We had a beach outing then, and a team building. I was assigned to his group. It was fun. Our group bonded well. Even though we were tired from all our activities, we had a lot of fun, and we laughed a lot. Once I fell to my knees laughing and tired, and he came up to me to pull me up. I held his hand. It was rough… and warm. I liked it. It was like a comforting touch to me. I smiled as I stood up, and he smiled back and patted my back, his arm going around me. I forgot to breathe for 5 seconds. He was so warm. I've never felt that much heat from someone.

When our activities were done, we were allowed to swim in the beach that afternoon. I stayed quite a while in the water, and when I rose from it, it was almost night. I loved swimming, but it was getting cold. As I walked towards where I was staying with my other coworkers, I saw him. My boss. He was shirtless.

I think my breath got stuck to my throat. I hid behind a tree to gaze at him.

He was not muscular, but not too fat either. He was a little dark-skinned… and hairy. Well, not so much, but it was an average amount of hair. They were black against his dark skin, spreading through his chest and to his dark nipples, before running down his stomach, to his navel and lower… where his belt and pants hid everything from view.

My face flamed. He couldn't see me, but I was afraid that he'd catch me staring at him. I quickly ran to our cottage.

That night, I couldn't sleep. All I could think of was him. His smile. His kindness. His warm, comforting touch… that dark path of hair that led to heaven. I shivered so violently that my officemate thought I had a fever. I told her I was fine.

I've had thoughts like this before. It was wanting. To me, it wasn't love… yet. Just pure lust. I've never had a man who was hairy. And I wanted to know where that trail of hair led. I wanted to do much to him, that I blushed just thinking about it.

A year after that day at the beach, I still wanted him. I would sneak peeks at him, smiling as sweetly as I dared without being too flirty. I would smile when he would, be comforting when he seemed stressed. I would work the hardest and the best that I could when he needed something from me.

At night, when I sleep, I dream of him. Some of my dreams would make ladies my age blush. Others would just make me wake up refreshed and happy. Once I woke up as if in a nightmare, because I dreamt of him kissing some woman without a face. It scared me. But most of the time, I had the kind that made me wake-up all giddy and happy. It was that kind of dream, like you were in paradise, and it was just me and him, under the starry skies, talking and laughing, gazing into each other's eyes.

They were the best dreams I ever had.

But in the real world, I started seeing him in my corner of the office, talking to his phone. He was whispering, and smiling, and chuckling, and talking again. He whispered into the phone like he was whispering to a lover.

And it broke me.

He was in love again, and dating. It tore me apart. I didn't know why. The next thing I knew is that I couldn't breathe and I had to run to the bathroom. I cried in there for a while. When I left, my eyes were red and puffy, and I couldn't bear to look at him.

This had been happening so frequently, that all I could do was watch and silently endure the pain. And at night I would find comfort in my dreams of him.

I realize now that I was deeply, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him.

But he loved somebody else. The woman he talks to on the phone.

That's the reason I wanted to be a man. I wanted to avoid this kind of pain. When men are heart-broken, they have so many ways to deter it or forget it even for a while. Beers, basketball or baseball games, gambling, whores… these are the kind of deterrents men have. For us women, it's very few. Society has taught us that drunk women are uncultured. Women who turn to food for comfort become "gluttons" or "slobs". Sports loving women are tomboys. Gambling women are called gold-diggers. And women who pay men for sex are called whores.

If there are double standards for everything that women did to forget and ease a broken heart, what are women left with?

What am I left with…?