There was never a question with him; he was a dangerous man for her and she knew he would never ask, never come on to her, never say anything;
yet, she also knew that if he did, she would be his; his eyes alone already posessed her;
she knew that even as his hands moved while talkilng, those hands possessed her moving along her body from across the room

without ever touching; he in  just standing there across the room

had her without even looking at her; had her without even touching her.

She could feel it;  there was psyhic love-making across that room-, even in church; she felt herself giving herself without touching.

Crazy? Yes, but she knew it was real because she felt it in her body.

It first happened with her crushes as a teen, the posters on the wall,

the tv images, the consumation without the consumation; all else couldn't compare; all life, realilty itself, was not real in the face of this.

It was not even him so much as it was her desire to give,

to give all of her self. Her breasts ached; her desire spilled out such that she thought others could see it, hear it, sense it.

And desire it was-a mix of  desires; to feel taken, a desire not to be taken to resist against a strong man; a strong desire to feel desire, to feel a man wanting her, to take a man she desired and feel him respond--all these.

 But then she thought he was simply the means, the way she stayed in contact with her deepest self, her way of holding to her self,  to herself, giving to herself a life-line to feelings, of stayinlg in touch with her body; something she would never act upon, never risk acting upon; that which could embarass her, destroy her life, her single-hood, destroy the sanctuary that lived inside, not seen by anyone.

She would never act upon any of this, she thought, until he walked over to her at the church social and said "Hi."

That was how it began.

That set off longing in her, deep longing and deep need.

His simple "Hi," shook her entire body.
"Hello Father.", she stammered out.

To be continued.