[Continued from “Correctional Officer, Part 2.”]

I slept on T’s couch in his gloriously air-conditioned apartment. Being hot as fuck and hungover is a glimpse into what I’ll experience in hell, I’m sure. T did less than touch me–he was barely in the same room as me. His cat, however, was all over my shit.

After resting adequately I drove home. I returned the next week to complete my work. T, CO, and I got together again for drinks. I gave them both a lot of shit for being so sexually inexperienced. These two guys were in their mid-20s and had bedded three women between them. Poor CO, his dick had only been in two women and now he was married with a kid. T seemed to prescribe to the bizarre notion that one should not have sexual relations until one is truly, and assuredly, in love. These guys did not live on my plane of existence.

When my work was done, I left the town and my new buddies. I had T’s phone number, and CO’s email address. We said we’d keep in touch, but there was no fucking way I was EVER going back to that horrible place.

Amazingly, the three of us continued to communicate. Many times they were at the house of one or the other playing video games while I talked to them on speaker phone. We talked about anything and everything. The relationship involved me giving them shit about their “sex” lives, and them telling me all the reasons I really was a geek despite my protestations. I honestly was treating the friendship as a friendship. I wasn’t going to see these guys again unless they wanted to come to San Francisco, in which case they could stay with me and my husband.

CO and I emailed each other while we were both at work.  Sometimes we’d talk on the phone too, but that was a pain in the ass because when he was stationed where he could talk to me he had to answer another phone line, from the inmates, with, “What is your medical emergency?”  Inevitably it was something lame like only getting one piece of bread at meal time.  I specifically asked CO NOT to tell me stories about his work; I know people are horrible and disgusting, I don’t need to know how horrible and disgusting they are.

Neither of us talked about our respective spouses much either.  We were too busy talking about more interesting things.  Of course we talked about sex.  Because I can’t not talk about sex.  I was fascinated that he had only had sex with two women.  He said he’d never had a decent blow job.  Wha?!

I assumed that he would never be attracted to me.  We were both married anyway, so it didn’t matter.  Also he was so cute and dorky and young, nine years younger than me.  And the night in my hotel room he made it crystal clear that he did not find me physically appealing in any way.  Our emails became increasingly more personal.  He shared the story of his fucked-up childhood that made my heart ache.  I told him about crap that went on in my life.

I don’t know why, and I know it wasn’t a fully-conscious decision, but I told him I had fantasized about him.  At the time it was just a continuation of my teasing him.  I joked about his limited sexual experience; told him in jest that I knew he was looking at my tits when we met initially; and told him I had sexual fantasies about him.  It was all in an attempt to get him to blush.

More to come ….

I swear.  True story.