My husband of 20 years didn’t match the typical descriptions of husbands; those deficiencies of our husbands we’d make fun of on girls’ night out. Actually, it was more like complaining or demeaning our husbands. Perhaps us girls thought it to be a form of “group therapy.”

Of course, a lot of these comments, while demeaning, were presented in a rather humorous way. We’d laugh at those men. The alcohol helped the mood.

I had a hard time coming up with negatives about my husband, Cooper. He was handsome, didn’t really have a dad-bod but was fit and trim. Besides being a good financial planner and providing well for the family, he spent a good amount of time with me and the kids.

He didn’t require much wifely maintenance because he almost always picked up his clothes and hung them in the closet, putting dirty ones right into the hamper sorted by whites, colors, and darks. He could even do laundry, but I pretty much took care of that. He loved grocery shopping, which I appreciated, at least while I happened to be appreciative and not begin to take all this for granted.

The cars were maintained, cleaned, and gassed up. The yard looked good for the neighborhood; he was social and friendly to the neighbors and all our friends. He was a decent lover, though after 20 years, you pretty well know what to expect in the bedroom.

Me, however? Yeah, I was a little bored with our sex, not that Cooper didn’t try to liven it up. Toys, long weekends, sexy underthings for both of us. It seemed to me like he was pushing it, when now looking back, I knew it was more me. Did it add a little stress to the marriage?

Yep. But my husband was devoted, and while upset at times or turned off to my attitude, he rolled with it. He was good at rolling with things, which made him a great financial planner. When disruptions in the economy or markets upset his clients, he was good at rolling with it, taking their ire, listening until he could provide a reasonable perspective. I think that’s why so many clients stuck with him. Of course, his plan designs worked for people, but it was his personality that kept them with him.

So why did I become dissatisfied with my husband and seek out an affair partner? I ended up making a terrible mistake, even letting him take pictures of me in our bed. I don’t know how I got myself here. I’m stuck. I don’t know how to make a change.

It’s a roller coaster of uncertainty and tension. I almost hoped I’d be caught, that the affair would be discovered; it was so fatiguing living a double life. If I was caught, it would take the decision off of me. The circumstances would decide what would happen.

As I continued the affair, it starved my marriage. The intimacy, connection, and focus on my marriage dwindled and diminished. The emotional connection to my husband was starved. Our physical intimacy dwindled. Our relationship became skewed, at least from my perspective.

Surely my husband must have recognized all this, but did he? Or was he just too good at being devoted “for better or for worse” that he just rolled with it, like he did with so many things?

Perhaps it was because there had been no hard evidence for quite a while. But did he notice a departure from our usual patterns that were so familiar after 20 years together? Our privacy, interactions with each other, schedules, ways of showing up and being present and open that did not follow the previous patterns?

Saturday night was the usual girls’ night out, and we all hit a new club. It was certainly one for younger twenty-somethings; us girls stood out given our age, a little fuller in our dresses, even our reactions to the pick-up lines thrown our way. But the attention was exciting!

It was great to be asked to dance, and at a club! Not like at a wedding where couples our age waited for a slower song so our husband would leave the bar and do their one slow dance with us, then either go back to the bar or leave for a boring rest of the night at home.

No, this was exciting, loud, frenetic dancing with young men who were interested in us. So what if I was 42 and the guy I was with was 28? That’s not much of an age difference, is it? Since us girls all arrived separately by taxi or Uber, we pretty much left separately. Over the evening, we’d lost track of each other anyways.

This guy, Harris, dressed well, smelled well, had a full head of hair, was fit and trim, danced well, and said all the right things. Maybe some alcohol had something to do with it, but you know what? I enjoyed the laughter, feeling seen. I loved his interest and curiosity, the feeling of being desired. It was a change of pace from what became routine with my husband.

Cooper once told me the secret to selling his financial products had little to do with the facts but was primarily the emotion in the sale.

Looking back on that night on the dance floor, I realize it was the emotion of the moment, not the fact that I was a wife, mother, and homemaker. Good emotions are pretty convincing; they just feel right. You know what I’m saying? If it feels good, it must be okay, right?

Making out on the dance floor was so hot. Even off the dance floor in the bathroom hallway, I found myself pressed up against him, my lips on his. Harris kissed me back eagerly, his hands roaming on my curvy hips. “I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath against my skin.

“Me too,” I replied, my voice tinged with desire.

In the dimly lit hallway, with patrons occasionally walking past us, it seemed like we were the only ones in the club. He reached down and grabbed my ass and pulled me closer. I moaned and began grinding myself against him, my nipples hardening as he couldn’t resist reaching up to touch them.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” I moaned as I threw my head back. Harris took the opportunity to kiss my neck, licking, nibbling at my skin, my skin that felt so alive and sensitive. I shivered, with my breathing now reduced to short gasps.

So after plenty of dancing, making out on and off the dance floor, Harris asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” as his fingers dipped into my bra cup. I accepted his proposal and left for his home, which turned out to be in an upscale neighborhood, Oak Hollow. I’ll admit I did have a few thoughts on the way to his home, but the conversation was engaging, like I was with someone who understood me, who was open with me. The naturalness just felt right, safe, and comfortable.

As he walked me up to his front door with his hand on my lower back, I felt conflicting emotions, like nervousness, uncertainty, excitement all at the same time. I so wanted to get my hands all over him, experience something I hadn’t had since college, something different. Self-doubt crept in. Would I be any good for him? Will he think I’m still attractive outside of the dark club?