Page 29 of The Billionaire

9

It had beenover four months since I had been at the elusive and exclusive billionaire’s club, a night that no matter how hard I tried, I could not remove the memories shared with him. No, the memories lingered remaining fresh and I revisited them at least once every hour, it seemed.

As I recalled the intoxicating feeling, the overwhelming flood of pleasure that the mystery man caused me—the way his chocolate brown eyes stared deep into mine, the way I felt our intense connection, the way he fulfilled my secret fantasy in every way I could imagine, a stirring in my being that I belonged to him—this all served as a kinetic reminder that this event actually happened and that it was not a figment of my imagination nor was it a lucid dream.

It was very real.

I have to see you again. Do be on the lookout in your mailbox.

He had written to me and I clung to those words every second of the day.

If only I still had his handwritten letter to confirm he wanted to see me again, as a tangible visual reminder. But alas, I burned it just as he instructed.

Yes, it had been four months and medical school had already started and I still tried to check my mail thrice daily. Nothing.

Zilch.

I began to grow panicky, fidgety, something I really never struggled with before. So I took up distance running to blow off steam. It seemed to do the trick. My first half marathon was days away. But no matter how many miles I ran, there was one place I could not run from—my memories of him and his warm sweet breath on my neck, his touch along my breasts, his fingers caressing me down there.

Oh God.

During one long run in a chilly morning in the foothills of Orange Country, I compared my feeling to this one time when I was searching for the culprit behind my slow computer speed. It was on the verge of crashing. It was then I discovered files upon files on my computer of over hundreds of videos I had recorded on my Iphone over the past four years that some how were synced and stored in this file I never saw. In my eager haste, I accidently deleted them all instead of transferring them successfully to my hard drive.

Four years of memories! That left me with an aching inside that made me wonder, was it better to have never know of the memories? After all, throughout those years, I had no idea that the videos were stored and even existed. But boy once I did, and once I realized they were gone, a gaping hole was left. A longing for what was lost.

That was how I felt with him.

I never knew what it was like to be made love to like that. To connect with someone like that.

Was it better to love and have the memories, the reminder? Or was it better to have never known the aching longing of lost love?

Could it even be called in fact that. Love?

I relived our conversation a thousand times. I even made up continuations of conversations. I imagined him telling me what it was like having a life in the ministry with a pastoral father.

I imagined him telling me how he got into business.

And yes, I realized I was losing it in infatuation-land and I had to get my bearings.

I needed to date again.

I needed to do something or I was going to lose my mind!

I dated a few men . . . er, boys compared to him. It was pointless. I would just sit there with a glazed look on my face, the whole time picturing him. His strong hands. Those puppy dog brown eyes. Him telling me he was on the cover of Forbes. And oh, the way he filled me.

Sigh.

I even tried praying to God about it. It went something like this.

Dear God,

I know I went to a sex club, and you kind of have a few choice words about how you feel about that in the clause of orgies in the book of Philippians and a few others I’m sure. But as you know, I’m going to medical school to help people in third world countries. I’m sure you know my intentions of my heart. So I have a favor and I know you’re busy and all. But it was at that heathen place, there, that I met a man who filled me in every way. I mean, cough, not in the physical sense but in the intellectual, spiritual, and emotional sense. And yes, you did create him to look pretty damn, er, darn amazing. Especially south of the border. Please let me see him again. Pretty please. And if you do, I promise to finish medical school and help a bunch of people. Can you just help me this one last time?

Love,

McKenzie

I prayedthis variation of a prayer every night before I went to sleep. I started to feel pathetic. I felt like I was someone who had been abducted by aliens, the good kind, and taken back to her real home she never even knew of. So every night “she” waited and searched the sky, waiting to be taken again.

---