She is crazy about me, a fact I find puzzling because we have absolutely nothing in common. Her idea of a good time is watching game shows on television, while mine is playing baroque music on the harpsichord. I can’t tell if she really enjoys the sex we have, or is simply faking it in order to please me. The more she fakes it, but more I enjoy it. But that’s just the way I am.
My years incarcerated taught me nothing. Years inside meant that whatever natural instincts that led me to formerly trust others were now obliterated. That might not be such a bad thing. People should earn your trust. Most don’t make the effort. Fine, you can’t be all things to all people.
I began to wonder if she were a decoy, a shill, someone sent to trick me by an enemy. I have many enemies. Too many to count, and they lie in wait for me to let down my guard. I found it implausible that a women would naturally desire me. Any woman. Even the most deranged woman would find it impossible to want me.
She bought me an expensive birthday present. How did she even know it was my birthday? I certainly didn’t tell her. Again, such an incident speaks of hidden wheels turning. The important clues are hidden as insignificant details. I looked back over the last few years searching for incidents. That time in Panama when I booked a room in a whorehouse and then simply took a nap. The lady in Argentina whom I talked about forming a business partnership with but then abruptly stopped communicating. Might these people have harbored grudges?
Could these be the clandestine agents of revenge who were skillfully and secretly weaving their web?
He is so lost, so alone, so clueless. Every instinct in me cries out to protect him, nurture him, care for him until he can care for himself. True, I don’t find him attractive, but so what? I have been conditioned to shelter those who need it, to love those whom others dismiss as unlovable.
I see a good person hiding inside a troubled soul. My reward for taking a chance on him will be his undying gratitude and devotion. OK, I know there’s a good chance I’m lying to myself, but I might be at least partially right.
He’s a clumsy lover. I pretend to enjoy out lovemaking, but most of the time I find myself waiting for it to be over. I try to imagine other lovers, suave, self-assured men who make me feel desired. If he is aware of my lack of emotional presence, he hasn’t let on. I don’t think he’s capable of such an awareness. He’s too self-centered.
I saw his passport and learned that his birthday was coming up, so I bought him a present. He was stunned, flabbergasted. It’s as if no one had ever bought him a birthday present before. If I can make him happy so easily, I am duty bound to continue to try. Most of them men I meet are spoiled and have high expectations. He is just the opposite.
I think I can make a difference.