"I am a deceitful, cheating wife. I think we should separate. I can no longer trust myself, so there's no reason for you to either. God, I'm a horrible person."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, honey. What the hell are you talking about? Sit down and let's discuss this before we take such drastic measures. What do you mean, you're a cheating wife?"
"I mean ... I engineered a rendezvous with a man I met online. I met him this past weekend."
The look on my husband's face hurts me more than a hundred knives stabbed into my heart ever could.
"Shit. Oh God, I'm going to be sick. So you fucked him?"
"Uh ... er ... no."
"No? What do you mean, no? You just told me that you cheated on me. What happened then? Did he touch you? Kiss you? What?"
"Um ... no and no. I ... it's ... complicated."
Somewhat relieved, my husband states, "Well, if you didn't fuck him, didn't touch him and didn't kiss him, I don't see how you can say that you were unfaithful."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I'm beginning to believe that infidelity is not as cut and dry as it used to be. Let me tell you about my experience, and ... well ... you just may decide to change your opinion."
As I type out the remainder of my taunting email, I think back on the series of events that led me here. What started out 3 years ago as a "hot computer chat," quickly developed into something much more complicated ... much more intense. Over the course of time, I told him my fantasies. I emailed him erotic photos of myself in various stages of undress. I wrote stories for and about him, sent him pornographic video clips, performed for him in the video chat room called NetMeeting, and even agreed to let him call me for phone sex. He patiently and subtlely used every tidbit of information I provided for him to help build his alter ego, my ultimate fantasy man, wreaking all sorts of havoc in my once stable and secure marriage. He pushed all of my buttons, and even discovered a few that I didn't know existed. He tapped into my desire to explore the darker side of sex ... the scary side ... bondage and domination and submission ... manipulating me out of my comfort zone and into this strange, exciting world. Never once did he reciprocate or offer me anything other than an orgasm in exchange. Foolish and naïve, I allowed myself to be taken in ... and swallowed whole.
Sometimes, it didn't phase me. I could take him or leave him. Other times, I wanted nothing more than for him to be real ... to experience all that he promised. It was during those times that I found it necessary to write emails such as the one I've just finished. The restlessness ... the confusion ... all seemed to dissipate after putting my thoughts down on paper. Only then was I able to make sense out of my emotions and resolve them, allowing my content return to a very wonderful, loving and pleasant reality.
Frighteningly aware of how people can get wrapped up in lust ... allow it to control them ... put it above everything else, I was determined not to let it happen to me. Although I had gotten in deeper than I had wished to with "Don," I wasn't about to let it destroy my life.
"I will be attending a 4-day conference at the Vail Marriott in Vail, Colorado
October 8 - 11th. Are you man enough to join me? I double dog dare you."
Of course, I've never sent, nor will ever send, any of them. I just write them down, get them out of my system, and then delete them, just as I will this one. Although, it is exciting to wonder what really would happen if such an encounter should ever come to pass. Ah, just the thoughts that my fantasies stem from, and precisely where they should remain. Smiling one last time, I place my cursor over the delete button and click my troubled emotions away.
"YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT."
Oh my God! ... NOOOOOOOOO! What the hell just happened? I know I hit the delete button! I had to have hit the delete button! Fuck! I don't even have an "unsend" option associated with this email account. What am I going to do? I'll just have to cancel going to the conference, that's all. Like I can really do that. It's already been prepaid. I'll get fired if I don't go. Plus, Gillian is really looking forward to going, and I promised to share the expense of the hotel room with her. Man, am I in a pickle now.
Ok ... ok ... No need to panic. He'll probably just laugh and forget about the email, not about to be baited into an extramarital affair. He really has no other option but to ignore the teaser, both of us discussing at the onset of our relationship that neither one would ever be unfaithful to our perspective spouses. Of course, I could always send a disclaimer email, admitting to a temporary lapse in judgment. Yeah, that will make me feel much better.
"Please disregard my last email. It is part of a story that I'm writing, and it was never supposed to be sent. Xxxooo"
"YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT"
Oh, thank goodness. With over a month left to go before the conference, I wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink worrying about his reaction to that first email.
You read the email again and again, then finally smile when you do decide how you'll eat your cake and have it to. The second message only serves to make you laugh.
The lounge is unusually crowded for a hotel bar with great dance music playing in the background, a silent football game on the big screen TV and a busy pool table in the far corner. Gillian raises her Corona to clink against my glass of wine, toasting to the end of day one of the conference. And it is only 4pm. So much time left to party. Most of the attendees from the conference have gathered around the bar, virtually taking over the entire lounge. It's noisy ... it's festive and I'm feeling incredibly carefree, temporarily removed from my day-to-day responsibilities.
After 3 glasses of wine and a huge ass-kicking in pool, Gillian and I return to the bar to catch up on the latest gossip. Her attention keeps darting to a lone, male figure sitting down at one of the corner tables.
"Shannon, I think that guy is staring at us. He's giving me the creeps."
I look in the direction of her gaze and spot you immediately, and yes, you are staring at us. At me. And very intensely. I become noticeably nervous which in turn, puts Gillian ill at ease.
"What's wrong, Shannon? Do you know that guy?"
I tell her about my email mishap and my suspicion that you may have taken me up on my dare.
"Shit, Shannon. Are you insane? You don't know anything about him. He could be a psychopathic killer!"
"I know ... I know. It was an accident. What am I going to do?"
We both look back over to you, watching as you crook your finger, signaling for me to come forward. Still unsure and in denial, I point at myself and mouth the word, "me?" You nod.
"Gillian, I'm going to have to go talk to him. Don't let me leave here alone with him."
"Don't worry, Sista. I'll protect you."
I smile at her false bravado, both of us knowing that I have most likely gotten myself in way over both of our heads. Hesitantly, I slip off the barstool and head for your table. With each step, the air gets thicker, and my ability to breathe becomes more hampered. Your eyes never leave mine as you watch me make my slow progress. Halfway to the table, I consider bolting to my room, but I can't. I inadvertently asked you to come ... dared you to come, and your eyes won't let me run. They have me rooted to the spot.
Impatient, you get up from the table and meet me, taking a firm grasp of my left wrist, and lead me to the dance floor. It's a tiny section of the lounge, and just as well that no other couple is currently dancing. You press up close to me and pull my arms straight down and against my sides, holding me now by both wrists, and begin to sway to the music.
"Don?" I gasp out in a whisper.
You say nothing and continue to dance. I silently whimper as I feel your body heat begin to penetrate my clothing as your aroused breathing is exhaled into my hair. What have I gotten myself into? Can I resist it now that it has become a reality? Will I survive it if I don't?
"Don? Say something ... please."
Again, just silence and swaying. I feel my body instantly respond to you, coming alive and rapidly moistening. Oh God, you could fuck me right there, on the dance floor, and I wouldn't care. But instead, the song ends and you pull away, placing something in my hand before you leave the lounge.
Alone on the dance floor, I look down to see that you've given me a piece of paper wrapped around your room key. On the paper are two things, your room number and a time, 11pm. Shit. I look up and start walking back over to the bar and to Gillian, quickly hiding the note and room key in my rear pants' pocket.
I sit back down, all discombobulated, and Gillian waits expectantly for the scoop.
"I'm not sure it's him, Gillian. I think he is just some weirdo who wanted to dance. I'm probably letting my imagination run away from me."
Ashamed by my blatant lie, I pick up my glass and chug the contents away. I can't let her become involved. It's too dangerous, and she is just an innocent bystander. She seems okay with my feeble explanation, so we continue on with our partying and, somewhat distracted conversation until well after 11pm.
After helping my intoxicated girlfriend into bed, I breathe a huge sigh of relief as she immediately passes out into a deep slumber. Then I look at my watch. Shit. 11:45pm. Dare I go? I have to go.
"You're late." Your voice utters from somewhere in the darkness.
"I know, I'm sorry. I had to wait for Gillian to fall asleep. She never would have let me come."
"Well, please enter and have a seat on the bed."
I walk into a very dark room, with only the bed visible in the pale red light. I can just barely make out your silhouette sitting over by the table, shrouded in darkness.
"Why are you hiding yourself? We've already met."
"Do you see the blindfold on the bed? Put it on."
"Don, I'm not sure about this. You're kind of scaring me."
"Good. Put it on or leave."
