Extramarital sex still requires for most of us 'normal' people silence and deception. In an interesting shift, in our more liberated societies such 'dishonesty' is now more strongly condemned than actually fucking somebody else. While it is a paradox, it is in porn that this 'moral' imperative of being truthful about our deviant behaviour is most strongly endorsed. 'Swinging', 'Swapping', husbands watching and filming their wives being 'blackened' or fucked by friends and 'strippers' is shown to be, whilst naughty and by the majority disapproved, declared acceptable for as long as it is mutually agreed on by the participants and nobody cheats and is deceived.
The reality is, however, that truth can hurt and that truth becomes so often a means to hurt and destroy relationships. In and through sex with others too much is often revealed. I, for one, am certain that many-more relationships are destroyed by truth than are maintained by silence and even lies.
I, therefore, neither regret nor apologise for having left my wife, during the twenty years of our marriage in the dark about my extramarital experiences. Even when it was clear that we would break up and we no longer shared bed and table, I maintained silence. In my everyday behaviour I hid from her the arrangements I had to make. Neither the sexual affinity between us nor our affairs were the reason that our marriage failed. It was personality clashes that drove Birgit and me more and more apart. It made, however, the extramarital relations in which I found myself liked and wanted and appreciated understandably much more attractive than otherwise would have been the case.
Birgit chose to behave differently. While she 'cheated' she chose not to 'deceive'. As all moralists do, truth became, I believed then, her choice of weapon to inflict wounds.
Birgit was a beautiful, sensuous, sexually alive woman that did not keep her physical allure and sex-appeal under a bushel. While she was too much a conformist to be openly promiscuous, she liked men and flirtatiously responded when she sensed their desire. It amused me, for instance, that with older men she liked to combine her freely displayed physical attractions with the sweet manners of an innocent, admiring, little girl. I still believe, however, that her faithfulness, to use the conventional term, lasted as long into our marriage as did mine.
The first breach she still covered by silence. In a term-break we had gone to Sydney to visit and stay with Bruno and Janice. On the second-last day of our stay, Michael, our son, then seven years old, and I went for a day's fishing. Bruno offered to take Birgit into town for some shopping. I assumed, and Janice expected that Bruno would drop Birgit off and go to work. When, however, they came back together in the evening in high spirits, Janice was visibly upset.
And I was almost certain that Bruno had, finally, fucked Birgit in some motel and that she had been willingly complicit.
To me, while shocked and hurt, it came as no surprise. Bruno, we were friends from childhood, had always been rather unduly 'interested' in my female companions. Birgit, he had openly lusted after and surreptitiously groped for years; she had allowed him to do so. Whatever I felt, I said nothing. Janice was seething. When we left the day after for our drive home, she asked to come with us to Melbourne. She had suddenly decided to visit her mother.
We broke our return-trip in Eden, staying overnight in a motel. Janice had a room of her own; she and Birgit had hardly talked all day. Michael, a heavy sleeper, shared ours. I was tired from driving. Birgit, however, wanted to be on this night, what only can be called, TAKEN. So, she was.
It was a frenzied, drawn out, brutal fuck, accompanied by her senseless whispers and suppressed whimpers; finishing, for both of us, in a bone-shaking orgasm with her nails raking and bloodying my back. I never asked. For me, her sexual ardour the day after her 'shopping'-excursion only confirmed what I knew. Was, our orgiastic, frenzied fuck fuelled by my anger, Birgit's guilt, or our joint arousal about her having finally fucked Bruno?
During the rest of the drive home next day her cheerful and chatty mood contrasted with Janice's sullen silence. Birgit evidently thought she had answered my unasked question. She was pleased about my unspoken answer.
It was three years later. We had another child. Michael was now ten, Martin two, Birgit was back at work. It was for the mid-year term-break that Birgit decided on a ten days holiday on Fraser Island. With her claiming that she needed a break, I suspected from the outset that she did not really want to go on a family holiday with the children and me. She knew, that I would not be keen to go to a beach resort as I had no liking for sea, sand and surf and the associated crowds.
So, acting with a show of, partly justified truculence she went to Fraser Island on her own. She returned tanned, glowing, in high spirits and in an aroused, sexually adventurous mood. The holiday had done her good and things were, for a while, much better between us. In chatting about Fraser Island, she mentioned in passing that a chap, Ian, had taken her, and others of the group she was with, sailing.
In January we again went to Sydney. Thinking about what had happened three years ago I was not eager. Birgit, however, insisted and I could find no acceptable reason to object. Bruno and Janice welcomed us as before. On the day after arriving, it became clear what had drawn Birgit to Sydney. It was not Bruno.
Ian, Birgit's Fraser Island acquaintance, turned up on Bruno's and Janice's doorstep. No subterfuge was possible about how he knew that Birgit was in Sydney and where and when to find her. They obviously had been in contact since Fraser Island. They were lovers, wanted to continue their affair, and had decided to confront me with the unadorned truth. Totally taken aback, away from home with the children, as a guest at Bruno and Janice, I was in no position to take a stand, make a scene. Birgit had banked on it that vulnerable and exposed as I was, I would have to accept her affair with Ian as an established fact. Which I shamefacedly decided to do.
For the following Sunday Ian invited all of us to go sailing. Bruno and Janice declined. So, it was Ian, Sue his wife, Birgit, I and Michael. Janice had offered to look after two-year old Martin.
Ian's small boat was not moored but 'parked' on land at a yacht-club in one of Sydney's northern inlets. On helping Ian to manoeuvre it into the water, I split the sole on one of my feet.
After a short sail, we settled down on the beach for a picknick-lunch, prepared by Sue. I, tender-footed and injured, lay in the sand for all of the afternoon like a stranded whale, while Ian sported with Birgit in the water and played ball with Michael. Sue did not join in their merriment and kept me company.
When Ian drove us back to Bruno's place, I learned that Birgit had accepted their invitation for a barbecue-party; with some of their friends, they said, for tonight. Birgit immediately offered to come with them to help preparations for the party. Before leaving she almost hugged me in the presence of all, hummed and hawed, and suggested that I patch-up my insured foot and follow later.
