Well, here we are: The 25th confession, which feels like a small milestone. But I’ve been doing some tallying, and I’m not even close to a quarter done with these little narratives.
I’ve been asked what it’s like to keep all these secrets from people I know, even as I’m sharing them on here for strangers. The answer, I’m sure, says volumes: It’s not that hard, and to be frank, it’s more than a little bit … fun.
I do take precautions to minimize the chances of inadvertent crossover between my respectable life and — well, this one. Fucking at a workplace is fine, for example, or at church — but no fucking anyone who works for the *same* company (Rule 2) or goes to the *same* church (Rule 3). Similarly, there’s a prohibition (Rule 4) against fucking anyone who knows someone in my family well.
However … that hasn’t always been the case.
We met in the early 2000s (give or take) at what was then a coffeehouse not far from where I live. (Surprise! Yes, I know. More coffee. It’s kind of a recurring theme.) She worked there, and I — because of the work schedule I kept then — was a regular.