I’d known her as a very casual friend for about 10 years. She was gorgeous, blonde, stern features, bright blue eyes, and bipolar. Her boyfriend was tall, handsome, and a stuntman. He dumped her. She rented a room. She quit her job. She was living on credit cards and retirement fund withdrawals. Hiding in her room, not sleeping, not eating, and not showering. She was in a bad place.
I was married, fat, hyper-anxious, and very depressed. I had all sorts of health anxiety and couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without thinking I was dying. I’d been unhappy in my relationship for a long time and wanted to leave.
She came to work for me in April 2015 and it was good. We got along well and she was good at what she did. Over the next few weeks I became more and more infatuated with her as we connected and found a lot in common. Just work became hanging out and hiking together. I wanted her and she loved that she was around someone who was helping her rediscover things she had given up due to her ex-boyfriend’s disinterest in her hobbies.
We had some great hikes at Starved Rock. It was spring and she felt so new compared to my stagnant relationship with a dumpy, dull, and unattractive person with a big heart. I didn’t think she was interested in me. I was ten years older, thinning hair, 30 pounds overweight. Still, I kept daydreaming about her and getting closer with her.
My wife took my time with Holly in stride and, while worried, was understanding. I didn’t intend to leave FOR Holly, but Holly made me realize I’d been letting life pass me by in a secure little bubble and a relationship that had been stagnant for a decade (and sexually dead for more than a year). One early evening I looked at my partner of 18 years and said “I can’t do this anymore.”. I packed up the car and left. I never came home again.
That night I texted Holly and told her what I’d done. She wanted to make sure I was okay and made the hour’s drive to my parents house from the city. We watched “Pitch Perfect”, drank too much wine, and babbled on for hours. I hinted at interest and she aggressively pulled me in and we had sex. It was so amazingly new and different from my dead relationship, but it also felt hollow. For me it was emotional. She seemed like she just wanted to fuck for the fun of it. I knew it was wrong, but when a hot girl aggressively wants to fuck and I haven’t had sex in 16 months…. I remember the feel of the blue leather loveseat we were on. The frenzied groping. The feel of her small soft breasts. Her purple panties. Her flat tight muscular stomach. The light of the fireplace mixing with the light of the TV. Her wetness. Her scent. How she felt against me. How it still struck me that it all seemed kind of fake and forced and how I couldn’t get it up because it felt that way.
We moved to the bedroom. She wanted me to fuck her so badly that she didn’t give a shit about condoms. I couldn’t perform. We fell asleep naked. In the morning she didn’t remember much. When she drinks, she blacks out. She was okay with us having fun though. I was instantly obsessed even though I felt she was just being promiscuous and I instantly wanted more.
This is what leads to me sitting in a chair typing this after two years of living with her and constantly feeling like she we just using me and never really loved me. I know the end of that relationship is the best thing that could have happened, and it’s put me in a better place to be alone now than when I left my marriage, but I am heartbroken and addicted to her. It’s been a month and I still constantly think of her and pine for her. She was inaccessible and I spent two years trying to cage her. Now it’s over.