Tag Archives: guilt

Is it just me?

Sometimes I wonder why I cheat. How did it start? Why do I do it? Do I have a sex-addiction? Or am I just addicted to the adrenalin of the forbidden? And then there’s the guilt. Or rather the complete lack of guilt. Why do I not feel any sense of remorse or regret for what I do? Am I lacking a sense of morality? Am I some kind of sociopath? Am I the only one? Is it just me?

I’ve read a number of articles about adultery and serial adultery. My first observation is that most are written about men. The underlying assumption is always – ‘men just can’t help themselves, it’s in their DNA, oh, and their poor wives who are left holding the baby ‘. Take the recent stories about Tiger Woods, Sandra Bullock’s husband etc, etc. So is it just men doing this? Is there some innate higher morality that women internalise as children, which means they would never do such a thing? Or are women just better at hiding their adultery? For every man having an affair, there is another woman (or many, if he is like me).

The only place I have found any voice for adulterous women is in the blog sphere. It provides both comfort and relief to know that there are others, that I am not the only one. I wonder how many of the women sitting on the tube, or waiting in line at the supermarket are thinking about their younger lover, the night they will spend in a hotel with another married man, the web of lies they will need to weave to escape their husbands or boyfriends tomorrow night…

If my affair track record is anything to go by, then the husbands you would least suspect of having an affair are probably having an affair. I wonder if the same is true of women?

I’d love to know what your experiences are, do let me know.

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Sunday morning day dreaming

The husband lies asleep. It is Sunday morning. I’ve been awake for a while, toying with the idea of going for a run. But instead, I would rather be lying in the arms of my older lover, like that Sunday morning when we woke together after he spent the night. It has only happened once, his family had gone to the country, he had to work.

I had been out the night before with other friends, getting back around midnight, a few too many gin and tonics in me. Then the text message arrived:

“What are you doing? Can I see you?”

My heart skipped a beat. Totally unexpected. Meeting him always requires such meticulous planning – lies, excuses, working late… But here he was texting me for a spontaneous call. I replied:

“At home. Stop by.”

Even as I replied I had no idea he was free to spend the night. Half an hour later I heard his scooter pull up outside and a gentle knock on the door. It was summer and I was wearing my 50’s inspired Cath Kidston dress, hair up, red lipstick. He stood there, smiling at me. When he smiles, his eyes sparkle mischievously. I let him in and poured him a glass of wine. We sat in the garden, sipping a cool white and talking, listening to the sounds of the crickets and neighbouring houses. Then we kissed. It was like being two teenagers again – slightly awkward, yet passionate, perched on the garden bench.

I got up and took his hand, moving indoors, out of sight. We stood in the dark hallway, kissing and feeling each other’s bodies through our clothes. He told me his family were away for the weekend. That he could stay the night. I looked at him, unsure of how to assess this new terrain. Instead of talking, I took him up to the bedroom. He unzipped my dress and dropped his trousers as I undid his shirt buttons. Nighttime stillness. When we are together, it is always still. No music, no background noise, just us, breathing, touching, being.

We lay on the bed, discovering each other’s bodies as if from scratch. No rush. Just darkness. His head found my sex and he brought me to a slow, all-enveloping orgasm with his tongue. I sank into the depths of that red abyss. Gladly, happily. He felt ready to enter me. He was quite timid about penetrating me back then. Perhaps middle-aged fears of virility, I’m not sure. But when he did my whole being succumbed to him. I could feel his smooth hardness with each movement we made together. A gentle rocking at first, then increasing in speed and depth until he came to a long sigh. We lay there, arm in arm until he fell asleep. I was awake on my own, my mind racing at the thoughts of this man next to me in my bed. Until then our meetings had always been fleeting – early mornings before work, dinners, but always a curfew. Lying next to him was calming. I listened to his slow breathing. I craved him, his presence, his sleep.

Waking the next morning I felt disorientated, not sure how to behave with this new man in my bed. He was up first (alas, one of those ‘morning people’), whereas I was still full of sleep and slightly hung over. I could tell he felt different too – like he’d crossed a line. I was his first affair after 15 years of marriage. He was itching to get back home, to his duties as husband and father, to the world that he knew. He brought me a cup of coffee and I watched him dress. There was another awkward moment as we kissed goodbye and then he was gone and I returned to bed with an aspirin.

Had I known that would be the last time we would have the chance to spend a whole night together, I would have stayed awake all night, just to be with him, be conscious of him, listen to him breathe, watch him sleep. Perhaps one day we will find another little loophole in our over-committed lives. I hope so.

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The most appropriate wedding gift

One of my flings is getting married soon (the tall one). It’s a small wedding and so we are not invited, but I was thinking I’d still like to give him a wedding present. But what to give? A set of knives? Six champagne flutes? A voucher? No, I want to give him something unique, something different, not usually found on your typical wedding list. And then it hit me. A fuck.

I was chatting with him online, (our usual cybersex chat) and decided to bring up the topic of wedding presents. He’s been incredibly keen to meet up for a long time. Living in different countries has made that a little tricky and so it has been over a year since we last saw each other in person. He got engaged shortly after we last fucked. And so I was curious to see what his views on the topic of marriage and infidelity were (given he had no qualms sleeping with me). Turns out he has a refreshingly open mind about the subject.

So, when I suggested a night in a hotel together either before or after their wedding, he jumped at it. Ok, so it isn’t really a present his new wife gets to enjoy, but I then I don’t really know her. Any present I would give him would be one more suited to his tastes anyway. In perhaps a slightly perverse way I would rather ‘give’ him his wedding present after they get married. Just to see if he is all talk, or whether in fact, he would quite happily break his vows within weeks of making them.

So here’s a question for you, how long did you remain faithful after taking your vows? I know my answer. Not sure I’m quite ready to share that one yet….

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In the beginning… the first lover

Writing this blog has made me think about how it all started. Granted, I’ve never been very good at monogamy, but I tried in my twenties to be ‘good’. I may have been relatively successful, but I was pretty damn miserable.

It seemed so innocent at the time – a flirtatious IM chat here, a prolonged telephone call there. The man who was to become my first lover and who changed the way I live my life was a colleague, working in the Paris office. We had never met in person, though had worked closely for over a year. He was American, married to a French woman. The only visual reference I had of him was his security badge photo on the company intranet. He looked… well, American. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute in a preppy sort of way. And he was funny, a wry sense of humour and sexy voice to match.
One summer’s afternoon I was alone in the office. We were chatting on IM about work, then the conversation changed and suddenly we were talking about our private lives, sexual preferences, desires, fantasies. Once that line has been crossed, you know it is the point of no return. At some stage the mental foreplay will get the better of you and you will want to make it a reality. And so we did. Six months of foreplay (so to speak) later, we finally met in person.

It was in London. He was there on business with his new company. I met him at a pub near Baker Street. He was buying a round of drinks for his new team when I arrived. Despite our ‘virtual’ sex life, we had no reason to hide from others and so he introduced me, quite truthfully as a former colleague whom he was finally getting to meet in the flesh (so to speak). Most of the evening was spent as a group and when his team had finally left I took him to Winter Garden bar in the Landmark hotel for a whiskey. It was quite late, the piano jazz tinkered in the background and we were finally alone. I chose the whiskeys.

Hotel bars are always a good place for lovers to meet. Not only can you blend into the anonymity of the other guests, the knowledge of the bedrooms above adds to the anticipation of what is to follow. The bedrooms beckon. We drank our whiskeys and talked, keeping eye contact, both of us remembering the numerous IM and telephone conversations of the past months. I already knew so much about him and felt as if I had already strayed. He reached over and took my whiskey glass, setting it on the coffee table in front of us. Then drew my head towards his and we kissed for the first time. The din of the hotel bar dissipated as I closed my eyes and let his tongue explore my lips and mouth. I felt we were alone in this huge atrium, darkness all around, silence. We sat there for a long time, touching and teasing one another until I felt dizzy with expectation.

We left the bar and emerged onto the busy road outside, suddenly the spell of the atrium was broken and we walked to find a taxi for him. I was already thinking about which tube to take home. As we walked, he asked me to come back with him to his hotel room. It is funny looking back on it now. Until that moment, I had genuinely not expected to sleep with him. I was still clutching onto my belief that I was a ‘good’ girl. Cybersex, fantasizing about him, kissing, stroking was all fine, I had not crossed that line. But the actual act of sleeping with him, fucking him, well that was different. Standing there on the corner of Marylebone Road and Lisson Grove with cars speeding by and the starry night above, I made a decision that has changed me in ways I could barely begin to imagine. I looked at him and he pleaded with me. The little battle in my head raged and suddenly I just said:

“Fuck it, let’s go.”

We hailed a passing cab and drove to his hotel in Knightsbridge. My nerves kicked in as we weaved our way south, down the Edgware Road and through Hyde Park. What would he make of me? Would I disappoint him? I tried to remember all the things he’d told me about his sexual preferences on our IM chats. When we finally arrived, we went straight up to his room. It was dark, the only light was the orange glow from the street lamps outside. He opened the window to let out some of the stifling hotel air. We stood there for a long time, just kissing and trying to find a hold on the other person, our imaginations finally merging with reality. He removed his glasses and I began to unbutton his shirt as he fumbled with my belt buckle. We stripped slowly, enjoying every layer. It was so quiet. Hotel rooms often are, the carpets and heavy wallpapers muffling any sounds. I could just hear the distant hum of an air vent outside.

He pushed me onto the bed and climbed on top. I could feel his cock erect brushing dangerously close to my sex. The rush of nervous excitement washed over me and I felt almost exhausted before we had even begun. I let him touch my body, my face, my neck, my arms, breasts, stomach and thighs. His body was lean and long. I liked it. We were about the same height and so our limbs intertwined in a natural way. Our six months of build up had left both of us ravenous and we devoured one another, tasting and soaking up the scents as we went. He was circumcised. It was the firs time I had seen a circumcised cock before and how beautiful it was. I took it in my mouth and explored its full length and girth with my tongue. When I could not wait anymore, he thrust it into me. I was so wet with desire for him. It felt like time had been suspended, I was so aware of every inch of him inside me, could feel the shaft and ridge of his penis moving in and out, its delicate softness, yet at the same time its hard-core. We fucked for what seemed like an eternity. The novelty of feeling this alien, yet familiar body inside mine gave me an excruciating pleasure. He came inside me and brought me to orgasm with his beautiful long fingers. We lay there in the stillness breathing deeply, the cool September air sending a chill over our sweaty bodies and finally fell asleep.

I remember waking up to the sound of the birds singing and the orange glow had been replaced by the grey blue light of a London dawn. He slept deeply. I got dressed and left. Exiting the hotel I had no idea where I actually was. So I walked and walked along empty streets. To this day, I am still not sure which hotel it was. The dawn brought with it a freshness I so desired. My head was clear, I smiled to myself as I sat in a cafe and sipped a strong black coffee. My life was about to change forever.

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The rules of engagement

These are some of the rules I have learned to follow when it comes to adultery:

  1. Married men have the same to lose, so they tend to make better long-term lovers.
  2. Sensual stimulation is important, so dress and smell the part.  A lover should represent the things they don’t get at home.
  3. Never ask for anything. Pressure puts strain on an affair.
  4. It is helpful to have separate ‘activities’ to your spouse, such as evening classes, friends, work. It will help with your cover stories.
  5. Get good at compartmentalising. See your affairs as completely separate to your marriage.
  6. Don’t feel guilty. If you do, then you’re not cut out for it.

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