The Unintended Conversation

I've always been told I was different. Smarter than most, good-looking, the kind of guy people thought had everything going for him. Growing up, I was the kid teachers praised, the one neighbors complimented for being so "sharp."

But the truth is, none of that ever mattered to me. Not the compliments, not the expectations. My life was simple. Middle-class, nothing fancy, just me, my books, and the quiet corners I liked to disappear into.

But something changed when I turned 16. Girls. I couldn't help it. Every time I saw one, it was like I was seeing them for the first time.

The way they moved, talked, even laughed, I started feeling something I couldn't control. But here's the thing, for all the smarts people said I had, I never knew how to talk to them.

It's like I became invisible, fading into the background whenever they were around. I wanted to be close to them, to feel loved, but the more I wanted it, the harder it became to even speak.

I became an introvert, trapped in my own head, watching from the sidelines as the guys I knew—guys who weren't even half as good-looking, had girlfriends, had lives.

And me? I had nothing. Just that aching feeling inside, like I was missing out on something I couldn't quite grasp.

I had a few friends in the colony growing up, and one of them was a girl I used to play with all the time. We'd run around, laugh, and I'd spend hours at her house like it was my second home.

Back then, everything seemed so simple. But as I got older, something shifted, and it wasn't because of the girl. It was her mother. She was stunning, the kind of woman you couldn't help but notice, though I didn't think much of it at first.

But slowly, I found myself drawn to her in ways I couldn't explain. She was married, sure, but she still looked so young, her body so perfect. I couldn't take my eyes off her whenever I was around. Her presence became intoxicating, with her curvy figure and the way her clothes clung to her.

I didn't know when it started, but every visit to their home turned into something more than just playing with my friend. It became about her.

As I grew older, things changed. We didn't play anymore—the games and laughter faded, but my reasons to go to their home didn't. I still found ways to see her mother, creating excuses, random reasons to knock on their door.

Sometimes it was small talk, other times I'd just stay quiet, hoping for a glimpse of her. One evening, I found the perfect reason. My parents were out of town, and I didn't have the keys to my house. So I went to their place, pretending it was just a convenient stop.

Her mother welcomed me in, and I could feel my pulse quicken as we talked that evening. I tried to keep it casual, like nothing was different, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. Then, out of nowhere, she asked me a question I wasn't prepared for.

"So," she said, with a teasing smile, "how many girlfriends do you have?"

I froze. My heart felt like it skipped a beat, and suddenly, I was both shocked and shy, barely able to meet her gaze. I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know what to say at first,

so I mumbled something about having "a few" girlfriends, though it was far from the truth. She smiled at my response, and for some reason,

I felt a surge of confidence, bold enough to ask, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

She chuckled softly and said, "I'm married now, remember?"

But I wasn't done. My curiosity got the better of me, and before I could stop myself, I asked, "What about before marriage? When you were in college... did you have any?"

To my surprise, she didn't brush it off. Instead, she leaned into the conversation, and we began talking about our lives—our social circles, our relationships, and all the things people usually don't discuss so openly.

It felt strange but exciting, like we were crossing a line neither of us had acknowledged before. Then, out of nowhere,

she asked me something I wasn't expecting: "Do you watch porn movies?" Her words hung in the air, and for a second, I didn't know how to react. The question was so direct, so unexpected, that it left me speechless.

I was stunned by her question. I had always thought that only boys watched porn, and the idea that she was asking me about it felt completely out of left field.

My face flushed red, and I could feel the heat rising as I smiled awkwardly, trying to play it cool. "What… what are you talking about?" I stammered, but I knew it was futile.

She saw right through my confusion and the telltale flush on my face. "Do you watch it with your husband?" I blurted out, unable to hide my curiosity.

Her laughter erupted, light and carefree, and it took me a moment to realize how ridiculous my question must have sounded. "How do you know about it?" I asked, feeling even more embarrassed.

She continued to laugh, her amusement clear, and for a moment, the tension between us melted into something more relaxed, despite my lingering discomfort.

"I actually have some on my phone right now," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but before I could say anything else, the sound of my parents' car pulling into the driveway interrupted us.

Panic surged through me as I realized I had to leave immediately. I quickly mumbled my goodbyes and hurried out of their home, my heart racing.

That night, my mind was a whirlwind. I couldn't stop thinking about her, replaying every moment over and over. The image of her laughing, the way she'd looked at me—it all became an obsession. I found myself imagining conversations, scenarios where I could see her again.

I even started fantasizing about kissing her, wondering if she felt the same pull I did. Did she like me? Why did she ask me that question? I couldn't find a valid reason to visit her again, but the desire to see her, to understand what was behind her smile, consumed me.

Every day, my thoughts were tangled in a web of uncertainty and longing, with no clear path forward.

I couldn't get her out of my mind. Every day, I found myself searching for excuses to visit her house, but nothing seemed to work. Days passed, and the obsession only grew stronger.

One afternoon, as I was lounging at home watching TV, my thoughts still tangled around her, I heard the doorbell ring. It was her.

She was standing at the doorstep, chatting with my mother. I could barely believe my eyes when I overheard the conversation.

Her husband was out of town for work, she explained, and she and her daughter were alone. With a casual tone, she asked my mother if I could come over and stay with them for the night.

Her request took me by surprise, and a rush of emotions flooded through me—excitement, curiosity, and a hint of nervousness. My heart pounded as I waited for my mother's response, trying to keep my composure.

What did she have in mind? Why was she inviting me over? The opportunity to see her again was right in front of me, and I couldn't ignore it.