I have been trying to figure out the meaning all day. What does He actually mean with this song? It talks about two souls connecting deeply but is there more?

To this instant, I have yet to remove his glass from my table. I like it there. I like the memory of him in my space.

Just Me

I’ve thought about him all day, with a feeling of happiness and serenity.

We went all in and it was a situation where all in feels absolutely amazing. Even if now I have to close, even if this cannot be my man, my person, in my heart it was all good.

As I dive into my memories, my thoughts and old Youtube videos with him speaking about work on camera just to see his eyes and hear his voice, I begin but wonder why I met this person now. Why it just clicked. Why I had lighting again towards someone who is unavailable.

I leave with a feeling of recognition, of warmth, of hope.

Differently from my usual self, I see clearly: there is no path forward and I shouldn’t look for it.

He is completely unavailable, and that’s okay.

He awakened me, reminding me of many things I should look forward to and also of things I don’t want.

I don’t want a man looking for external validation, with the need to know if every single woman out there likes him. I need a man who is able to make a choice, a man who sees me, my value, and chooses to be with Me.

Sexual promiscuity is something I understand and don’t judge, I just don’t want to be a part of it.

Some things for me sound great in a fantasy, yet I don’t think I’d ever want to try them in real life, it’s just not me.