The Road to Nowhere in Adultery

The Space Growing Between my Lover and I

Photo by Marco Trinidad from Pexels

“What are you wearing?” my lover asked.

He was trying to visualize me since we were far apart. I was on vacation, and he was back home.

“Could I reach up your skirt easily? Touch you?” he said.
“Um, yeah, if you were closer,” I noted dryly.

What is with men and the obsession with a lack of undies?

“I’m not wearing any underwear!” I said to provoke him. I knew he would love it. To prove my point, I slipped my utilitarian beige cotton string bikini’s down my legs.

“Take a picture!” he begged.

“I’m not taking a picture! My pussy always looks like a plucked chicken in pics. It’s gross.”
“It’s not gross. It’s beautiful. I want you so much. You have no idea,” he wrote.

I compromised and took a shot of my used undies.

“Be happy,” I texted.
“If I could smell them.”

“You are a freakish man, you know that?” I said, secretly pleased that he loved my scent. I don’t think my husband has once in over 20 years, complimented my scent.

“You reek. Did you take a shower?” my spouse would ask. “Why do you smell so bad?”

I shower regularly and use the usual drugstore products for perspiration. I don’t have a condition. I wear perfume. I wash my clothes. It was him, of course. My husband has a definite aversion to perfume and his wife.

My lover, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of my scent, my body.

“All I can think of is getting my hands on you,” he texted.
“Well, that is impossible, of course.”
“Don’t remind me. I want you more than ever.”

Hmmm. How do I answer? Winky emoji?

“I do, too,” I responded.

But I didn’t.

Not the way he wanted me.

We’ve been together on and off for over three years. Every time I thought we were over, I couldn’t follow through.

“We’re done. I can’t pretend. I was clear upfront. No feels,” I said.
“I know. I know. I won’t ask for more.”

I couldn’t bear to lose his “Good morning, baby” texts or “Have a good night, baby” messages. No man had ever done that for me.

And what happened? He asked for more.

“I just want you to be happy.”

Who would have thought that a man wants me to be happy?

“We have something special, baby.”

We do? I wanted to say. It’s just an affair, like so many before. It’s nothing unique. You love the sex and the thrills as much as I do. Even the guilt of doing something wrong turns you on a bit. It will end, they all do.

I didn’t say it, of course.

“We do have something special, sweetie,” I texted, not believing a word of it.

I don’t know what is special anymore.

“What I will do to do when you get back...” he teased.
“Anything you want.”
“Oh, my god, don’t say that. You are making me crazy.”
“So, be crazy. We are entitled. We’re having an affair. Where else can you let loose?” I wrote.
“It’s true. Nowhere else.”
“There you go. Let’s make the most of this.”

“I want to stumble through life with you,” he said.

Ah, dreams. Not going to happen. Do I burst his bubble? I can’t bear to. Why am I not the starry-eyed one? Why does he want me so much? We were parallel lines, never crossing, like the two sides of a highway.

“We can stumble through bed!” I joked.

I knew he was disappointed.

“Maybe, not stumble exactly. You know what you are doing,” I added. I tried to ease back into sex — a safer terrain. A little flattery never hurt. Distraction was front and center.

“You know how much I love being with you,” he wrote.
“Let’s text tomorrow. I’m tired,” I wrote, trying to wrap up the conversation.
“Ok, honey. Good night, baby. I love you.”

I never said the “I love you’s” back. I won’t lie to him like I lied to everyone else. He knew me too well — two decades.

“I know you can’t say it,” he texted.

I couldn’t say it. I wouldn’t. It was an invisible line. I didn’t have guilt over cheating, but I was clear-headed enough to see space only growing between us. Eventually, we wouldn’t be able to bridge the gap.

Closing the distance between reality and an affair was impossible.

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Middle-aged adulteress navigating dead bedrooms and affairs without fear. Adultery 101. Editor of The Scarlett Letter and P.S. I Hate You.

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