Free What Love Looks Like by Lara Mondoux Page B

name of love. She suggested that I should be the one
being chased, the one on the pedestal—not Jay or any guy for that matter.
While I appreciated her opinion, I couldn't pay much attention to anything
other than improving myself for him.
    I repeatedly
played back the night of our tryst in my mind. I closed my eyes and returned
over and over again to the heights of bodily pleasure he’d taken me to. He’d
dominated me and made me go against a rule that I followed faithfully. I’d
slept with him on the first date, but I didn’t care. Given the opportunity, I’d
have submitted to his every whim. As far as I was concerned, he was calling all
the shots, and that was exactly how I wanted it.
    In addition to
pursuing personal excellence, my new agenda included ensuring that Jay found me
interesting and exciting. He was out doing something all of the time. His constant comings and goings took me outside my
comfort zone. While I’d always scored high on the introvert scale, I found
myself wanting to seem just as popular as he was. Jay also spent an inordinate
amount of time playing sports and exercising at the gym, activities that were the
foundation of his absurdly lean and sculpted body. I didn’t want to be soft the
next time I saw him, so I ran several miles every morning before work and
started working out at the gym three blocks away. It was as if Jay had awoken a
dormant overachiever in me, one that I never knew was there. My quest for
superiority was for him and him alone.
    From the moment
we left each other in the hotel lobby, Jay and I communicated every day, though
if I’d had my way he would have phoned more often rather than sending a
never-ending stream of text messages. I didn’t think a solid relationship could
be built solely on text messaging. But he did call on occasion, and at least he
was consistent in his attempts to get a hold of me. On good days, our text
conversations went on for hours at a time, each of us sending a message when we
had a free moment at work. On bad days, I heard from him only very
sporadically. I questioned why he texted me more some days than others, but I
chalked it up to his busy work and social schedule.
    When we did talk
on the phone, subjects ranged from phone sex to watching TV together and
beyond. For the first time in ages, I had something to look forward to. There
was a man in my life, he was gorgeous, he was into me, and I was consumed with
him. I was so concerned with Jay that I’d let my relationships with everyone
else fall by the wayside—something I’d never done before. Fortunately,
most everyone (apart from my mother) seemed to understand that I was in that
honeymoon phase—when a relationship is fresh and everything feels shiny
and new. I never wanted that feeling to end.
    Late one night,
we gazed at each other through our computer screens during a rare but welcome
Skype session. He sat before me, shirtless, smoking a cigarette, and I before
him, wearing a lacy black chemise and sipping red wine. We were face-to-face
for nearly ten minutes when Jay brought up what was taking place between us.
    “The way that I
felt with you that night in Columbus . . . it’s almost scary how good it was,”
he said. Of course I felt the same way, but double standards dictated that I
couldn’t be so forthcoming.
    “If something
feels good, then why label it with words like scary?”
    “Because it was scary. And I’m not sure that’s a
good thing.” I was stunned. He didn’t think we were a good thing? He must have
sensed my dismay, as he corrected himself almost instantly. “Of course fucking
you was crazy good. That was off the chain good. But feeling this way is alien
to me. I told you, relationships aren’t my thing.”
    “I don’t know
what to say to that.”
             “It’s
nothing against you. I just wasn’t looking for anything serious. This Skype
shit, this isn’t, like, something I’d ever do with a girl.”
             “But
it’s