The inner workings of an attention whore

Part 1:

How does one’s intrigue turn to malice? A look of interest now an awkward sorrow. Eyes that were once lustful vanish into distain. Just forty-eight hours after meeting and an easy manner of conversing now feels impossible and now I think to myself “He must hate me.” What must you think of me? I suppose once some words are said, that effect is irreversible. I’m sure you’ll never look at me the same, maybe with time, but by then I’ll be gone and then I’ll just be an unpleasant memory. Knowing it was wrong, I still allowed myself to be curious. Shame on us, I suppose, yet still I just want to look at you. I’m sure I could never love you or you me. I wish it could go back to the way it was. Pestering you with harmless questions, learning of your unknown life. I screamed in my head “For gods sake, Gia, learn some self-control for my sake and for the sake of married men.”

Part 2:

He’d confess I was like an angel walking on the side of the road, walking right out of a dream and into his life. Yes, he really said this to me the day he saw me walking home from work and offered me a ride. I should’ve seen the catch then. New car, put-together life of a man over fifty, nicely dressed, and nervous to be in my presence. Like what am I to men? Not an angel, more like an object of sexual appeal. He had driven past me, turned around, and came back just to speak to me. After I got out of his car, I noticed the wet spot on my dress and stupidly needed to take it further. I didn’t find out about his wife and grown kids until after he came inside me, and the post-nut guilt washed over him. I only felt the need to get him out of my apartment immediately and never see him again. So the morning after’s text message explaining how he’d lose everything because his wife found out only made me feel more disgusting.

The end:

How fast obsession of me subsided once the cum left his body? I was reminded of who I was and of my place. The lust faded in an instant, and I no longer held any interest for him nor him for me. No longer an angel walking into his life, just an insecure attention whore that tempted him to ruin a twenty-year marriage. That’s how intrigue turns to malice, lust to regret, and a feeling of ecstasy to a feeling of guilt and shame.