The two words you never, ever want your lover to call you are an affable companion.
I cannot explain it. There is not much wrong with being described as affable, and after a few soul searching decades of wondering what the hell is relationship, a companion is a trusted friend.
But no. It tears at every ounce of sexuality that has ever existed within my bones. It rips passion from our life together.
Those kisses used to make me giddy. The laughter and the soul of our togetherness was something not companion like. Nor was I ever affable. I was sexy, and filled with courage and desire. I was feisty and championed for equality and women’s rights. I danced till dawn at parties and flirted with you until you remembered your own longings.
Damn you. Damn your boredom. Your reckless search everywhere but right here for your woman.