When I first started down the road of enjoying other men's wives, I assumed I was being used, willingly of course, for their fulfillment, be it sexual or, as I would discover, political. Reflecting back upon the past two decades I realize it was I who was using them. Many of the women I encountered over the years were seeking something, some unfulfilled desires, a fantasy, or something more calculated like political access or favors they assumed I could provide in exchange for their openness. What was I getting? Why was I so willing to sleep with married women, particularly after I married? A few moments of satisfaction? Fulfillment of a fantasy?
The addiction was something more than the sex. Having sex with single women or prostitutes would also have provided satisfaction and the realization of particular fantasies. But I didn't seek them out. Why married women?
I never bothered asking these questions until now. For twenty years I slept-walked my way through a series of adulterous affairs. In fact, sleepwalking seems to be apropos; it was active, but not emotionally connected, not really conscious of what I was doing. Yes, there were many women who sought out escape from meaningless marriages, but few wanted complications. In most cases, there was no tomorrow. It was about fulfilling something in the present. With some women I did have on going affairs, but the affairs were just that, affairs. They ended, we moved on; no emotional complications (at least as long as their husbands didn't find out, which wasn't always the case).
While some women sought out a sympathetic ear, and body, which I easily provided, none of them sought love. That's what turned me on. There were no games being played. Just two people using each other.
* * *
Anybody with any sense of the U.S. political system knows that DC is a city of whores. What was a delight to discover is that the whores were not just in the capitol building or the White House, but in the many foreign consulates as well. Once one had an entry into the social circuit of endless dinner parties catering to the stream of visiting dignitaries from around the world, one had limitless access to an international smorgasbord of sexual delights.
One needed more than just access though; one needed status. In Washington, so I discovered, one just didn't sleep with someone because they were attractive or available; each encounter was a calculated undertaking.
In DC, I was a nobody, or so I assumed; just one of many analysts writing a stream of reports and policy position papers that were circulated and rarely read. The organization I worked for focused on international issues, publishing regular reports on political and human rights developments in different countries. Thus, while I was a nobody, the organization I worked for was an important player defining the reputation of different countries to U.S. foreign policy makers.
When I first started to meet married women from the expatriate community, I was utterly ignorant of the social capital that I carried. My night with a female staff member of the embassy of an Asian country, I assumed, was initiated by our mutual sexual desires. It was only afterwards that I learned otherwise.
It was not unusual for various staff members of our organization to receive invitations to embassy dinner parties. At one such party, I was standing at the buffet table deciding which of the many exotic looking appetizers I should sample when an extremely attractive Asian woman approached me and suggested I try a particular dish.
"Do I dare ask what it is?"
"What, don't trust me?" she replied.
That left me with little option but to sample it. It was a meat-filled dumpling, spicy and the meat was quite tender, shredded beef, I assumed.
"Very nice."
"Have you ever tried dog meat?" She asked, smiling innocently.
I just laughed, knowing she was playing with me.
"Not yet. At least, I assume."
"No, probably not. Just wanted to test you. It's actually rat meet. There are a lot of those in this city."
I nearly chocked on the dumpling laughing at her political commentary.
"Yeah, and probably quite a few of them should be hog-tied and roasted. Though I doubt they would taste this good. Would require a lot of spicing."
Now she was laughing.
"No comment. Don't want to start a diplomatic row between our countries. As for the dumpling it's beef, marinated for about a week.
I expected her to speak with a thick accent, but her pronunciation was perfect, she didn't even get her "r"s and "l"s confused.
"Did I pass the test?"
"Oh, still more testing to take place!"
"More? It's going to be a long night."
"Let's hope so." She said, giving me a very sly smile then walking off.
Did she just suggest what I think she suggested? I turned to watch her walk away, and oh what a delight the view offered. She was tall and very slender, wearing a long black, tight fighting dress with an equally tight long-sleeved blouse, buttoned to her neck. She had very long, straight, shiny black hair, reaching down to her hips. Her ass looked perfect; so round, so tight.
"Wow! Who has that?" One of my colleagues came up to me, drawing me out of my voyeuristic stupor.
"I wish I knew. She didn't even give me an opportunity to introduce myself."
"Guess that gives me the right to move in," he declared, flashing a big shit-eating grin.
"Good luck," I offered as he slipped away, chasing her down. Within a few minutes I noticed him chatting with another group of people. Obviously she shut him down quickly.
I selected a few samples from the buffet and mingled with the crowd, eventually finding myself stuck chatting with an Asian man working on his Ph.D. in international finance while apparently his wife was working for the embassy. Bored out of my wits, but feeling somewhat trapped at that point I kept glancing around for my nameless lady friend; she appeared and disappeared working the crowd.
