Why My Emotional Affair Had To End

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Man wearing boxing gloves
They never even kissed, but it had all the intensity of a full-blown fling.

Last summer, I fell in love with my boxing teacher. I never kissed him. I never spent time alone with him. Though I did have mental sex with him at least a thousand times, and was only left with goose bumps and a weakened mind. The Frisky: Signs Your Lover Is Having An Emotional Affair

The first time I went to class, Mike wrapped my hands and told me he'd seen me around. He smiled his glowing smile and I thought he looked nice. I couldn't put my gloves on, but he was more than happy to help.

I became a daily student of Mike's craft. But he was a harmless crush. I stole glances at his dark and perfect figure while throwing punches. His arms reminded me of the statue of David in Florence. He called me beautiful, told me to "protect my pretty face," and helped me swing my hips when I wasn't rotating them "enough."

Mike told me he'd take care of me. In spite of our wedding bands, I believed him. Frequently, he switched partners with me so we could box together. He always told me he liked my gym outfit. I wanted to tell him I wore it for him; I never did.

Each class, he surprised me. He loved rubbing my lower back. While stretching, he touched the back of my neck or calf. Sometimes, he bumped into me. Or he grabbed my pinky. Other times, he hugged me and we lingered close. Once, he pressed my knees into my body after sit-ups. The visual was too much and I looked away, hoping he couldn't read my thoughts.

Maybe it was his perfect body. Or maybe it was his smile and how it made his face look kind. It might have been his infectious zeal. Or that he exuded manliness in ways my husband didn't. The Frisky: We Are Better At Communicating With Strangers Than With Loved Ones

After class, Mike waited for me in the lobby so we could ride the elevator together. He told me my smile was beautiful and that he loved seeing me in class. I whispered, "You know I love coming to class." As he exited the building, we looked longingly at each other. Much like star-crossed lovers, or teenagers. Except, we were married adults.

And so I dreamt of him. I imagined his chiseled body taking mine to inexperienced heights. My husband and I went on vacation to Europe; I couldn't wait to get back. As we climbed mountains and bicycled through small islands, I smiled and took refuge in my ever constant thoughts of Mike. The boxer.

Mike's attention improved my fitness. I tried harder when he watched me, which was always. I lost weight. I had love to give and so I gave. I engaged in chit chat with the baristas and the janitors. I smiled at strangers. Instead of butting heads with my parents over silly things, I became a light-hearted daughter. I turned into a better friend, being there for the gals I loved. And I had sex more often, cooked dinner more frequently, and did chores almost daily. Mike was a permanent fixture in my mind, naturally flowing in and out. He filled my days with a sense of purpose.

This article was originally published at . Reprinted with permission.
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