Yesterday don't matter if it's gone

The incident portrayed below is true. I was in fact presented with such an opportunity; couple of years ago, early in my internet chat period which for whatever reason seems to have phased out. Anyone who has entered the realm of "adult" chat understands the fascination of lurking about in the alleys of fantasy and interacting with whatever portion of themselves people choose to reveal. Odd that the fantasy stuff doesn't stick, for me at least, only those who are too real to be able to hide who they are, never mind their names, addresses, phone numbers, not that kind of real. But those who have too much reality based depth to tuck it away and live just a fantastical existence, even hidden anonymously behind a keyboard and a flat screen. Same here for me. No question I read and immerse myself in those who bring their guts and fire and anguish and joy here with them, who don't check their baggage at the curb. Most of you do a far more complete job of revealing than I. But I'm learning from you that I don't need to choose carefully how I present myself here, don't have to be younger, thinner, have more hair, dramatize my experiences, my life. This aint chat is it?

Something recently triggered my memory of the brief but dramatic exchange I had with this woman a couple of years ago; she who by the shallow definition of what constitutes "success" in life "has it all". I opened her like a door that had only recently been freed from a rusty but heavy duty padlock. She had enough there to sense that I wasn't a predator, that I was more interested in hearing her in and out than running her cause I could. Actually I think her sense of me spurred her even further and she let it all tumble out like Jen's dice from a cup. She shocked herself more than she did me and she purred and cried and groaned words that she had never spoken aloud before. She didn't shy from the guilt of what she felt, she coveted the guilt, almost shouted "let me feel guilt, give me something to feel guilty for, please".

In the end, I didn't go, came close, actually made the plan. From fear? I don't think so.......I was enamoured of the fear, the jolt. Because I'm so noble and good? Please, this is me here. I've both regretted and felt decent about myself for not playing it out. I can and have played it out in my mind and admit to being beyond intrigued as to how it would have felt on that drive, upon cutting the headlights and pulling into that drive, at taking those first few steps toward something so darkly out of control but in my complete control. I never even thought set up, ruse, had no doubt she was real, willing. I like to think about it sometimes, how once the door opened and I began to stealth my way up those stairs, she gave up all her options. Pretty and willing wasn't to be part of it. I always thought she would convince herself that she had changed her mind at the last minute. Like, I made a mistake but realized it just not in time so not my fault really and now I can go back to having it all and he and I can work it out so I get what I want and need, I think I know we can. I can hide these bruises and scratches til they fade and I'll just forget it happened except for once in a while when I'm here alone but I'll feel guilty about remembering but I still will even if I try not very hard not to.

Those damn third thoughts. Should have stopped at the second ones; I usually don't struggle with second ones, just zip right through em like a light turning yellow.