Three years is a long time to speak to someone on the phone daily and email. He kept mentioning meeting me. I was married and it was more complicated to arrange for a gathering for me than it was for him. Daily he would ask me, begging me to meet him, assuring me nothing sexual would have to happen.
“I need to smell you, feel you, kiss you, and hold you,” he would say.
He didn’t like my real name, he gave me a name. Adonia. I finally agreed to meet him. We were in different states but we could reasonably drive to visit somewhere in the middle within a few hours. We decided to meet at this place called Bootjack Hill.I arrived first. It was a motel of sorts. I waited nervously for him to arrive. Fear coursed through me like an electric wire short
circuiting.
I wanted to stay, I wanted to go. Thousands of ‘what if’s’ plagued my mind.
What if he is a serial killer? What if he never shows? What if I am not as pretty to him in person?