He had no choice in the matter. Any more than I did. The only difference was that his body chose for him, and he chose for me. He didn’t really want me. Not the woman I was, with all my flaws. He wasn’t a potential boyfriend, or caring lover. He was a creature driven by instinct. Maybe, if he had been like one of those barbarians in the romance novels, falling to one knee to pledge their undying insta-love to me, I might have been moved to consider the whole “mating” thing in a positive light.
