, ,

My first Ashley Madison meeting.

I thought about this blog all night. There is so much I want to write. About why I got started cheating, about what it’s like for me, about near misses, about hearing the “L” word, (no, not Lesbian, but Love), about some of the steamy details. I hope someone is listening.

It was moments after making my Ashley Madison profile that I got a message that clicked with me. I had no idea they would come so fast. So many. Some were so awkward, many were so desperate, most seemed like they had made one email to send everyone. (more about the messages men send some other time.)

This person read me so well. He was tall, he was sweet, but with enough of an attitude to make him dangerous. I turned off my profile and went to email. We wrote. I wouldn’t show him my face, but showed him some body parts. I loved turning him on, I loved feeling wanted, I loved teasing him.  And I know it all means I”m pretty fucked up.  Desperate. Attention Whore. I call myself that to make me laugh it off.

Every morning for two weeks there was an email waiting for me. Every night he wrote me a message good night. He asked me questions my husband did not. He was more in tune. We flirted, we talked about sex in between and with more details over the days to come.

But why was he cheating? I wanted to know about his wife but I was afraid to find out.  I could tell he had done this more than he admitted to. Was he a jerk at home? Instead of asking I pretended she didn’t exist. Or I pretended she was gorgeous but he wanted me more. These are the casualties we don’t think about.

We finally arranged to meet. I was so nervous I didn’t sleep the night before at all. I was so guilty I was extra ‘nice’ to my husband. I felt sick inside and thought about canceling but couldn’t.  I felt guilty in the shower cleaning my body. I felt guilty wearing something with a touch of cleavage showing.

Our first meeting would be short. I cushioned in fifteen minutes to say hello before a therapy appointment. I did this on purpose. I did not want to be trapped for a long time. I wanted to be able to cleanse myself in therapy after. (even though I don’t even mention this to my therapist.)

His car pulled up alongside mine in an empty parking lot. His smile was shining. We hardly spoke a word but kissed. He felt nervous but excited. Like I was what he was waiting for all week.  All of this in an empty parking space in my mini van with McDonald’s toys on the floor. I was not going to have sex, I told myself, just a kiss, but the kiss sparked something more. I moved his hand onto my breast. Soon he had exposed one breast and I was kissing his neck as he licked my breast. I made noises I didn’t want to make. It was the first of many touches over the years.

Yep, these were the first male hands on me in so many years besides my husband. I felt 15 again. I wanted him to go home thrilled. I fear failing him somehow. I wanted to please him, so soon, we moved to the back bench of the minivan. No, we did not fuck. I did give him oral. Fast and furious.


There was no way he couldn’t have enjoyed it. I was giving him everything I had. I was acting in a way where I didn’t care if it was my first date.  I know he was shocked. I know he acted in a way that was more agressive than he thought he would, but I also know he respected me. It felt good to have him in my mouth mostly because he was different, and so excited by every move I made. I was fresh again.

I wrote him later that day and said I could never see him again. A week later, I wrote him back and said I missed him and we did meet again. Yes, it was like that.