I feel very much like the ancient mariner right now. I am a babbling madman, forced to tell my story to those who will listen. And my inevitable recitation, like his story, is one of love and of crime. Although in this instance, the crime was mostly averted.
I worked with him nearly a year ago without even knowing I was attracted to him. Until that night, I had no idea I wanted him. Until that moment of awakening, my partner was my sole attraction, and I had never thought of anyone else. But on that night he sat near me, and I felt the heat of him, radiating from his body and from his gaze.
He told me. I knew. And in knowing I accepted the consequences of what was to be.
And yet, that night, I was able to resist him. That night, I touched his thigh and held his hand, and then left him alone, rejecting his pleas of a midnight discussion over the situation we were beginning to find ourselves in. And I returned to my partner unscathed.
But I love him. And that is my madness.
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