I shouldn’t have been at my son’s parent/teacher conference alone, but my wife had an appointment.
I shouldn’t have asked if she was related to my high school French teacher who shared the same name.
I shouldn’t have been so honest, but I said, “I spent high school fantasizing about your mother. I must have lost my virginity to her thousands of times…sorry.
I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I shouldn’t have obsessed about the young teacher for the next week.
I shouldn’t have gotten her email address from my wife on the pretext of helping with my son’s science fair project.
I shouldn’t have developed an email relationship with her over the next month.
I shouldn’t have dropped by her apartment to talk.
I shouldn’t have stolen a kiss.
I shouldn’t have pinned her to the wall and stripped her panties from under her dress.
I shouldn’t have moaned as she twined her fingers in my hair, pulling my face into her center.
I shouldn’t have stood, pulling her legs around my hips, and plunged into her there, against the wall, inside her apartment door.
I shouldn’t have bathed her cervix in my semen as she cried out and bit my ear.
I shouldn’t have had to clean myself in her powder room before I left.
I shouldn’t have stopped on the way home.
“You shouldn’t have,” my wife said, as I handed her the flowers.
“I know,” I said. “I wanted to.”
