I met Stranger when I was a wee sophomore at college, right after transferring 3000 miles to a new school. I had left my boyfriend at home, believing we could make the incredibly long-distance relationship work. And believe it or not, worked for seven months- until I met Stranger.
I knew it was trouble the instant I laid eyes on him. Stunningly handsome, impeccably dressed, alarmingly confident, and oh-so-smooth. He was the definition of a ladies man, and I urged myself to stay far away. But after constant run-ins at social functions, my fear turned into curiosity. Who was the man behind the clever mask? No one could be that calm, collected, and confident all of
the time. So we became friends. Then we became roommates. And I became (conveniently) single.
We lived together in a tiny attic-apartment above a doctor’s office downtown. We shared a room (and bed) and quickly fell into a lover’s pattern. I made him breakfast as he played video games, then he delivered me to ecstasy in a frenzy of passion and pheromones each night. The sex was unlike anything I’d ever experienced or thought I ever could experience. It was earth shattering, mind-blowing, looking-into-the-face-of-God amazing. So of course, I believed we were in love. What else could explain our amazing physical connection?
Well, love, it was not. Unbeknownst to little naïve me, Stranger was seeing someone else while we were rolling around in the sheets. I moved out, he moved on, and I was left behind with a “broken” heart.
But in time I realized my heart had not been broken. I had, in fact, never loved Stranger at all. I was infatuated, yes. Carnally attracted, yes, but in love? No. We were drawn together by primal instincts- not by our souls. He was the first person I had made love to without being in love. That confused me, but soon the thought excited me. I wouldn’t have to wait for Prince Charming to come along before having amazingly wonderful sex- I could have it with non soul mates, too!
Again, I was wrong. The sex Stranger and I had could not be replicated with any off-the-block boy. After things ended with Stranger, I began dating and always ended up disappointed. None compared to his fingers in my hair or his lips against my skin. And it seemed none of the girls he saw compared to me. We continued to meet up at least one night a month for almost two years. It was our blissful, sinful secret.
Four months ago, Stranger moved away from our college town. On his last night here, we didn’t sleep together, but reminisced of our days in the attic apartment above the doctor’s office. We had drinks with his parents. And he finally proved that there is something behind his mask, confirming that our connection is bizarre but real. There is more than just sex there.
I’ve quit trying to define it, to explain it. He is not my lover, my boyfriend, or even my friend. He is my Stranger. He is someone to count on- both emotionally and physically. But primarily physically. And that is A-ok with me.
-Anonymous; 23, Charleston, SC
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