Temperence

I was trapped.

There was no escape.

Linda's office was a vicious cage with two doors, each to another cage.

If I gave in, my will would have been overcome.

Since I did not, the source of temptation grew stronger.

By choosing to resist I simply provoked Vanessa's talent to allure. I gave her the opportunity to prod my fancy yet again, insisting that she cares for nothing more than my happiness. I had given her the option to demonstrate that she trusts perfectly, consciously, and without shame. She decided that I would be hopelessly drawn to her in every way, and as such I was.

Can a man be asked to reject such a thing?

I thought about my reasons for becoming chaste. What was my goal, anyway? It was the way to ensure sex did not rule my life, right? Well, while having abstained completely, I had awoken to discover it already had. I found all my energy dedicated to resisting Vanessa. How is that better than hiring a prostitute for some cheap, meaningless sex or accepting a whimsical hand job from Jen? She leaves, you clean up, and it's back to living again. But I knew there was no relief in trivial sensual distractions. My whole consciousness seemed to be overruled by a subtle smile and some dangerous words.

How easily we allow a fantasy, that pursuit of happiness, to control our lives. We quell our passions, or believe others' suggestions to do so. Yet, nothing stokes the furnace of desire more than that excess of temperance. Damned, we direct our forbidden desires toward one sensible objective or another to watch its power return, renewed in strength. One with the temperance to resist all worldly gain is no doubt riddled with the sickness of pride and entitlement. Yet, what is a greater danger? The pursuit of wealth or the pursuit of love? Allowing another to embody the entire objective of our pursuit gives them such terrifying responsibility. Into their hands we place such a burden, how dare we ask anyone to accept it? How dare we ask even a lover to reign over the expanse of our passion?

Pretending desire does not exist seems as dangerous and futile as indulging in every whim without restraint at every given opportunity. It seems the currency of love is never really locked away, but invested...ignored at the shareholder's peril.

But, there might be a caveat.

If desire could not be removed, perhaps its source could be discredited.

I pondered Vanessa's messages.

What if I proved she was lying?

Hadn't I confirmed that women are capable of evil almost beyond comprehension?

It was possible.

Even if Vanessa's messages were the embodiment of my ultimate fantasy...no, especially if Vanessa's messages were so, it was impossible to verify their authenticity. Even my most profound desire might, to her, be completely trivial. To her this could all be a senseless game for trifling amusement at my expense. If this could be verified, every bit of my desire would dissolve completely. Things could possibly go back to normal and I could perhaps go back to actually learning something.

I decided that no matter how persuasive or romantic, I just could not resign myself completely to any collection of words on a blog. My currency would not be handled by a speculator. I could not let a combination of ones and zeros occupy my imagination. Reality and reason ruled, not Vanessa's lies.

I decided I would fulfill my wish, as well as hers. If she desired what I desire, then I would offer her a chance to deprive herself of me and my attention. This was my desire.