We go for a romantic walk together every night.

She's married and has two kids, but every night, always at around nine o'clock, she comes out of her house, and I'm there waiting for her.

I love seeing her sneak out. Love the guilty look on her face, her shifting eyes filled with doubt and want. I wait across the street, then follow when she turns the corner.

She trots briskly, as if hurrying to get away from her home and her family. I struggle to keep up with her.

Our route is the same every time: through the park, across the parking lot, and into the Seven-Eleven, where she buys a pack of cigarettes.

I wait for her outside.

I don't smoke, but I don't mind that she does, and I watch her as she smokes one, sometimes two, before we go back through the south side of the park.

She walks slowly now, as if she doesn't want our time together to end, as if she's waiting, hoping I'll make the first move.

But I don't make a sound.

I walk with her as she exhausts one piece of chewing gum after another, to try to hide the smell and taste of her bad habit before she gets home, and I want to take her hand and tell her that I know her husband hates that she smokes, but I wouldn't mind.

If she were with me, if she were mine, I would let her smoke as many as she wanted. I'd even take up smoking, too, for her.

But I haven't said anything yet. She knows anyway, I'm sure. I'm the only one she doesn't hide it from. The only one in on her secret.

I've been in love with her for weeks, and I know she's in love with me too. Ever since I first saw her in that very same Seven-Eleven, standing behind her in line, she bumped into me as she rummaged through her purse. She apologized, but I told her it was my fault. She smiled, and that's when I fell in love with her.

I went there the next day too. Knowing that there wasn't much chance she'd be there, but she was, as if we were meant to be, and I made sure to be behind her in line again.

I told her that we really should stop seeing each other like this, and she turned around, surprised at first, but then she recognized me and smiled and said she didn't mind as long as we kept it a secret, and then we both laughed, and I could see it in her eyes that she fell in love with me too.

Sometimes that's all it takes.

So I walk with her.

Now and then, on these walks, she meets people she knows. I try to make myself invisible then. And she makes excuses for why she's out here walking alone.

It's not much of a relationship we have, I'm sure you'd say. She can't come to my place, and I can't follow her inside hers, but we're connected on a different level, you wouldn't understand. On these walks, it's as if our minds are merged, and our spirits are intertwined, and no words are really needed. No exchange necessary.

And of course, we haven't made love.

But we will.

Right here in the park, I've even found the perfect place. Between the walkway and the playground, there's a small grove, where the trees and the bushes would hide us from passers-by.

I'm sure she's thought about it too, and that she wants it as much as I do. I'm sure she's picked the same spot. Every time we pass that grove, she turns her head and looks in that direction. Tonight she does it again. Her steps slow almost imperceptibly, and I can't see her face, but I know what she's thinking.

I've pictured it in my mind so many times, even rehearsed it, out here during the day, just to make sure everything is perfect. I would take her hand, and we would run behind the trees together, or I would just pick her up and carry her. I would lay her down on the soft ground between the bushes, where the streetlights don't reach.

She would hesitate, I'm sure. Struggle to remain the faithful, devoted wife, resist the passion burning inside her. Turn her face away from my kisses. But I would hold her tight and whisper that it's okay, that she won't have to worry, that no one is coming.

I would reach under her sweater, under her bra, and feel her breasts, and listen to her soft moans and her sighs of feigned reluctance as I kiss her neck. I would pull her pants and her panties down and off, and she would press her knees together at first, but still allow me to ease them apart. Then I would undress. Pull my own pants down, and as I push into her, she would stare into my eyes and cover her mouth with both hands so no sound escaped.

There would be a few tears running down her cheeks; in my mind, there always are tears of deliverance and pleasure. When I come inside her, she would grab my shoulders, not quite pulling me closer, not quite pushing me away, and after we would hold each other for a few seconds as our breathing slows.

It could all only take a minute. I would have to let her go before her husband got worried. I would have to be quick, but every moment would be bliss. I would help her get dressed, and let her walk the rest of the way home alone.

Maybe tonight. It’s a dark autumn evening, but still not too cold. There’s no one around. No one would disturb us, no one would know. No one would hear her screams.

Yes, tonight. Tonight I’m going to let her know I’m here.