Were the doctor’s messages a bit too much too soon? A little. But they were flattering, so who was I to curb his sentiments? The way I viewed things at this stage, he was a lonely man and I was simply playing a role in his life. I was the mistress that would indulge his romantic side and be the recipient of love letters on a daily basis. How awful could that be? I decided to keep my mouth shut and play my part.
I definitely cared for him and felt an interesting connection. But at this point, I wasn’t sure what those feelings meant. When he mentioned he might “fall in love” with me, I dismissed it as pure fantasy on his end.
I was definitely deep in a sex fog and my brain was perhaps confusing lust for infatuation. Every time I tried to concentrate on something at work, my mind wandered back to him, and my physical longing to be with him again. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made me feel that way in bed.
All this for five grand a month? Sold.
That evening I was meeting the 50 something attorney at Cosme, an upscale Mexican joint in Flatiron. I still wanted to keep my options open and I figured what the doctor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
What I didn’t realize though, is that it’s very (very) difficult to concentrate on a date with a middle aged balding man, when you’ve exchanged racy sext messages on the cab ride there with someone else…
(Warning: letter SO not suitable for work…)