What You Don’t Know About the Older Men Who Date Younger Women: Part 2

The fol­low­ing morn­ing at nine o’clock sharp, Peter called. I told him I was free for the day and asked what his plans were. That would be my first time actu­ally dri­ving any­where with him; I could never resist an offer to drive out in the coun­try. I loved the smell of the field and the scenery. It always made me feel a sense of free­dom, as if I had noth­ing to worry about; every­thing felt perfect.

As much as I wanted to tell myself that I was street smart, I was so naïve. I had no right enter­tain­ing a con­ver­sa­tion with him or even going any­where with him for that mat­ter. For all I know, he could have been a ser­ial killer. I guess what gave me com­fort was the fact that on the Island, those things were rare.

I met him at the main square, as I didn’t want him know­ing where I lived, and he told me that he was going to go to a min­eral spa. It was a place where hot water came out of the earth and it was said to have heal­ing prop­er­ties. On that trip, he asked about my rela­tion­ships and I was only too eager to tell him about Keith. I was proud of my rela­tion­ship with him and held very lit­tle back. I told him how well he treated me and how much I loved him. I empha­sized that I had no space in my heart for any­one else.

The last thing on my mind was that he was a spy who was work­ing for “the wife.” He didn’t look it, he didn’t sound it, but he was. A very unpro­fes­sional one, but he was. We enjoyed each other’s com­pany pla­ton­i­cally. I was able to breathe and not feel pres­sured. It felt like he wanted noth­ing more from me but my com­pany, like he just needed some­one to talk to about his girl­friend, who I later found out was com­pletely fic­ti­tious. But I was gullible enough to lis­ten. Why shouldn’t I believe him? I believed that every­one told the truth about their agendas.

We spent hours talk­ing and when it was time to leave, he offered to dry my feet by putting my toes in his mouth. I was hor­ri­fied and shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He quickly apol­o­gized as I told him I was ready to go back home. He was embar­rassed and I felt a lit­tle bit bad for him, so I decided to just drop it.

Keith must have called me about ten to fif­teen times dur­ing that day, and Peter kept say­ing, “He must be in love,” to which I responded, “I am, too.” I was so proud of our rela­tion­ship that I had no level of embar­rass­ment, even though he was mar­ried. But I was so stu­pid to not pay atten­tion to the storm that was about to bear down on me. Peter was hardly who he made him­self out to be. Soon enough, it would all blow up in my face.