Alone at Closing Time

Ever since I started dating Sarah, there's this one thing that makes me feel lonely even when she's right beside me. It happens every night after closing at the bar, the quietness of it all, the dim lights, and the emptiness left behind by the last drunk patron. Sometimes, as the clock ticks closer to my shift ending, I catch myself watching the door with a kind of longing, imagining someone else walking in instead. Someone who gets me in ways Sarah doesn't when it comes to pushing boundaries, dark fantasies that involve dominance and submission, roles I've only played out once or twice during drunken late nights before we got serious. I never talk about these desires with Sarah because she's not into them like I am. She thinks they're dangerous and unhealthy. But sometimes, alone in the back room where it's still warm from all the bodies that filled it just hours ago, I slip my hand down my pants as a way to feel something beyond the mundane routine of our relationship. It feels wrong but right at the same time, an escape from everything else. I keep these fantasies locked up tight behind doors even more secure than those in the bar because they're mine and mine alone.