February 2nd, 10:15 am

Women’s bathroom at the Jewish Community Center

“Hey, New York.”

I blink. The man addressing me is tall and dark, maybe even handsome, but he’s in the lady’s bathroom with a kindergartner. What is he doing in there? They’re probably just washing their hands, you perv, I think to myself.

“You said you were from New York,” he says. I’m not sure how long I’d been silent. Long enough for it to be awkward.

“Yeah, yes, I am,” I stutter. I must have spoken to him briefly before. You’d think I’d remember him, but he’s not the kind of guy I’d immediately swoon over. I’ve been introduced to a lot of people since starting the job. But now he has my full attention.

For all my dithering and nerves he’s as smooth as silk. It’s as if it’s just me and him and I’m locked into his amber gaze. I break the stare before it becomes awkward. Where is an appropriate place to look? Am I looking at his crotch? Fuck! Look away!

“That’s cool. I’m from Connecticut.”His deep voice reverberates through the bathroom.

When we leave, the hall monitor gives us a weird look.

February 7th, 9 am

We’re all outside for community sing-along and he’s got his guitar hooked up to the amp. He’s playing unnecessarily beautiful riffs and singing with his lovely voice. I try not to stare and sing along.

February 10th

My boyfriend is fucking me. I’m thinking of him. You know. He would be rougher, he’d study how I like it and each time give his all. He’d make it so I couldn’t think of anything but the sensation, I wouldn’t even have the capacity to form a train of thoughts.

February 14th, 12:30 pm

The break room:

“Hey, Rebecca. Did I see you roll up in a Tesla the other day?” My whole body goes hot.

“Well, yes, but I can only afford it because I had this massive leg injury and I got settlement money. Otherwise, I never would be able to.” Why am I prattling on? Why am I breathing weirdly?

“Yeah, I was gonna say this salary’s really doing it for us.” He laughs. I laugh. I nervously ramble on.

“And I really don’t know if they’re that good for the environment. Like I heard, the batteries are pretty bad for like global warming or whatever.” So now I’m the environmental justice warrior? Why am I trying to impress him? I don’t even recycle!

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says, and something about that word seems sexual. Or maybe it’s his tone, “but do you have a boyfriend? Of course, it’s none of my business but-“

“I have a partner,” I say, and we leave it at that.

I shouldn’t even care, he’s just some guy from work. But it’s his face I’m seeing as I’m being fucked by my fiancé in the morning. His cock that I’m thinking about inside me. His little Jewish babies I’m thinking about birthing.

March 1, 12 pm

Break room:

It’s spirit week “crazy hair day” so I’m wearing pigtails.

“I like your hair like that,” he says. Oh no. I’m in danger. Images of him grabbing the pigtails as he face-fucks me flit through my mind but I push them away like so many thoughts that must go.

We start talking about where we grew up and he listens to me go on and on about the different cultures of New York. We talk about spirituality, its pitfalls. It feels like he really sees me — not just as some hot girl from work he’d like any to fuck but as a person whose desires really matter, like he’d do anything for me.

I comment on his mug.

“My girlfriend’s brother made it.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girl. Friend. He has a girlfriend. I change the topic, or he does, and the time passes quickly.

“You should wear your hair like that more often.” He’s sticking with the hair thing. I look at my phone. I’m past my break so I rush out.

March 5th, 10 am-ish

Our class is visiting forest school, where he works. He’s sauntering over, taking a seat. I’m not sure what to say so I hit him with a classic, “How ya doing?”

“Better now,” he says, grinning. Better now? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m probably squirming around uncomfortably, at least my insides are, but there’s really no way of knowing how I come across. A child needs me so thankfully, I have an excuse to leave. But my co-teacher Jen is talking with him. This shouldn’t bother me. But it does.

I watch them from across the picnic tables, him saying something, her laughing, boobs bouncing (why are they bouncing?) as if her tits have a mind of their own. I imagine him cupping them, lowering his head between them, her head tipped back in ecstasy, her calling out his name.

I’m brought back to the moment by a kid tugging on my pants. My co-teacher's tits are still seemingly moving of their own accord. I walk back with the child to get a snack, then head back to the ring of fire.

“What’s up?” Jen asks

“Just wanted to offer the kids some water,” I say.

“Waw-tah. Lawng island,” he says. He’s teasing me. I’m from Long Island. I wonder what other ways he’d tease me. Or maybe he’d just let his lust take over and there would be no more teasing, just need-it-now fucking.

March 7th

Hallway:

I try to walk past casually but he pulls me aside and apologizes profusely for insulting me the other day. I tell him it’s ‘all good.’

March 10th

Gym:

I’m singing when he walks in, poorly I might add. Not my finest hour.

“Don’t stop on my behalf.” He smiles wickedly. But I do. I gush about his guitar rifts and when he leaves he says

“Keep it tight, Rebecca.”

I say nothing.

March 14th, 5 pm

Staff meeting:

We’re seated at the same table, next to each other. We’re in groups based on “professional goals” and I’m thinking about how close our legs are and what an appropriate distance for our legs would be.

My eyes drift down to his hand rubbing circles over his knee. I’m transfixed but try not to let my eyes linger in case someone were to suspect.

We are asked questions about our learning styles and he mentions that he’s a very visual person. It may be my imagination but he seems to side-eye me.

March 16th

My coworker admits to having a crush on him. She has friended him on Instagram. I follow suit. He has a Colombian girlfriend whom he seems very enamored with, if Instagram is to be believed.

March 20th, 2 am

I wake panting, having dreamt he was walking past me in the hallway, his eyes burning with desire, me, on the floor with the kids, licking my fingers clean of strawberry jelly from hamantaschen (Jewish cookie) while holding his gaze.

April 4th

“Maybe he’s just a friendly guy,” I say to Jen. We’re hanging at her house. I’m always doing this, making whole lives in my head whenever someone shows me the slightest bit of kindness.

“Yeah and don’t shit where you eat,” Jenn says. She has a point.

But no naysayers, no amount of Prozac is going to dull this desire.

April 16th

My friend peeps his insta and says he’s “kinda ugly.” Maybe I’m just bored. Maybe I’m unhappy. Why do I want to break up an innocent happy couple?

April 20th

My online friends say I have to act now, for we don’t know how much time we have in this life and we cannot live with regrets. They implore me to tell him of my feelings. I’m inspired to take action but the most action I take is “reacting” to his story on Instagram.

April 24th

It’s the spring gala. I’m dressed in a long flowy low-cut dress. We are supposed to bring our husbands or boyfriends and I’ve got mine beside me. I occasionally lean into him and grab his arm possessively. I scan the room and find the flirty UMass Amherst dropout fucker with his lady, chatting with some other couples. We catch each other’s eyes for a split second but then he’s back to his charming self.

I excuse myself to the bathroom. When I exit, he’s there, inches from my face, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing-“ I start but before I can finish the sentence, he grabs my hand and says “follow me.” We climb the stairs to the empty upstairs offices. Bookcases line the hallway. He opens the door to the first room and then it’s just mouths, bodies, pent-up desire unleashed.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he says between kisses. “You fucking drive me crazy.” He whips out his cock. I smile.

I’d imagined it countless times but nothing can compare to the real thing. Big, thick, jutting out before me, and I want it so bad I can hardly stand it. No foreplay is necessary because this whole year has been foreplay. He thrusts himself in, lifting me up against the wall and I wrap my legs around his waist. He mercilessly shoves his entire length into me and out, almost entirely out, before slamming himself back in. Again and again and I’m coming but he’s kissing me so the sound isn’t too loud. This is more than fucking. This is a union.

When I get back my boyfriend confronts me.

“Where were you?”

“I ran into Miles’ mom.” A plausible excuse.

“You smell like sin.” There’s his catholic upbringing coming out.

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I retort.

“Forget it. They’re bringing out the entrees. Let’s sit down.”

~~~

When my boyfriend fucks me later, I’m still imagining it’s him, the work guy. I don’t care that he’s uglier than my partner. Inside, he’s more beautiful. And he’s a much better fuck.