Bad Intentions

From the moment I met him, I felt somehow connected to him. I worked with him. Not only did I work with him, but he was one of my supervisors. Not only was he one of my supervisors, but he was the only one of my supervisors that was married with kids. He was the only other coworker I had that was married with kids.

And yet, here we are…in my bed, at my house, just talking and confessing our deepest secrets to each other while creating even deeper, darker secrets with each other.

Together, we’re trying to figure out why we were drawn together. Why did we have this mutual attraction to each other? I’ve never even felt this attraction with anyone I’ve had a typical or, I suppose, more socially acceptable relationship with.

Working with him was fun. This was how the conversations started. We flirted at work, harmlessly. At first, I just noticed he was flirty and suave with everyone. He was just funny, and my wit, I think, was what drew him to me. He would do something or say something to cleverly jab at me, and I would come right back.

It turned into a game for me. My goal during work was just to talk to him as much as I could and all I wanted to do was hear his laugh and catch his eyes on me.

The nature of our relationship was different than anything I’ve ever experienced. He had never experienced anything like it before either.

There were no games. We didn’t have time for games. We couldn’t share this with anyone. We couldn’t act like we were together in front of anyone. But finding a way to interact with him and still communicate with him as a lover in front of others became intoxicating for both of us.

He shared things with me he had never shared with his wife. He read to me from his diary that his wife didn’t know existed. I shared things with him I had never told anyone. The comfort I felt with him is unparalleled.

I’ve never been able to communicate my feelings with anyone. But with him, it was so easy. I think it was because, at the end of the day, it really didn’t matter. I wasn’t in a normal bound relationship with him. We were both free to go whenever we pleased without question. That had to be the case. We established that early on.

We were comfortable with each other on an emotional level, but even more so on a sexual level. Since this relationship was experimental, it made our sex experimental and entirely new. We were both open to things that we had never thought of doing in previous "typical" relationships.

I'm still trying to figure out what made the sex so addicting. Others would assume we were both in it just for the sex, but that wasn't the basis of our relationship. Yes, the sex was different and it was intoxicating, but that was only because of our initial attraction that wasn't driven by sex or superficial desires.

When we both realized we were in love with each other. Neither of us said it. I think we were both in disbelief. Or didn’t want to admit our feelings. Because while we were doing this wrong thing, we still knew it was wrong. We were still ashamed of our actions, and yet I’m not entirely sure why we still did what we did. It was the first time he had cheated, and the first time I had.

And yet, here we are…in my bed, at my house, and he asks me how many times “I love you” has almost slipped my lips. My thoughts stop dead, I laugh because in all honesty that’s exactly how it’s been. I’ve almost said it, without thinking, it’s almost just come out on its own. And now I know he’s almost done the same.

I was at work, and he called me. I was at work, and he was scheduled to come in the afternoon. So, I was excited to see him that day. But when I saw his name on my phone, I immediately felt that something was wrong. He never called, we never called each other unless it was legitimately work-related. We communicated over a web-based messaging app to eliminate any traceable trail.

I answer, expecting either doom or him just calling because he’s stuck in traffic and will be late for work.

It was doom. He said we have to end it. I said okay, confused, but knowing we would still talk about whatever just happened when he got in. We hang up, and I have to continue working in front of our coworkers as if nothing happened.

Later, when he shows up, he tells me that she found out. On his phone, he hadn’t deleted all of our messages, and she saw them. Some of our deepest discussions and confessions to each other, she saw them.

That was pretty much that. It had been a year since we started this whole thing. And that was pretty much that. We talked through everything still, only at work, of course.

Before this happened, I was personally getting to a point where it was so hard to know that I really didn’t have him. That he couldn’t truly be one hundred percent there for me. He told me he felt the same. He wanted to be able to be there for me, and to spend everyday with me, but couldn’t. It was taking a tole on both of us.

I understood his decision to fix things with his wife for his kids, and we were just so close and such good friends on top of our attraction to each other, that we went about work the same way we did before this all started. We still joked around, and we could still make each other laugh and know how we felt about each other, even though we were hurt.

To this day, no one knows that anything happened. Like the relationship, the breakup happened entirely in the shadows.

I left that job a while ago. It’s been about two years since I’ve seen him. On my way to my new job one day, I saw his car parked in a parking lot that I pass. I later learned that he works practically right across the street from where I work.

I still pass his car almost every day I go to work. One of my coworkers has a second job at the place he works. My coworker knows him and told him I work at the Hilton since he drew the connection between our previous workplace.

Every time I pass his car or ride past there, I’m just expecting to see him walking outside. I’m almost wanting it to happen, but also terrified. Terrified, because I still think about him.

I’m in a relationship that I’ve been in for over 2 years. I live with my boyfriend and am the happiest I’ve ever been with anyone. I do love this man and want a future with him.

And yet, here I am, in my head, secretly wanting to see him. Secretly wanting just to talk with him, just to joke around with him, just to chat. Not even about us, just to talk to him. Just to hear his voice, and possibly his laugh. Just to see his eyes one more time. Those eyes that trap me as soon as they look into mine.

If I do see him again, if I do get to look into his eyes one more time. I'll have the chance to see if he still thinks about me too. We don't even have to talk about it; I'll just be able to see it in those eyes of his.

What’s so different about secret relationships that makes them so much more intoxicating? Is it just because it’s wrong? I don’t even want to continue a relationship with him, I just want him in my life as a friend. It feels awful to even be thinking about him, but it’s the truth.

The only reason I’m writing this down, is to make myself feel like I am talking to him. Like we used to tell each other everything. Because it didn’t matter, because I knew he was just as fucked up as me, and he knew I was just as fucked up as him.