Lamentable

What would you call a person who paid to get fucked?

No, that isn’t the right word… paid for love?

Hmm, that is too profound.

Someone who paid for intimacy?

I paid for intimacy once.

It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Also, one of my worst.

It was exhilarating. Smoldering. Real.

Exactly what I was and was not looking for.

He wanted more…

I was satiated with what we had.

He arrived. We fucked. He took the money on the counter and left.

My evenings were perfect…

That is until he wanted longer hours with me.

Would curl up, arms tightly around my waist, and tell me how much he enjoyed my company.

He stopped taking the money off the counter and our three nights a week turned into five.

Then six.

I would rush home from work, my first love, to be with him.

I found myself thinking of his touch in the middle of the day.

Smiling while responding to his text messages.

What kind of woman had I become?

The lines had blurred and I had fallen hard.

So hard that I had scrapes and bruises.

But I didn’t care because I knew his touch would heal them.

I was high in the clouds.

Nevertheless, all good things come to an end.

Our six nights faded to three.

Then two.

My tongue burned with unasked questions as to why he was pulling back.

The hours became shorter…

The whispers came to a halt.

And a failed test of love… he took the money off the counter again.

All intimacy had gone and I was left with a hole in my heart…

Bigger than the one before.

Not even work could fill it.

I knew what I needed to do…

I let him go and allowed myself to heal at my own pace.

So, I will ask again…

What would you call a person who has paid for intimacy, but has fallen short of Cupid’s arrow?