Did He Say What I Thought He Said?

The pilot is trouble.

Big trouble.

He scares the living hell out of me.

This one refuses to be a sex object. Hell, he refuses to have sex. He knows what I'm about. He likes it. He liked it very much, thank you, the one time. And I know he wants to again. That is painfully obvious to both of us.

But he won't.

He says he wants to end his marriage knowing he tried his best to be a good guy. And that it should be over by Christmas.
He says that his head is still not in the right place to do me justice.
He says he doesn't want me to be just sex.
He says he wants to take it slow because he doesn't want me to be the rebound.
He says he wants to spend time with me, out with others and among people who I am afraid will not necessarily approve.
He says, is it okay if he keeps calling and texting me when he's on these long flight jags, wherein I won't see him for a week or so. Because, he says, he finds me popping into his head and just has to let me know.

He also says that he can't forget about that one night.
He also says that he can hardly control himself when I let him hold my arms over my head and we kiss, lying on my couch.
He also says that he dreams about my breasts.
He also says that, yes, naughty girls need punished. And that he knows exactly how to do it.

He makes me quiver and quake. Physically and emotionally.

Because I think he really said he wanted a relationship. With me.

But I'm not confident enough of myself and my ability to read such things anymore to be sure.

And if I'm wrong, I'll have thrown myself off the cliff. And I'm not sure I can survive this time, and so soon.