Can't Recapture It

I used to be engaged to a guy I'd known since primary school. We broke up, as zillions of others do, when we went off to separate colleges. Sex had been fun, but not adventurous, and he was looking to sow his wild oats. It didn't happen all of a sudden; it was gradual. You know, come home from the holidays, the sex isn't as great as you'd anticipated, nor as good as you remember. And the veiled confessions of indiscretions, etc.

I was not guiltless; I'd even taken taken classes outside of major to pursue a guy I'd met in a freshman poli-sci class. I didn't feel badly about breaking up, but I did feel guilty. Still, when I was in bed with someone else, I felt alive and happy, and I didn't think of my fiance at all.

I was leaving on a year-long job far away, and ran into him outside the supermarket. He was suprised that I'd leave and had not told him. I was amused that he thought I had to inform him. I hadn't seen him in four or five years. He had changed his goals in college -- dropped ophthalmetry and went into common law -- and had moved back home with his widowed mother. I had become a scientist instead of studying marketing. We had a lot to talk about, but he said, "Let's go to a hotel."

I shouldn't have. I had just broken up with a boyfriend because I didn't want to deal with being away and having a boy at home. I wanted to start my life over, and be a better person. I had my eye set on a career that might involve scrutiny.

But the lump in my throat that was being kept down as I chatted to him in the supermarket suddenly caught in my throat, and I found myself trying not to cry. So, he just led me by the hand, grocery cart forgotten in mid-aisle, and I got into his car. This started bringing back reminders of the type of wife he wanted: obedient, passive, willing.

We made out like teenagers in his car, then drove to a no-tell motel and got busy. Once between the sheets, I discovered that the veil of time had kindly drawn a curtain over many of my memories of him. For instance, I had forgotten that he can **** only once a day, often less frequently than that. He'd never eaten me, and wasn't going to now. I'd forgotten that his **** wasn't large enough to gag me. He wanted sex with the lights off. He freaked out if I did anything that was less than "ordinary and normal."

In the end, I found myself wanting to cry because I'd ****** a man I shouldn't have, but not because of morals or ethics. It was because I realized I had made the right decision to leave him. The lump in my throat was my sadness in having spent years dating him (and cheating on him), but also that if I'd just walked away from him in the supermarket, I'd remember him as a nicer, more gallant, more fun person than he actually really was.
auroramaru auroramaru
46-50, F
1 Response Jul 18, 2010

publius, truthfully, i hadn't thought of him much since breaking up our engagement. when i saw him again, it was a bit of a shock, and i didn't understand why that lump had formed in my throat. and, it's not like i have great judgement, but part of forgetting him was forgetting the negatives AND the positives. it's just in that motel room, i came face to face with the him i left, and suddenly knowing i was right about leaving him took on much more meaning than it should have. he thought he was making "an honest woman" out of me, as if he was doing me a huge favor to marry me, and then to **** him after seeing him in a grocery store. ugh! i felt totally pathetic!