Have you ever had a tryst in your lover’s house? Make love in the bed s/he shares with his/her spouse? How did you feel about it?
B.’s wife and their two youngest kids went off to the Twin Cities to visit relatives. She missed the flight out of Milwaukee and B. was furious at her for taking the kids out of school and then not getting to the airport in time. The three waited in the MKE airport for hours until the next flight.
B. and I, on the other hand, enjoyed dinner in town.
I say “enjoyed” loosely. His pent-up anger at his wife simmered throughout our date, clearly pissed at what was apparently yet another failing in their marriage. He chilled briefly when his family was finally in the air only to get miffed again when they somehow went missing upon landing. AWOL in St. Paul.
B. spent the better part of the evening on the phone with his sister-in-law trying to determine when the wife and kids would show at her place. Eventually, he either stopped caring or just left the entire mess with the sister-in-law. Dinner was tense, uncomfortable. I listened and commiserated as best I could, but only a stroll around town on this unseasonably warm spring night finally relaxed him.
The street lights seemed dim in comparison to the full moon, heavy and high in the sky. We spoke a lot about the moonlight as we dipped in and out of several shops. The newsstand he favored was bustling, and it was there that he suggested we go back to his place. With the cat and the mice away, the big dog decided he would play…with me.
I’d never visited, nor had an assignation in, his home before (hey, even I have scruples). The floorboards creaked as we walked through the pretty Victorian-era house. High ceilings. Pocket doors. Ornate molding. Nicely decorated. And, sadly, a complete mess.
I tried hard to keep a downward gaze, not wanting to glean more than I already knew about the wife. B. kept my eyes on the prize as we wound our way up the spiral staircase until we reached his top-floor master suite, surprisingly and atypically modern. They’d put this addition on many years earlier when life was good. Now, it was a cluttered space overrun with house plants. One of the wife’s rag-doll cats looked at us drolly as we stripped naked.
B. started running the hot water in the shower and I stepped inside to find two shower heads. I always wanted a two-person shower, I told him jealously. “We haven’t used it in forever” was the sad reply. We soaped and rinsed each other with a tender, familiar sensuality. Good, clean fun. On toweling off I noticed the vanity mirror directly opposite the platform bed and a skylight invited the full moon in. I said I loved the room’s ambience. “I designed it for lovemaking and fucking,” B. answered. “Haven’t done either in here for a long while.”
And in this perfect aerie, our lovemaking shielded from the neighbors by a large tree, our bodies joined as one under the light of the moon. B.’s eyes welled up with tears.
In the afterglow he begged me to stay the night. I didn’t want to see the house in daylight, didn’t want to take inventory of what his wife wore, ate, read, bought. I wished to keep the magic of the night, so I kissed B. goodbye and let the moon light the path to my car and the 30 miles to my house, back to my own troubled marriage.
At 3 a.m. I texted B. that I’d made it home safely.
Later that morning, he emailed:
“You you and YOU made a potential night of being in the dumps a night with true joy. Thank you. I kept telling you that I understood your hesitancy [Ed note: at staying overnight], and please know that I did and do. You may have missed some morning sunrise fun, but it was a cloudy early a.m. so it would have been special but not as special as the light of the sun streaming in over our bodies. Please give me a call when the chance allows. I long to hear your voice.”
Three months later, B. moved out of the house permanently. Their separation, and the road to their eventual divorce, had begun. The house sold in June 2013.
A former mistress (26 years, on-and-off) describes the good, the bad, and the ugly of her long-term affair. Conclusion: Affairs aren't necessarily destructive if kept in the correct perspective. Our experience enhanced BOTH our marriages.
That is, until his marriage ended and we began to love each other. When the affair morphed into a relationship, well, that's when it stopped being fun for me. We have now irrevocably split.
Lately I've been writing about the man who took his place in the "off" years of that 26-year-long affair. He was a dynamic sexual partner but we, too, now have irrevocably split.
These are our stories.