Eighteen

Loving A has been one of my greatest joys, but it also came at a time when I was entering a new phase in my life so to speak. He came along at the right time and I was in the right place to meet him when I did. I met him as my marriage to X was coming, thankfully, to its bitter end. I was only waiting out my separation so the divorce proceedings could finally take place. A was very cautious when we first started dating, since we worked together and technically, legally, I was still married (not to mention he was management and I was not). In the beginning, neither of us had expectations as to where this relationship was going. I, of course, fell instantly in love with him because after such a horrendous marriage and lack of a sex life with X, anything else seemed magical. At first it was only for sex, I think for him as much as me, because he wasn't seeing anyone at the time we met and hadn't been for awhile. And X and I had stopped having sex long ago, since we could barely tolerate speaking to one another. A and I were very careful not to be seen out in public together, and at the office we pretended that we barely knew each other, except when work dictated that we meet for official reasons. But I had desire for this man that I'd never felt before, not for anyone or anything in my entire life. For awhile it was fun and daring, to keep the secret of an office affair locked away in my heart, to have a younger man take an interest in me, to see a potential new future on my horizon that would be life after X. But then the secrecy started to get old, at least for me, and I wanted to be able to share our relationship with my girlfriends at work, with my family, with everyone. A would never come to my home to see me, even though X had long long ago moved out. X still lived in the same city, and A was always worried that X might drive by and see his car, and want to start something. A was better safe than sorry. I always drove to where A lived, which was in another city, another county, and I would spend every weekend at his house. I wondered, what if X drives by my house and sees my car gone at 2am on Saturday night, what will he think then? Sometimes I worried, because since we'd gotten separated X was very angry about my throwing him out of the house and disrupting his "life" (I say it that way because his entire life consisted of a crummy manual labor job and smoking pot), and he called me to make threatening phone calls every now and again, and at one point had started to demand money from me- alimony because I'd been the one who asked for the divorce, not him. What a complete shit!! But things rolled along, time passed, my divorce date with X grew closer, and my time with A, my love for A, was all that kept me going, it was all that I had to look forward to every day. Only A was holding back, not letting me in too deep, and not giving as much of himself as I wanted. When I finally confessed how much I loved him, that I wanted to be with him, he gave me nothing back in return but mere affection. I thought I saw an expression of love on his face, in his eyes, when he looked at me but nothing of the sort ever came out of his mouth. When I would say how much I loved him, he would just look at me sadly and say I'm sorry. Was he sorry because I loved him, and he didn't love me back? He said he wasn't going to give his heart to a woman, a married woman, who could toss him aside and go back to her husband at any minute. I said, are you joking? Do you know what a fucking asshole X is? It left A unmoved, and unwavering in his refusal to share his true feelings with me. But I persisted, and I stayed with him, because I felt in my heart that he loved me, that he was just afraid of being hurt because he had confessed his last girlfriend, who he loved and was going to propose to, had suddenly and without warning left him for another man. The previous woman in his life had also suddenly left him, after he decided to take on a different career challenge and was overnight making a third of his previous salary- she ran up his credit cards then moved away to another state- leaving him alone to try to heal while he had to file bankruptcy. A was not wanting to go through the hurt again, I realized. This man had terrible luck with picking the wrong woman. He was a nice guy, I'm sure there were women out there who could zero in on such a man, and for whatever reason, take advantage of him. That's not true love, to get upset about a job change and ruin someone's credit then run away. As A and I continued to date, I did everything I could to prove to him my worth, that I was not going to hurt him, that I was not out for his money, or trying to find someone to take care of me once I was single. I already owned my own house, owned my own car, when we went to dinner I demanded to pay the bill on many occasions, I bought him gifts and showered him with physical affection- I'd had years of it stored up since X was such a dreg and didn't deserve it. I even once completely paid for one of our weekends out of town, had even planned the whole trip, to show him that I didn't "need" him but that I truly "wanted" him, such a huge difference! I wanted to be his partner, not his dependent. He always showed me tenderness and was sweet, but still no promises for the future, no outbursts about his love for me. And still I was legally married to X, although I had limited to no contact with him. Things looked brighter to me when A sold his large two-story home so far away, the one he'd bought with the long ago ex-wife, and he moved into an upscale apartment over towards a famous golf community, only 20 miles from my house now, instead of 50. I loved going to see him there, was finally feeling like the pampered girlfriend to a rich man, as he wined and dined me in the expensive restaurants in the area. He bought a new convertible sports car, and we toodled around the city on sunny Saturdays with the top down, and I felt glamorous sitting beside him, my dark sunglasses on, holding hands with him as he shifted gears. But still no talks about our relationship. His apartment complex was gated, and it took him a long time to finally give me a key to the apartment, then an opener for the large wrought-iron gate. I finally felt like we were progressing into a new stage. Finally, finally, X and I met in court and after what seemed like forever, I walked away from the building a divorced and free woman, legally back to my maiden name. I was rid of X in every way possible. I had visions in my head of A dropping to his knees that night and proposing to me. A and I had been dating 1 1/2 years at this point, surely long enough for him to decide. We were in our late 30's, not kids, not immature, not out sowing our wild oats. But A remained mute on any commitment. Months went by, we continued dating, we continued our routine, took another cruise to the tropics, vacationed to see my family, to see his. As always, I stayed with him on the weekends, going with him as he ran his errands of grocery shopping, getting new tires for his old truck, his hair cut, shopping at Sam's. He used this as his excuse for never coming to stay at my house for the weekend- it was the only time he had to get all of his personal things done. Even back then he worked until 6 or 7 at night. I continued to try and show him I wasn't after his money- the first year we were dating was the first year he made it to a six figure income- but in the meantime I was running up the balance on my Visa by offering to pay for the occasional dinner out. I was trying to show him my independence by not paying off my credit card, how intelligent! Finally, after months went by after my divorce, and still A did not make a commitment to me, I truly started to become weary of it all. One night at his place I started to cry- very unlike me- and I grew angry when he still wouldn't admit that he loved me (which at this point I was sure he did) and I was beyond frustrated. I loved him, true, but I did not want to forever be a 39-year-old divorcee with a younger boyfriend, how cliche was that? At this point, after dating for almost two years now, he still wouldn't even go out to lunch with me for fear one of our co-workers would see- I didn't care, I was divorced now, and many people now knew we were dating. But as upper management, he always had to be careful of what others might see and think. I thought about it for some time, and knew I was putting the entire pleasant arrangement at risk, but I was prepared for the consequences. I was prepared to break up with him, to even leave our shared place of employment, and if it came to it I was prepared to sell my house and move back to my hometown if I had to. X and I were divorced, the only thing that kept me from going home was my relationship with A- without that, there was nothing left for me in my adopted city. One night on the phone, I told A that I was not coming over for the weekend, that I was tired of packing a bag every Friday and coming to stay with him, coming home exhausted either late on Sunday night or creeping out of his apartment in the darkness of Monday morning. It wasn't fair to me, and I felt like I was living with him part time, that I was a part time wife because when I came over I did his laundry, cleaned his apartment, we cooked meals and shopped together, we had passionate sex, we took vacations together. I was done with it, I wanted more, I wanted everything and I wanted the title of Mrs A to go along with it. And unless he wanted more as well, then it had to be over for us. He listened carefully to me on the phone, but I couldn't gauge how he was feeling, because he barely responded and when he did, it wasn't the way I had hoped- oh I love you so much!! It was only a simple yes or no or I see, as though this were one of his business meetings. After the conversation was over, I felt I had said everything I needed to say, I was drained, and it was up to him now. He knew how I felt about him, he'd always known that, and now he knew what it was I wanted from him. I was true to my word, and for the first time since we'd started dating, I did not pack my bag on Friday and I did not go to his home for the weekend.