Whoever said distance make the heart grow fonder was full of shite. Distance from my girl is misery topped with a want that only grows the longer I’m away from her. I’d be a walking hardon it wasn’t for the drudgery of my day. When did I become that guy? The one who hates his job? Perhaps, hate is too harsh. Disenchanted may be more accurate. It’s been brewing for a while, before Lauren but after my curmudgeon took hold. Possibly because of its hold.

I allowed Rebecca to put my life on pause the day she left me to run away with her ex only a week before our wedding. What kind of person does that? What kind of man thinks he loves a woman like that? Apparently, I did.

How wrong I was. Not to love her—not to think that I loved her—but to allow that ripple of her dumping me to put my life on hold. I checked out because of her. I gave up living because of her. Her actions. Her cold, cheating-heart. I lost myself, my hope, my passion. My curmudgeon wasn’t just to protect myself from unwanted student advances, it was a barrier to keep all women out. I locked myself deep inside.

Waiting. I was unknowingly waiting for her. For my vision. It seems so obvious now. I’ve dreamt of her all of my life. For as long as I can remember, she has been my constant, nightly companion. Even when I was with Rebecca, it was Lauren my heart searched for, even if only in my dreams. But awake, I was blindly ignorant of that want, the need to find her. The need to be with my other half, for my other half she surely is. And yet, I’ve lived twenty-eight years without her.

I’m not dumb. I’m an intelligent, well educated bloke. I’ve always wanted the type of relationship my parents have and my grandparents had. I know what true love looks like. I’ve witnessed it. I’ve been embarrassed by it—PDA is no joke when it’s your parents. The only logical explanation is that part of me was dormant—waiting—for my other half.

The first time I saw her, in my usual coffee shop, it was a stiff kick to the gut, jump-starting my heart and giving my soul a desperately needed wakeup call. It may have been more of a slow simmer to fully wake me up, but it didn’t take long to realize what Lauren was to me.

She took me off pause. I checked back in because of her. The course of my life has changed. The frequency my heart now beats to is attuned to hers. She has pressed play on my life, and I am ready to hit fast forward. So, bloody ready to kickstart my life with her—my vision—my other half.

The first step of many to bring our future to fruition is not living apart from her. She agreed. I packed a bag of what I’d need for the week. Instead of hanging my stuff in her guestroom closet. She moved her summer clothes in there and gave me space in her closet. As I hung my work clothes and placed everything else in drawers, she made available for me, my heart thudded with peace. Hard, sure, resonating beats that whooshed in my ears and calmed the urgency to claim her as mine. To mark her body in the most primal of ways with my cum, inside and out. The caveman beast in me is becoming harder and harder to suppress, to subdue with the sex play she is comfortable with. Yet, this simple act of sharing her space with me, letting me in, has a welcomed soothing effect that is wholly unexpected.

If you’re thinking all men are cavemen. Think again. This man has never been a primal beast. She brings it out of me. The thing she is most fearful of—connecting in the most intimate of ways—I crave with a fierce yearning. But only for her. As if that sexual connection is the only thing holding my DNA strands together, and without it I will simply crumble into a pile of flesh and bones with no structure, no cohesiveness, no consciousness, no…nothing. I would be nothing without her. That’s not to say I only want the physical—that is so far from the truth. I want it all. But the primitive side of me has awakened and it’s the part that’s not getting fed, and it’s starving—to death.

I run my hands down my face and let out a punch of air, and with it a bit of the tension building in my neck and shoulders. I clench and unclench my fists. My eyes scan the faces in my class, heads down focusing on their pop quiz. I’m an arse like that.

I need a workout and a good fuck. Only one of those is going to happen. I’ve made peace with that. Honestly, I have. I’d give anything to make Lauren happy. And if it’s keeping my cock from coming inside her, then that’s what I’ll do—or not do as the case may be. It’s a small sacrifice, that really is no sacrifice at all. It’s not like I’m not coming like a teenager who just discovered what his cock can do whenever we’re together. It’s just that the result of our sex play is going to waste—yes, I mean my cum, my spunk, my seed. The beast is quite protective of that product and where it goes, and apparently, he’s determined it must be inside of Lauren’s sweet, sweet, pussy. He’s not onboard our no-intercourse train. I’ll have to beat him into submission—pun intended—or Lauren will since self-gratification is off the table, as well.

When the bell rings, I pack up faster than my students and race out the door, not to my next class but to the quiet bliss of my closet hideaway where I can call my love and get my Lauren-fix to carry me though the remainder of my day.

I wonder if phone sex is off the table too?