When he first started coming in,
I had him figured as just another one of the older men who hang out
to see if they can make some time with the girls.
I thought maybe I was jaded but it seemed to me the main ingredient in this equation was money;
these guys had it and it was the main source of their charm. Been going on forever.
I would take his order and we would talk for a moment and I noticed he seemed gentle and relaxed.
He tried to hit on me a little but always seemed cool with me keeping my distance.
I didn't have any daddy fixation, I would tell myself,
and there has to be a better way to find security in this world.
We eventually started talking more and I ended up telling him about myself,
my feelings about things and even about my dream.
He would encourage me and make me laugh
and I started looking forward to seeing him every Saturday night;
and every Saturday night he would be there.
And even though people always had something to say about it, I got to thinking that yes,
he was over a decade older than me, but what difference did that really make?
And yet, something made me hesitate, made me doubt.
He started telling me some ideas he had about me pursuing a couple of opportunities
for what I was really interested in and wanted to do.
I questioned my own motives but we started to go out.
Am I just using this guy? I would ask myself.
When he would kiss me and the shock ran through my body, I didn't think so.
The rest of the time, the doubt would return.
A couple of months went by and with his help I landed a part-time apprenticeship.
It was a chance to die for.
And amazingly, we didn't sleep together and he seemed alright with that.
Even though, I'm not sure that I was.
Then one night, we were standing out on the terrace after dinner and talking
and it just all spilled out.
I told him about my inability to get over the difference in our ages,
my anger at myself for taking advantage of his interest and generosity
and about my fear of maybe never getting to where I wanted to go.
I admitted to him that when we met,
I was getting discouraged and beginning to think my goal was too far out of reach.
I was crying a little and he did something that startled me.
He got down on his knees and put his arms around me and pressed his face into my belly.
He turned his head, still holding me tight and whispered,
"Then thank heaven, I caught you in time."
An overwhelming heat of desire flooded through me. Confused and scared, I ran.
I sent him a message that I was really sorry but that we shouldn't see each other anymore.
Please forgive me, I said.
That Saturday, he didn't come into the club.
I had expected him not to, of course. I wasn't surprised.
I was crushed.
The next Saturday came; he wasn't there.
It didn't make any sense but I went into an absolute panic.
What was the matter with me? I thought.
Everything is alright. I'm working my job at night and chasing my dream during the day.
And then I realized--He was the dream.
If you don't love someone, what else really matters?
If you love someone, what else really matters?
I called, he didn't answer. You don't deserve any better, you coward, I told myself.
The next morning I called again, voicemail again. I paced the floor for half an hour, no call back.
I shot out of my apartment and raced to his house.
He opened the door and in his quiet, gentle way seemed surprised to see me.
He invited me into the foyer. There was some luggage there.
A driver was on the way to pick him up and take him to the airport, he told me.
He was going out east for a while, he said.
He was going to look around and get a place to live, he said.
Move away and find a new life, he said.
The car would be here in a couple of minutes, he said.
I got down on my knees and put my arms around him and pressed my face,
well, my face didn't quite reach his belly.
I turned my head up, still holding him tight and whispered,
"Then thank heaven, I caught you in time."
He missed his flight.
I had him figured as just another one of the older men who hang out
to see if they can make some time with the girls.
I thought maybe I was jaded but it seemed to me the main ingredient in this equation was money;
these guys had it and it was the main source of their charm. Been going on forever.
I would take his order and we would talk for a moment and I noticed he seemed gentle and relaxed.
He tried to hit on me a little but always seemed cool with me keeping my distance.
I didn't have any daddy fixation, I would tell myself,
and there has to be a better way to find security in this world.
We eventually started talking more and I ended up telling him about myself,
my feelings about things and even about my dream.
He would encourage me and make me laugh
and I started looking forward to seeing him every Saturday night;
and every Saturday night he would be there.
And even though people always had something to say about it, I got to thinking that yes,
he was over a decade older than me, but what difference did that really make?
And yet, something made me hesitate, made me doubt.
He started telling me some ideas he had about me pursuing a couple of opportunities
for what I was really interested in and wanted to do.
I questioned my own motives but we started to go out.
Am I just using this guy? I would ask myself.
When he would kiss me and the shock ran through my body, I didn't think so.
The rest of the time, the doubt would return.
A couple of months went by and with his help I landed a part-time apprenticeship.
It was a chance to die for.
And amazingly, we didn't sleep together and he seemed alright with that.
Even though, I'm not sure that I was.
Then one night, we were standing out on the terrace after dinner and talking
and it just all spilled out.
I told him about my inability to get over the difference in our ages,
my anger at myself for taking advantage of his interest and generosity
and about my fear of maybe never getting to where I wanted to go.
I admitted to him that when we met,
I was getting discouraged and beginning to think my goal was too far out of reach.
I was crying a little and he did something that startled me.
He got down on his knees and put his arms around me and pressed his face into my belly.
He turned his head, still holding me tight and whispered,
"Then thank heaven, I caught you in time."
An overwhelming heat of desire flooded through me. Confused and scared, I ran.
I sent him a message that I was really sorry but that we shouldn't see each other anymore.
Please forgive me, I said.
That Saturday, he didn't come into the club.
I had expected him not to, of course. I wasn't surprised.
I was crushed.
The next Saturday came; he wasn't there.
It didn't make any sense but I went into an absolute panic.
What was the matter with me? I thought.
Everything is alright. I'm working my job at night and chasing my dream during the day.
And then I realized--He was the dream.
If you don't love someone, what else really matters?
If you love someone, what else really matters?
I called, he didn't answer. You don't deserve any better, you coward, I told myself.
The next morning I called again, voicemail again. I paced the floor for half an hour, no call back.
I shot out of my apartment and raced to his house.
He opened the door and in his quiet, gentle way seemed surprised to see me.
He invited me into the foyer. There was some luggage there.
A driver was on the way to pick him up and take him to the airport, he told me.
He was going out east for a while, he said.
He was going to look around and get a place to live, he said.
Move away and find a new life, he said.
The car would be here in a couple of minutes, he said.
I got down on my knees and put my arms around him and pressed my face,
well, my face didn't quite reach his belly.
I turned my head up, still holding him tight and whispered,
"Then thank heaven, I caught you in time."
He missed his flight.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Fatale Victoria Andreas
