I'm Having An Affair
I'm the last person in the world anyone would suspect. I'm that cookie baking, motherly type with an air of propriety -- and no one suspects. Everyday I smile. I give sound advice. I do good works.
Once a week a balding, conservatively dressed man strolls in my building. I open the door. We exchange pleasantries. We have s** like animals.
He's married to a very accomplished, highly reserved, quite educated woman. They have two children and live in a beautiful house. They live the American dream.
I live in a tiny apartment with my alcoholic husband. He hasn't attempted to satisfy me sexually in years. My guess is my alcohol content in too low to pique his interest. He acts frisky in public when there is an audience. I play along. I need a place to live.
I met my outwardly vanilla man online to sate my sexual appetite. But the truth is, after five years of "once a weeks", I have grown to love him. I am over the moon for this man. I believe he now loves me, too.
I have no childish illusions. I know he will never leave his wife. It is likely bury my alcoholic husband. He's on the fast track to the cemetery. He has had three heart attacks and four stents. He stubbornly refuses to quit drinking or smoking. It is likely, as much as I love my once-a-weeker, I will move on after I plant my legal spouse. Waiting for my love to leave his wife is unrealistic.
In short I am a cardigan-wearing, husband-borrowing fraud. My heart weeps when I think of ending my relationship with this man. I love him so.