Before long, I began dressing with my hard hat in mind, carefully selecting outfits that showed the curves of my figure without displaying the flesh that attracted the attention of his colleagues. The seasons changed and the weather became cooler. When I bought my winter coat, I deliberately chose one with a belt cinched at the waist to emphasize my curvaceous breasts and hips beneath. I wore high heels to work when I'd always been a running-shoes-and-change-in-the-office kind of girl. His coworkers noticed the change: "Looking gorgeous today, darling," shouted out his fat, red-faced colleague when I strolled down the street. Another articulate fellow simply yelled out the word tits! whenever I rounded the corner. But my man remained silent, with eyes that devoured and unnerved me and yet spoke a million words. I had yet to hear his voice.

He was unknowingly in bed with me each time I had a new lover. I took home some gorgeous men that year, but I kept my eyes closed during sex, imagining my fantasy man on top of me, inside me, underneath me, all over me. Then, the following morning, I'd see him at work, blushing as I remembered all the things "we" had done the night before.

As my obsession deepened, I started to question my sanity. What did I even want with this guy? Was I going nuts, believing that there was a connection between us, something behind the silent eyes? Ironically, if he had called out something to me, the bubble would have burst. As long as he stayed silent, he could be anything. And if I was honest, I wasn't sure I wanted him to cross that line from fantasy to reality. What if that body of his, so compliant and urgent in my imagination, did not live up to my dreams? And every day as I contemplated this, the office block he worked on would be a little more polished, a little nearer completion. While part of me wanted him out of my life (as if he were really in it) so that I could get on with the serious business of actually meeting someone real, another part wanted his job to last forever. I'd come to expect this daily sexual charge, which was as much a part of my morning routine now as my latte. I would miss it when it was gone. I would miss him.