I’m talking to a man my mother might slap me over.
I’ve known him for a few years peripherally, but he’s the friend of a former paramour who would disown me if he ever found out. So there’s that caveat. Then there’s the fact that his situation is less than simple, which makes this all far from ideal.
But is that just an inconvenient truth or…?
I know better—God, I know I do… But what is it said about the forbidden fruit? “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it.” Oh, Eve, was the knowledge worth it?
What can I say?
What dare I say?
I want him and I can’t help it. I tried to fight it, I put up a valiant effort. But I simply can’t resist any longer.
I want it, I got it. Gee thanks, he bought it.
In my defense, it’s been far too long since I felt the rush of dopamine from seeing someone’s text. And, Jesus Christ, he gets me all hot and bothered in the most delicious ways. I thought I was on my knees for the confessional, but while I’m down here…
…I may as well admit the truth.
I am tempted.
Not by virtue. Not by stability. Certainly not by common sense. I am tempted by the dangerous sort of chemistry that makes a woman ignore every carefully constructed rule she once swore she lived by. The kind that arrives dressed as coincidence and lingers like fate. The kind that should come with a warning label in bold red letters: CHOKING HAZARD. Let’s just hope it’s on his cock and not my dignity in the end.
And maybe that’s the worst part of it all: he isn’t just attractive. Attractive is manageable. Attractive can be ignored.
No, he’s attentive.
He listens too closely. Notices too much. Says the exact thing he shouldn’t at the exact moment my resolve begins to weaken. He carries himself with the sort of quiet confidence that feels less like seduction and more like inevitability. As though he already knows I’m halfway to ruin and is simply waiting for me to stop pretending otherwise.
God help me, I think I enjoy the danger of it.
The secrecy.
The tension.
The deliciously terrible idea of being wanted by someone I absolutely should not want back.
Every text feels like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. One day, perhaps, I’ll develop the wisdom to walk away from situations that threaten to consume me whole.
But today?
Today I’m still standing here in the garden, fruit in hand, pretending I haven’t already taken the first bite.
But if I’m being honest?
I swallowed long ago.
The truth is, women like me were never warned away from temptation because we’re weak.
We were warned because once we decide to sin, we do it epically.
Perhaps Eve understood something the rest of us are still too afraid to admit: some things are worth the exile.
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