Jennifer was 36, a mother of two small children. She was petite, about 5'3", 120 pounds, with long, straight blonde hair. She had a California attitude and look to her, but she was actually from Colorado. She had a different vibe to her, independent, confident, and adventurous, yet somehow she melancholy and pensive.
In high school, Jennifer was a repressed free spirit, secretly rebelling against her conservative parents' strict, religious upbringing. Her parents trusted her, perhaps too much, and weren't aware of her partying and wandering from the straight and narrow. After graduation, she attended the University of Colorado, but almost flunked out her freshman because of too much excessive partying and not enough studying. Her parents gave her the option of attending community college for a year, and then transferring to Colorado State, or they would cut off all funds. In reality, it was more of an ultimatum.
Jennifer eventually got it figured out, earning a Bachelor's in Finance from CSU. After working for about 6 months, she embarked upon a year-long hiking trip throughout Europe, living off savings and working odd jobs, most often as a bartender.
After her meandering, she returned to the states, and completed an MBA at the University of Texas, where she met the man who would become her husband. He too was working on a Master's in some field of engineering. They met the last few months of their degree programs, got swept up in a whirlwind romance, and married within 6 months.
They both worked various corporate jobs over the next few years, eventually landing in Denver, where they started an engineering firm. They bought a house, made friends, got involved in the community and had two children, a girl, and then a boy.
To everyone - family, friends, those in the community - they were a happy, young couple, perfect for each other. But, insides the walls of their seemingly idyllic home, a different narrative unfolded. Because they had dated and married so quickly, Jennifer didn't really get to fully know her husband, the real man behind the mask he wore. She didn't know the conflicts that existed within him. He was never physically or even emotionally abusive. Yet, over time, he established barriers, preventing any real intimacy. They were husband and wife, parents, business partners, but not lovers. Sex was a mere physical act, devoid of any emotional connection or bonding, or shared vulnerability. Over time, she too built walls to cope and protect herself, struggling to maintain her identify and sense of self-worth, living with a man incapable of opening himself to her, while appearing to everyone else as the ideal husband and father.
Their business grew, allowing her the freedom to stay at home with the kids, and teach online courses at the local community college. After a few years of reaching out to her husband, imploring him to seek counseling to no avail, she decided that she needed to retake control of her life. Their business was such that her husband could work remotely, traveling or returning to the home office when necessary. She researched and applied to several graduate schools offering PhD programs in business. She had decided she wanted to pursue academia as a career.
My situation was less complicated. I was almost 42, and I had been divorced for almost four years. During that time, I had dated, and had a few not so serious relationships, but nothing enduring or remotely permanent. I had currently been dating Laura for about six months. She was a VP for Capital Bank in Richmond, about two hours from DC. It was a convenient and she was important to me, but again, not too serious. I didn't know where it was going. I definitely wasn't moving to Richmond, and any advancement in her career would take her further south to Charlotte, NC. We saw each other about two weekends a month. Though we had never agreed or even discussed exclusively dating one another, it was mostly assumed, although I guess we were free to go out for drinks or dinner if we met someone. For the time being, the relationship was working for both of us.
For the most part, I was in a good place, and I was content with my situation, which offered a great amount of freedom and autonomy. I could come and go as I pleased, and teaching at the university offered me abundant opportunity to travel from late May until early August.
I definitely wasn't looking to have an affair with a married woman, particularly one who was a doctoral student at the university where I taught.
Jennifer was searching for something that had been missing from her life for a number of years. She desperately needed to redefine herself, rediscovering a purpose and meaning, not connected to him. Something beyond dutiful wife and mother. In the two previous years, she had considered having an affair. She had actually even met a few guys for drinks, but never followed through with anything. She was searching for a connection on multiple levels. She craved intimacy ... emotionally, intellectually, and physically.
I met Jennifer in one of her first classes. I had been asked by a colleague to make a presentation on research-based argumentation in an introductory business class to the PhD program. From past experience teaching the class, the instructor of the course had decided that while her students were proficient in research, and organizing and presenting material, they wrote with no clear purpose or rhetorical intention. Their papers lacked passion and commitment. The professor had asked me to lecture during a class early in the semester, which I did, providing them an overview and strategy for their research. I also talked about finding topics about which they were passionate, encouraging them to find a connection to their research, and begin the journey of finding their voice. I then made myself available to them throughout the semester. Again, I was single and had plenty of disposable time. My daughter was in her junior year of high school. She was independent and self-sufficient, involved in everything, wanting to spread her wings and like most teenagers, spend more and more time with her friends. I had the time.
Most graduate students in a PhD program are overwhelmed. In addition to taking courses, they are required to teach a class. They are being challenged both in and out of the classroom. Jennifer had even more responsibilities outside of school with a five year old daughter and three year old son at home, and a husband who was consumed with building his business. Yet, she was one of the few students who took me up on my offer for additional, as-needed assistance.
Initially, we met in my office once or twice a week. I helped her focus her research, and then began providing insight into improving her writing she began submitting drafts to me. We mostly discussed finding and developing her writing voice, one that was consistent with a perspective that was faithful to both her research and her true self. After a few meetings, we connected on more than a professional level. We enjoyed one another's company, and moved our meetings to a local coffee shop, most often after hours. It almost seemed natural and appropriate for her to open up to me about her situation at home, and the effect it had had on her over the years. Yet, she was optimistic that she was emerging from a darkness into a greater awareness of who she was and who she wanted to become, as a professional and as a woman.
The attraction between us was palpable. We were connecting intellectually and emotionally. We like each other, and we liked spending time together. We had engaging and stimulating conversations, and she began to open up to me about her relationship with her husband. It wasn't so much of a problem, but for her, the conflict was real, intense, and ever present. She was developing strong feelings, and a passionate and deep bond with a man who wasn't her husband, who was a professor at the university where she was pursuing her PhD. Despite the spoken and unspoken concerns, we opened our hearts to each other, ignoring prudence and any complications that might arise.
As we continued to meet, we discussed her writing less and less. Our conversations focused on us, and we became quite open, sharing our needs, wants, dreams, and hopes ... our fears and misgivings. She shared her longing for authentic intimacy, and the desire to connect on a much deeper level than she had with her husband. I too communicated an abiding loneliness with which I had always lived, forever searching for one with whom I could be open and honest, pursuing a deeper, more profound sense of affection, closeness, and vulnerability. Eventually, we begin to flirt with one another, nothing too sensual or salacious, but quite purposeful. I guess we were both sending out signals, looking for a response. Nothing was ever said. We never said, "Let's have an affair." However, both of our intentions were clear and understood. However, she did want to proceed slowly and obviously discretely, which I too favored.
One night, after actually discussing a problem she was having with her research, we ordered a final refill of coffee. As we sat across from one another, I slid my hands across the table, resting them on hers. I squeezed them gently. She looked up, and we stared intently into one another's eyes. We decided it was time to move forward, and we arranged to meet at my townhouse two days later.
It was about 8 when she finally arrived. We were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. She wore a light sweater. She had brought a bottle of wine. I uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, and we kicked off our shoes, and sat on the couch, our feet resting on a large ottoman. We drank and talked for a while. Even though she was nervous, the connection which we knew was strong seemed even more substantial being alone together for the first time.
After a few pleasantries and initial chit chat, the uncomfortableness began to subside. Our conversation drifted toward the possibility of our fantasy becoming reality. As we continued to open ourselves to each other ... our desires and longings, our apprehensions diminished. I slid closer to her, placing my hand on her thigh. She seemed happy and relieved that I had made the gesture. After talking a bit longer, and then after a prolonged moment of silence, I asked if I could kiss her, and she said, "Yes."
I leaned over, and we kissed deeply and passionately. It was the summer, so we were both wearing jeans and t-shirts. We were immediately consumed in the moment, almost instantly becoming intoxicated with one another's presence ... the touch of our lips, the embrace, the wandering hands ... the insane reality that we were actually venturing down this path ... together.
