I hate the little twerp. Sometimes. It’s an interesting and stilted chemistry, so I’m baffled at the goodies he yields me, when he’s not there, for intervals of five minutes – bastard! What a paradox. That sexy prick. The pheromonal reaction of our chemistry is involuntary. But it doesn’t put me off. I’m cool. He won’t know. There were guys who seemed perfect, but I had to force a reaction, and wound up thoroughly disappointed.
Deep incongruities between us keep a functional distance with regard to this issue. There’s no way in Hades I could find myself emotionally dependent on him. I don’t suffer from dilated pupils or rapid breathing around him; but I do harbor that affection that makes an episode like this partly possible. I don’t actually need him in order to take care of my business. The imagery he inspires is that cake in the refrigerator at home that I think of at work. I come home and I kill it.