One pink line on a stick. One pink line one pink line one pink line. What the hell was I seeing? My life as I knew it ended with one pink line. I had finally let it go too far.
When it came to my marriage bed, I was fastidious with the birth control. When it came to my lover’s bed, nothing was fastidious, especially birth control.
Allen’s reaction was predictable.
“Is it even mine?”
“Of course,” shocked at the implication.
“Well I know you’re sleeping with at least one other guy.”
Where was my outrage? Who had I become? I was weak and mindless. I did the only thing I knew to keep him from running away. I lied.
“I don’t sleep with anyone but you anymore. You’re the only one I want.”
“I already have kids! What makes you think I want yours too?”
I resorted to the other ammunition in my arsenal, I cried.
In the end he left his family, I left my husband and we were married in a civil ceremony two months before our daughter was born.
That is where this story really begins.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Ending
I would argue that trying to end an affair is actually much worse than being in one. Ridiculous as that may sound, I swear it’s true.
Being with Allen was blissful….until it was time to go home. The endearing, openly loving look on Adam’s face when I walked through the door would rip my heart out, every time. I hugged and kissed him hello with the semen of another man soaking my panties. I knew it needed to end, but I didn’t want to. I just didn’t want to.
In fact, the thought of ending it caused me physical pain. Pain pain pain pain. Where? My head, my heart, no. My stomach. I couldn’t stand the sight of food. I was nauseous and drained. My guilt moved from my churning mind to my churning gut.
I couldn’t stand the guilt, which competed directly with my desire for Allen, see him touch him kiss him love him. He consumed me. He had become me. He was mine. I was going insane.
Allen ended it the first time. It surprised and killed me. I was distraught, despite the fact that I knew it was the right thing to do. I railed and cried, emptying my hurt and guilt on his already rattled conscious. He apologized, asked if we could stay friends. I laughed at his offer, told him that I could never be his friend after what we shared.
We were together again by the end of the next day. He apologized over and over again for hurting me, then game me an incredible orgasm to seal the deal.
That was the beginning of three years of ending and beginning our affair, over and over again. Allen’s guilt would become too much, he would tell me goodbye and then he was gone for a while
He always came back. Sometimes I would call to find him, sometimes he would see me passing on the street. No matter how it happened, he would find his way back into my life. It was as though he were destined to be mine.
In fact, that’s how I came to think of him -- my destiny.
Despite my more normally forceful nature, I was complacent and acquiescing when he was around. I did as he asked, spoke as he liked and never caused him any discomfort. He never feared that I would share our secret with his family, he never worried that I would show up at his home, I was his good girl.
My logic was simple: wait. If I waited patiently, he would eventually see what I saw – our future. Together beyond the backseat of the minivan, or up against the wall in the conference room. It was an illogical solution to an easily solved dilemma. I held on to it as though my life depended on it.
The first time he mentioned killing me, we were in the make-up phase of one of our many break-ups. Lying in bed at his house in the afternoon, he put his hands around my throat and asked, “What if I killed you?”
“That would end it, right?”
I nodded my head.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes were dark and hooded with shadows. “I could finally get over you, because I would know you were never coming back.”
He squeezed. I swallowed, but didn’t move.
He looked down at me, squeezed harder. I grabbed his arm and closed my eyes. Good girl good girl good girl good girl.
He let go and got up, went to the bathroom to clean himself off.
“Get up and get dressed, she’ll be home from work soon.”
I did as I was told, always the good girl.
Being with Allen was blissful….until it was time to go home. The endearing, openly loving look on Adam’s face when I walked through the door would rip my heart out, every time. I hugged and kissed him hello with the semen of another man soaking my panties. I knew it needed to end, but I didn’t want to. I just didn’t want to.
In fact, the thought of ending it caused me physical pain. Pain pain pain pain. Where? My head, my heart, no. My stomach. I couldn’t stand the sight of food. I was nauseous and drained. My guilt moved from my churning mind to my churning gut.
I couldn’t stand the guilt, which competed directly with my desire for Allen, see him touch him kiss him love him. He consumed me. He had become me. He was mine. I was going insane.
Allen ended it the first time. It surprised and killed me. I was distraught, despite the fact that I knew it was the right thing to do. I railed and cried, emptying my hurt and guilt on his already rattled conscious. He apologized, asked if we could stay friends. I laughed at his offer, told him that I could never be his friend after what we shared.
We were together again by the end of the next day. He apologized over and over again for hurting me, then game me an incredible orgasm to seal the deal.
That was the beginning of three years of ending and beginning our affair, over and over again. Allen’s guilt would become too much, he would tell me goodbye and then he was gone for a while
He always came back. Sometimes I would call to find him, sometimes he would see me passing on the street. No matter how it happened, he would find his way back into my life. It was as though he were destined to be mine.
In fact, that’s how I came to think of him -- my destiny.
Despite my more normally forceful nature, I was complacent and acquiescing when he was around. I did as he asked, spoke as he liked and never caused him any discomfort. He never feared that I would share our secret with his family, he never worried that I would show up at his home, I was his good girl.
My logic was simple: wait. If I waited patiently, he would eventually see what I saw – our future. Together beyond the backseat of the minivan, or up against the wall in the conference room. It was an illogical solution to an easily solved dilemma. I held on to it as though my life depended on it.
The first time he mentioned killing me, we were in the make-up phase of one of our many break-ups. Lying in bed at his house in the afternoon, he put his hands around my throat and asked, “What if I killed you?”
“That would end it, right?”
I nodded my head.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes were dark and hooded with shadows. “I could finally get over you, because I would know you were never coming back.”
He squeezed. I swallowed, but didn’t move.
He looked down at me, squeezed harder. I grabbed his arm and closed my eyes. Good girl good girl good girl good girl.
He let go and got up, went to the bathroom to clean himself off.
“Get up and get dressed, she’ll be home from work soon.”
I did as I was told, always the good girl.
Word play
The words of lovemaking are almost as sexy as the act itself – anticipation, desire, arousal, cunninglingus, penetration, orgasm. The words of adultery – secrecy, hiding, desperate, needy, scared.
Our first time together was as seedy as it was magical. He stripped the comforter off of our budget rate hotel room bed for fear of the germs and bugs which might infest it. The discolored sheets held little promise.
I was so nervous, I wouldn’t sit on the bed or near him. I curled myself into a ball in a worn chair, hoping he would break the tension.
We chatted about this and that. He stretched out and the urge to touch him overwhelmed me.
He kissed me and stroked me into submission. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he stripped away my clothes piece by piece. Naked and waiting, he slid his fingers inside me and made me orgasm over and over again. How could I not love someone who gave me so much pleasure? We were made to fit each other.
He entered me like we’d been doing it our whole lives. He was a fast fucker, ramming me into silliness. I almost laughed at how fast he drove his message home. He was incredible.
God, he was so good and pure then. His eyes clear and boundless, dark brown. He smiled easily, laughed sunnily and kissed like a god. Was it me that turned him into the monster? Was my influence all he needed to find that hidden evil the lived in his soul?
Our first time together was as seedy as it was magical. He stripped the comforter off of our budget rate hotel room bed for fear of the germs and bugs which might infest it. The discolored sheets held little promise.
I was so nervous, I wouldn’t sit on the bed or near him. I curled myself into a ball in a worn chair, hoping he would break the tension.
We chatted about this and that. He stretched out and the urge to touch him overwhelmed me.
He kissed me and stroked me into submission. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he stripped away my clothes piece by piece. Naked and waiting, he slid his fingers inside me and made me orgasm over and over again. How could I not love someone who gave me so much pleasure? We were made to fit each other.
He entered me like we’d been doing it our whole lives. He was a fast fucker, ramming me into silliness. I almost laughed at how fast he drove his message home. He was incredible.
God, he was so good and pure then. His eyes clear and boundless, dark brown. He smiled easily, laughed sunnily and kissed like a god. Was it me that turned him into the monster? Was my influence all he needed to find that hidden evil the lived in his soul?
First time
Our first venture into the dark land seemed innocuous to us. We went for drinks after work and after a beer or two, I confessed that I had a little crush on him. As the fates would have it, he felt the same way. We laughed and shrugged at the silliness of two grown and married people having crushes. That was Wednesday.
By Friday, we were convinced that the only way to dispel the flirty aura around us was to share just one kiss – get it out of our systems. It was ridiculous but we were consumed with the thought of it. How would it happen? Where? Who would make the first move?
I met him in an isolated room near his office. Neither of us would make the first move. It was so juvenile, but my heart was racing like he was the first boy I’d ever kissed. I leaned in for a hug and his mouth was on mine, fevered and wet. I was insane with kissing, but it was all wrong. He didn’t taste right, he didn’t kiss right. His hands were all over me. I pushed him away. This was no longer funny. We’d really crossed the line.
I shrugged and laughed. Told him that he needed some practice before we did that again. He joked about teaching him the tricks. I left.
Later that night I called him and offered that lesson. We’d officially crossed from flirting to fucking.
After that first hysterical kiss, Allen and I started meeting in out-of-the-way places on our way to and from work. We also snuck off to tucked away conference rooms and made out like high school sophomores. It was all kissing and rubbing in the beginning. The first time he made me cum, I almost cried at the intensity of it. We had entered a whole new level of pleasure.
From there we advanced to “our” secluded meeting spots where we did anything and everything but sex to get each other off. The desire was breathtaking. Using only his fingers, he would make me cum until my legs shook from the strain of holding them open. I would suck, stroke and rub him until he was fully satisfied.
We set the date for our first time. He picked the hotel. I wore something pretty.
By Friday, we were convinced that the only way to dispel the flirty aura around us was to share just one kiss – get it out of our systems. It was ridiculous but we were consumed with the thought of it. How would it happen? Where? Who would make the first move?
I met him in an isolated room near his office. Neither of us would make the first move. It was so juvenile, but my heart was racing like he was the first boy I’d ever kissed. I leaned in for a hug and his mouth was on mine, fevered and wet. I was insane with kissing, but it was all wrong. He didn’t taste right, he didn’t kiss right. His hands were all over me. I pushed him away. This was no longer funny. We’d really crossed the line.
I shrugged and laughed. Told him that he needed some practice before we did that again. He joked about teaching him the tricks. I left.
Later that night I called him and offered that lesson. We’d officially crossed from flirting to fucking.
After that first hysterical kiss, Allen and I started meeting in out-of-the-way places on our way to and from work. We also snuck off to tucked away conference rooms and made out like high school sophomores. It was all kissing and rubbing in the beginning. The first time he made me cum, I almost cried at the intensity of it. We had entered a whole new level of pleasure.
From there we advanced to “our” secluded meeting spots where we did anything and everything but sex to get each other off. The desire was breathtaking. Using only his fingers, he would make me cum until my legs shook from the strain of holding them open. I would suck, stroke and rub him until he was fully satisfied.
We set the date for our first time. He picked the hotel. I wore something pretty.
But what of love?
Adultery is a tricky at best. Sinful, prideful, deceitful and wicked at worst.
It is defined as “voluntary sexual intercourse between a married person and a partner other than the lawful spouse.”
The first time I used the word was while studying my Cathechism in fourth grade. I was a good church-going girl then.
The sixth commandment: Thou shall not commit adultery.
What does this mean? We are to fear and love God so that in matters of sex our words and conduct are pure and honorable, and husband and wife love and respect each other.
In the Bible, Second Samuel, verse 11-4, King David committed adultery. He saw the beautiful Bathsheba from his window and decided he must have her. When she conceived a child, he sent Uriah, her husband to battle where he would be killed.
God was not pleased with David’s adultery. And to show his displeasure, he took the life of the son that Bathsheba bore.
Adultery is not an easy matter.
And what of love?
Definition: “A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.”
I chose that definition instead.
Innocence is easily forsaken when you believe in love.
I loved Adam, I never doubted that. But one day, I realized that I felt something more than friendship for Allen. A crush? A fancy? A schoolgirl longing? I was no schoolgirl and he wasn’t the school jock with the winning smile and athletic build. He was a grown man, I was a married woman and this was dangerous territory.
It is defined as “voluntary sexual intercourse between a married person and a partner other than the lawful spouse.”
The first time I used the word was while studying my Cathechism in fourth grade. I was a good church-going girl then.
The sixth commandment: Thou shall not commit adultery.
What does this mean? We are to fear and love God so that in matters of sex our words and conduct are pure and honorable, and husband and wife love and respect each other.
In the Bible, Second Samuel, verse 11-4, King David committed adultery. He saw the beautiful Bathsheba from his window and decided he must have her. When she conceived a child, he sent Uriah, her husband to battle where he would be killed.
God was not pleased with David’s adultery. And to show his displeasure, he took the life of the son that Bathsheba bore.
Adultery is not an easy matter.
And what of love?
Definition: “A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.”
I chose that definition instead.
Innocence is easily forsaken when you believe in love.
I loved Adam, I never doubted that. But one day, I realized that I felt something more than friendship for Allen. A crush? A fancy? A schoolgirl longing? I was no schoolgirl and he wasn’t the school jock with the winning smile and athletic build. He was a grown man, I was a married woman and this was dangerous territory.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
First man
Adam was my perfect opposite. He was somber when I was silly. He is wise when I was frivolous. He was demure when I was outrageous. He was gentle and sweet and I was his whore of Babylon.
We met when we were young, college-aged, drinking our way through adolescence. I thought he was adorable, he thought my eyes were amazing….and I had large tits. He was right on both accounts.
Two months into our romance I knew that Adam was the last man I wanted to date. It took him another two years to come to that same realization. I didn’t say he was flawless!
Semi-large family wedding, held a few months after college graduation. A semi-naked beach honeymoon with the glorious honeymoon sex from dawn to dusk. We both had good jobs waiting for us, and a lifetime of happiness ahead of us.
What more could you ask for?
We met when we were young, college-aged, drinking our way through adolescence. I thought he was adorable, he thought my eyes were amazing….and I had large tits. He was right on both accounts.
Two months into our romance I knew that Adam was the last man I wanted to date. It took him another two years to come to that same realization. I didn’t say he was flawless!
Semi-large family wedding, held a few months after college graduation. A semi-naked beach honeymoon with the glorious honeymoon sex from dawn to dusk. We both had good jobs waiting for us, and a lifetime of happiness ahead of us.
What more could you ask for?
How does it begin?
I met Allen when I was 28, and had been married to Adam for five years. For our fifth wedding anniversary, we’d taken that once-in-a-lifetime trip to Greece and we loved every minute of it. I loved every minute with Adam. That was in December. I met Allen the following March.
He and I were attending the same company meeting. I had never actually met him before. At one time, we had exchanged typical work place pleasantries on e-mail, but that was as far as it had gone…before.
He was not what I would classify as “my type.” He was tall and arrogant. Lanky and cocky. He invaded my personal space far too often. He was funny and slightly charming, but didn’t strike me as someone I could love and who would loose such passion and fury.
We started as friends. He knew my husband’s name, I knew his wife’s name and the names of his four children. We lunched, laughed and had the occasional drink after work.
I didn’t mean for more than that, did I?
He and I were attending the same company meeting. I had never actually met him before. At one time, we had exchanged typical work place pleasantries on e-mail, but that was as far as it had gone…before.
He was not what I would classify as “my type.” He was tall and arrogant. Lanky and cocky. He invaded my personal space far too often. He was funny and slightly charming, but didn’t strike me as someone I could love and who would loose such passion and fury.
We started as friends. He knew my husband’s name, I knew his wife’s name and the names of his four children. We lunched, laughed and had the occasional drink after work.
I didn’t mean for more than that, did I?
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