Aroused Yet Sick With Worry

I just had my first date in years, not necessarily just because I am fat and plain but also because I have made no effort to seek anyone out due to my unusual, isolated, demanding lifestyle of caregiving. I am deeply frightened because unexpectedly, he wants to see me again. I'm haunted by my old relationship where I found myself with someone I felt nothing for but was too afraid of hurting him, something I have nightmares about happening again. I had honestly had no idea he saw it as a date – we met through our county's Democratic Facebook page and agreed to meet in person for a drink.

I was impressed with his (I'll call him Mark) obvious intelligence and our shared political/world views, but much more also became apparent. He is dealing with significant health issues and isn't able to afford the insulin and anti-psychotic medication he needs on a consistent basis. He has a law degree but his struggles have left him between jobs and without a driver's license thanks to a DWI. At times, conversation flowed, but at other times we lapsed into awkward silence. I had no reason to believe he would ever want to see me again and that didn't bother me at all.

It was probably the most confusing, awkward couple of hours I've ever spent, yet it still aroused me, for the simple reason that I am very rarely in such close physical proximity to an adult male outside of my family. Even as I suffered through awkwardness and anxiety, my primal instincts took over and filled me with lust. I was aching for sexual contact.

Pointlessly, I found myself wishing it were Gray I was with (the guy I've written about in the past). He, the married family man who would never have been interested in me even if we had met in some alternate universe where he was available. I have always known that, but it doesn't stop my feelings. There's something about him that just draws me in, even though we've never actually met. I try to curb those feelings because they bring me nothing but heartache, but he sneaks into my dreams every so often, just when I think I'm finally cured. This, I suppose, is what happens when your upbringing means you've basically had no experience with the opposite sex beyond one dysfunctional relationship.

Because of Mark's DWI, I drove him home. Like me, he does not live on his own, although our reasons are different. I found myself dying to get out and hug him goodbye just because I wanted the physical contact. I think my good judgment might have flown out the window had he lived alone and invited me in, and that shocked me, because until then I never understood how people could have sex with someone they'd just met and didn't have feelings for.

I got home and got naked. My panties were deliciously wet and creamy and I was so primed from being aroused for a couple of hours that I just went for it. I rubbed my swollen, sensitive clit, moaning with pleasure, and reached a glorious orgasm about a minute later.

As I came down from my natural high, the fear set in. Mark later messaged saying he wanted to see me again, saying he is impressed by me and attracted to me. I don't know what to do and although I believe he's a nice guy, his struggles affording his anti-psychotic medication frighten me. Mark, in the unlikely event that you are reading this and recognize yourself, please know that I think you're a good person. But I find myself wishing, as I have many times before, that sexuality didn't exist. It has been the cause of so much heartache and violence throughout history.

Still feeling congested and aroused, I brought myself to a second orgasm, the exquisite physical pleasure a strange contrast to my state of mind. Thoroughly spent, I leaned back against my pillows and cried my heart out. I wanted to sleep but instead got dressed, because there were hours of responsibilities yet to be performed. My life, ladies and gentlemen.