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He called again last night. He told me that in the morning there would be a box on my porch that I was to get it inside the house, place it in my bedroom, and leave it there, unopened. He would be calling again tomorrow night. Then he had me turn out all the lights and get in bed, snuggled in safely under the down comforter as he told me one last story. Of a man who finally has to hold the woman of his dreams. Of how he held her tenderly, and tasted her lips as if they were made of the finest and rarest of wine. Of how he stroked her to ease the fear that caused her heart to beat in triple time within her chest. Then, just as I drifted off to sleep I remember hearing the phone hang up.

Tonight as I sit here remembering his words of last night I look out the window at the beautiful sunset as it sets over the mountains in the distance. I remember bits and pieces of the conversations He and I have had over the last year and understand that all this time has been leading up to now. I was certainly tired of being alone. I admit that. However, this was just so strange. As I lifted the coffee cup to my lips to take a sip, I noticed the trembling of my hands.... every nerve in my body was drawing tight.

There was no question he knew who I was, and I had long ago stopped asking him how he knew me, and from where. He called me once or twice a week, every week for over a year now. I had not really felt afraid of him, not in a long time. Just a little uneasy after talking to him. I mean, its almost like we had developed a sort of relationship if ...

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