Our first date wasn’t a date.
It was dinner for ten at Spring Moon in Hong Kong.
The man I fucked that night wasn’t a stranger.
My space had already claimed him.
And his space had already claimed me.
The space between us was already collapsing.
Years before we ever kissed,
he walked into my space.
Sharp suit. Sharper mouth.
Arrogant. Demanding. Alive.
I didn’t melt.
I didn’t swoon.
I filed him away under irritation and interest.
Then years later,
another meeting,
another city,
another collision that wasn’t a collision.
Different roles.
Different lives.
But the space was the same.
Already stretched between us.
Already humming with something unnamed.
The first time he took me out,
it wasn’t love at first sight.
It was recognition at first impact.
The moment was always mine
By the time I went with him,
by the time I took him inside me,
by the time my hips made him spill,
I wasn’t letting a stranger in.
I was completing a pull that started long before.
And our first date hasn’t ended since.
He didn’t chase me.
I didn’t seduce him.
The signal was already in place.
We just stepped into it.
That is how real bonds happen
Not from pick up lines.
Not from dates.
Not from apps or curated smiles.
Real bonds start in the body
long before the mind says yes.
Real bonds start
with a click in the spine,
with a tightening in the gut,
with a pulse you cannot explain.
If you have felt it, you know.
If you haven’t, you keep looking where it doesn’t live.
I never left
When I say I never left after fucking him on our first date,
I mean the bond was already there,
waiting.
Twenty years.
Three daughters.
A business built together.
I never left his side because he was mine and I was his,
long before I ever undressed.
When you meet someone like that,
you don’t build the bridge,
you don’t beg for it,
you don’t construct it.
You just cross.
Into what was already waiting for you.
Some bonds don’t begin when bodies meet
They complete what placement already started.
