Great Thanks to the always awesome mikothebaby for her editing magic, and patience with grammar, spelling and punctuation. Her valiant attempts to make my stories readable are much appreciated. As Always, any and all errors are mine, and mine alone.
I never set out to have an affair. Maybe if I write it all down, it will help me figure out what is going on. I am not one of those housewives who volunteered because they were bored and lonely, or just vaguely unsatisfied.
He was just someone I had forged a friendship with at work and started flirting with. Yes, I enjoyed his attentions. It felt good and right, just different enough, and I felt powerless to resist.
Oh, who am I kidding? When your hormones are raging and someone is there telling you that you are beautiful and special and fabulous and really listening to you, thoughts of broken families and hearts are a million miles away.
It was not until I physically crossed the line, that I started to realize everything I stood to lose.
Wow, this new excitement is like rocket fuel!
I forgot what powerful stuff new lust is, and hiding my affair seems to be as exciting as the affair itself. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have something that's all mine, and my little secret is more energizing than a case of Jolt!
I do not know why I should feel so guilty. When was the last time my husband paid attention to me like he should!
There was no passion in my marriage anymore. We were both way too young to have been married. It seems we are almost roommates now, not lovers. Sometimes he is just so controlling, emotionally unavailable, a slob.
That bastard is cheating, too – well I do not have any proof, but I damn well suspect that he is. I have seen how that little slutty receptionist looks at him. How he is always "bumping" into the divorcee across the street.
I can come up with ten thousand different ways that what I am doing is a lot less worse than what he is doing.
But why do I feel this is just a rationalization to excuse my actions? Am I just trying to convince myself?
I really miss my friends. In the beginning, the totally exclusive, utterly secretive nature of my affair was one of its biggest appeals. It's was the two of us against the world and I did relish that bond. But I want to talk to someone, and now I have nowhere to turn. I know that even telling my best friend will put her in a bad position, and could possibly put the affair at risk. So I stew quietly and feel so very, very much alone.
Damn this affair is Expensive!
Fancy dinners, faraway hotel rooms, sexy lingerie, trusty babysitters, personal training sessions ... my cheater's tab is getting out of control. The 4 star hotels have been replaced by Motel 6's and backseat trysts in parks. The fancy dinners where we might be spotted are now a thing of the past.
And because of that pesky paper trail business, most of it has to be taken care of in cash. I never thought I would need to get intimately familiar with the term "creative financing."
How come I seem to be in a state of constant fear?
What if my lover calls? What if he doesn't? What if someone sees us together? Can I call him? Should I call him? When should I call him? Am I acting differently? Dressing differently? Do I smell differently? When I'm not busy obsessing about these questions, I play over all of the possible outcomes in my head until it spins.
Guarding my damn computer and cell phone is now my full-time job. I try to keep our communication to the bare minimum, still I have to arrange those risqué rendezvous. Which means my computer and cell phone likely harbor all sorts of damning evidence.
I suffer regular panic attacks wondering if I actually left my laptop open. Yesterday, when I forgot my mobile, I had to run home to retrieve it immediately.
I called my lover by my husband's name today and we had a good laugh, but now I worry I'll say the wrong name at the wrong time. It is a constant fear. Over coffee it is a concern; in bed it will border on crippling. I am still getting intimate with my husband. But when I am, I am thinking about my lover, comparing the two, no matter how much I try not to.
God I hate my new world.
I have had to stop addressing both men by their actual names and now stick to something generic like "honey."
I am someone's wife, someone's mother. I took vows and was building a life and a family. I am living a lie, day in and day out.
I cry in the shower, in the car, in the bathroom at work. I didn't want it to be like this and sometimes I'm not even sure how it happened.
I used to talk with my friends about the skanky cheaters we knew, and I were so sure they'd get what was coming to them. Now the cheater is me, and I know I am not meant to be with this new person, so why am I doing this? The guilt seems be all-consuming, the shame never, ever feels like it is going away.
Why can't I sleep at night anymore? My days are a busy blur of juggling and secrecy, so you'd think that once everyone else is tucked neatly into bed, I'd pass right out.
Except I can't.
My mind keeps racing through the day, retracing my steps and trying to be sure I haven't left any clues. And even when I am confident that I haven't, these evening hours are filled with a tormenting torrent of whys and what-ifs.
How could I have fallen for a cheater. (Irony!) The very (illicit) nature of my relationship means that I can't reach out to my lover whenever the urge strikes. When that window finally presents itself and I can't reach him, my first thought invariably is: He's with someone else. (I try to shove this thought far from my conscience, but it is still there.)
Every time he's distant, unavailable, moody or not in the mood, that terrifying thought will again rear its ugly. If he cheats on his wife, why would I think he will be faithful to me?
Just when I least expected it, my perfect lover -- the one I risked life and limb to be with at every secretive turn – is always doing something to irritate, disillusion or disappoint me.