Cravings

That evening, after meeting Niall for the very first time, I went home and had a highly erotic evening with my husband.  The exact details evade me, as my memory is a little hazy (it has been several years since any of this has transpired).  But I’m pretty certain, I led the charge.  A naked wife standing in the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of Louboutin’s is hard to miss.

I do recall standing there- legs parted, throbbing and swollen with desire- wanting to be fucked hard and deep all night long.  I wanted his mouth clutched against my labia, tracing his tongue around my clit, flicking me to desire. Once my husband looked up from his computer screen, and saw me standing there-he quickly followed me back into our bedroom where I proceeded to orgasm multiple times that night.

…all while thinking of Niall.

****
Good Morning 🙂

Glad you are having mind blowing sex.  How was it last night? Kidding.

As for my fantasies and what I’m missing with my wife… She is not uninhibited when it comes to sex. She likes it hard and from multiple positions (and often), but just not dirty. For example, she has never sent me arousing photos, buys simple sexy lingerie, doesn’t really like to play with herself, etc..

Here is just a touch that I crave for…

  • I want to be at work and receive/send dirty texts and pictures keeping each other aroused and mind racing for what will come when we see each other next.
  • I love crotchless panties, pearl string thongs, body stockings (crotchless), and just trashy lingerie. Not all lingerie needs to be La Perla… It can be trashy and still hot. Almost like it is meant to be ripped off as the passion intensifies.
  • I want to watch my partner play with her pussy as she keeps me at a distance… teasing me as she brings herself to cum. Getting me so hard and ready to ravish her when she is done.
  • I like toy play… vibrators, cock rings, glass dildos, handcuffs, etc.. I want someone to play and explore the limits of sexually as we both learn to cum harder and harder.
  • I want a partner to talk dirty and scream with utter bliss while shaking from an intense orgasm.
  • I think role play would be fun and exciting.
Let me know if you’d like to meet up for a glass of wine this afternoon 😉

Like you, if anything, I’m glad I have a new friend to share these thoughts with.

****

I couldn’t help but think, “Wow…he definitely knows what he wants!”  Niall intrigued me as I read his hidden fantasies and desires.  I could feel my body getting weaker and weaker as I re-read his words over and over.  He awakened sensations deep inside my body and I instinctually began to part my lips, as they tingled and juices began to flow yet again.

But, I had to stop.

I shut down my brain and decided not to respond in the moment.  I had to knock some sense into me.  Niall was sucking me in and starting to consume my every thought and I needed to get my head screwed back on straight.  This was so uncharacteristic for me.  It felt like there was a war going on in my body and mind.  And I wasn’t sure who was going to win, let alone where this was headed.

One thing was for sure:  I had too much pent up sexual desire.  I needed to burn off some energy.  So I put on my running shoes, grabbed my phone and dashed out the door.

He could wait.

Letters

Long before Niall and I ever met, we talked.  And we emailed every single day, multiple times throughout the day.  Down to our goodnight messages before bed each evening.  First, he had suggested we meet and grab lunch somewhere.  I definitely did not feel comfortable with that (what if he was gross and I was stuck staring at him for a good solid hour or two?).  So that idea was nixed from my brain pretty quickly.  Next, he suggested we grab a cocktail, which seemed way more realistic.  “If we don’t like one another and we don’t feel a connection, then it’s just a quick ten minute drink, right?”

But I was scared.  And meeting a complete stranger was beyond my comfort zone.  It honestly freaked me out.  Let’s be honest- he could have been an axe murderer for all I knew.  I could be walking into a very dangerous situation.  We’ve all read enough stories of crimes happening to naive women, and I was not about to become one of them.  So, I always rebuffed his invitations, as I couldn’t negate the axe murderer thoughts coming from the inner recesses of my brain.

I finally had to tell him, “Look, I don’t want to meet you right now.  Can we just take things slow and get to know one another?  I don’t like to rush.  I need to take time in order to assess if you are an axe murderer or not.”

“Sure.  I’m on the same page.  I can understand your hesitations but I can assure you, I am not some axe murderer.  For the record, I like talking to you ;-)”

So…we talked every day.  He would reach out before taking off to meet investors,  We both started sharing stories about our kids.  Sometimes I would share photos of them.  And then, finally he did too.  He took his kids skiing and they pretty much cried the entire time through ski school…while he sat on the sidelines watching them.  He was messaging me during that entire saga (you gotta wonder just how disconnected two spouses can be when this is going on during their “family” vacation).  The roles were reversed in our household, only this time- it was my daughter crying because she kept falling during ice skating lessons.  He would send sweet messages of encouragement, parenting tips of how to get through whatever the kids were bombarding me with.  And I would do the same for him, as he was sitting in the waiting room of major tech or hedge fund company about to make his pitch.

All of our interactions seemed very, very normal.  You could safely say, that we had settled into a “friendship” over the course of that month.  But there was something I hadn’t told him yet.

My name.

Yep.  I still hadn’t even told him my real name.  That’s how cautious I was about him and this entire situation.  I asked him if it bothered him, and of course, he said yes.  But he quickly followed that up with, “In due time…”

Finally, one night- after exchanging many, many messages, we discovered we had distant mutual friends and overlaps in career sectors.  Our worlds were feeling more and more alike as we pulled down our walls and shared.  But not knowing my real name remained a point of contention.  Looking back, I think it bothered him way more than he let on.

But, one night (probably after a few glasses of wine!) I finally signed my goodnight message with the first letter of my name:  “K”.

I was like a little mouse leaving a tiny, teeny, itty-bitty crumb for him.  And I was squirming as I sat in bed, on my iPad, waiting for his response to load in my inbox. I knew he would reply immediately.  And he did.  What ensued next sounds so far fetched and like something out of a movie, but I can assure you- it’s 100% true.

“I’m working right now, but as always was excited to get a message from you 🙂 Yes…more and more similarities.  You don’t be any chance have an “A”, “T” or “E” in your name???  Do you?”

“More similarities?  Uh no, here we go again.  Should I make up a name and not tell you the rest of the letters?  Something totally different?  At university, when I took French, they gave us a French name.  I was given the name Chantal.  You can call me that if you want…or I can stay elusive forever??”

His reply hit my inbox within a second, “For real- is your name Kate?”

As I opened up and read his message, I about died.  What are the odds that CEO’s wife and I share the exact same name?  All I could do is reply, “Yes”.

“You have to be kidding me about your name… Well, at least I wont accidentally call my wife by the wrong name.

…I wish I was holding you right now.  It’s been a long day, but I have not stopped daydreaming about you.  It has been so nice to feel excitement and the rush when just receiving a message from you.  If we were together right now, how would you like to be kissed?”

“Kissed?  Passionately.  The rip your clothes, shove your body up against the wall kind of kiss.  But before that, you should know I’ve had a few images running through my mind since leaving you yesterday.  And each time, I instinctively take in a deep breathe and sigh.  It’s the only way to offset the excitement and butterflies you have given me.  I so wanted that as part of this.  It’s like the icing on the cake for me.  I have missed that so much and its incredible to experience that again.

Hearing that I am just as stunning in person and just as sexy as in your dreams made me smile so much yesterday.  Thank you for always showering me with compliments. You are good at those- plus, I enjoy hearing them.  I am thrilled that you kissed me with such passion and intensity.  I could have kissed you all afternoon.  It was that nice…”

“I have so many fantasies running through my head.  Next time we meet up, can you please lean over and whisper into my ear, ‘I’m wearing crotchless panties.'”

“Hmmmm, is this a specific fantasy of yours?  Well…consider it done.  Since you brought it up, while we are on the subject- what are your fantasies, Mr. CEO?”

Millenial

(I haven’t resumed my story telling in a long time.  My blog kinda took a U-turn and I started writing more in the moment, and less about CEO and I.  Here’s another installment which resumes after the ‘Butterflies’ post)

Returning from my run, I jumped in the shower and continued to wonder about Niall. Truth be told, I wanted to look at his photo and study his face before heading off to bed. I wanted to stare at his contours, and decipher if his eyes were a shade of blue or burnt amber. Honestly, I didn’t get a good look at his photo.  But it would be incredibly risky logging back into AM, as my husband was over in the next room.  Looking back, I can objectively say, my behavior at that time was incredibly risky (and would only become even more so, as the months went by).  This is a by-product of all affairs: the risky behavior and decision making.

As the hot water trickeled down my back, I found myself pondering Niall with a curiosity I hadn’t felt in a long time.  First impression?  He seemed all too normal. Pretty vanilla and polite. Safe was the first impression I got. Boy would I be wrong. I turned off the faucet, wrapped myself in a warm plush towel and quickly opened my iPad.  I tapped away at the glass screen, then nervously awaited my inbox to load.  To my utter surprise, the key and Niall’s message was…poof–gone! Talk about a shocker. I wasn’t expecting that.

In typical knee-jerk fashion, I fired off a hasty message.

Hey, I just logged back in to look at the photo you sent me. I didn’t get a chance to look at it earlier because my husband suddenly came home. But now it’s gone. I realize you are new to this site, but in my limited experience here, men are very generous with releasing their keys. And they definitely leave them available, mid-conversation, while trying to forge a connection…

I kinda smirked when I sent it, wondering just how my message would be perceived. To my utter surprise, he wrote back immediately. Yikes!  He’s online at this very moment!!

Please do not take my actions as a sign of my lack of interest. I didn’t mean to send them so soon. Like you, I am very cautious and didn’t intend to reveal all just yet. I know that must sound weak. But I like talking to you and just wanted to get to know you better first.

On second thought, I apologize. I will send them again now. Just know I look better in person and take horrible photos.  Please tell me more about yourself, your travels (did you ever visit Rome?).  And if I can be so forward, are you available this Friday to meet for a drink?  Maybe the Beach House?

I had to laugh at his message. I thought only women got insecure over their looks. Apparently, so do men. The analyzer in me noted and filed this into my armchair-psychiatrist brain. So he has some insecurities. Ok, duly noted. That’s not some deal breaker. We all have insecurities. However my inner voice said, “But Kate, you are looking for an alpha male.  This is just some millennial…move on.  He’s just a kid with an internet connection.” (Ok- maybe that was a bit rough, but I’m trying to emphasize that I had absolutely no real inclination towards him at this point)

And just like that, his photos appeared in my inbox.  One was a close-up of his face, taken from the side.  The photographer in me realized that it wasn’t a great photo- it accentuated his side profile and distorted the ratio of his cheeks to his front facial features.  It was taken at a horrible angle and made him look 10 pounds heavier than he actually was.  But I could tell he was a decent looking guy (in all honesty, my husband is better looking than him…even to this day).  My first impression was that he was “cute” and the full length body shot confirmed he was in fairly good shape.

I thought he was a baby faced millennial that would be fun to talk to.  Nothing more.

And definitely not someone who would knock me off my feet…and into a full-fledged affair. I opened up his email and began tapping away at the keyboard.

Wow…you look young.  Are you old enough to be on here?  Kidding!!  I have an honest question for you.  Have you ever cheated on your wife before?  There is no right or wrong answer here.  I get that there are open marriages and different dynamics at play.  But, I’m just trying to understand where you are coming from and what your situation at home may be.

I stared at my screen and saw that he opened my message immediately.  I was about to turn off my iPad when he suddenly replied yet again.

I’ve never had a full fledged affair.  But I was at a work conference with a competitor once.  We were sitting with a group of employees from both companies when my competitor suddenly (and discretely) invited me up to her room.  We excused ourselves separately and met upstairs.  Once in her suite, she quickly removed her dress only to reveal lace thigh highs and a garter begging for me to, “Fuck her now.” and to “Finish her off nice and hard.” And well….I did.  So to answer your question honestly, yes.  Yes, I have.  Once.

As I contemplated how to reply, I suddenly heard a noise in the distance.  I logged out of my computer and didn’t respond.

But I thought about Niall for the rest of the day.  And beyond.

Pondering

Something has been on my mind.  And I really can’t talk about this anywhere else but here.

I was thinking about this the other day.  The fact that, even though I had an anonymous blog, I never did write about my affair with Nial.  I never processed it- well at least on paper I never did.

I ran.  And that became my therapy, spending countless hours rehashing everything Niall ever said to me.  And going over everything a million times in my head.  To the point of exhaustion and finally letting him and the memories of him go.

For roughly two years, I was ok.  But then my health declined.  And I’ve wondered now…did the stress of everything cause my auto-immune disease?  Should I have blogged about it?  Would that have helped?

I’m such an independent person.  And although I love to write, back then, I just needed the solitude as the pain was too great to even articulate.

I loved Niall.  And despite knowing in my heart that we should both stay with our spouses, it didn’t change the fact that I loved him dearly.  And losing him from my life cut deeper than I said.  The pain of losing him was brutal…as well as the aftermath of our affair.

Because I am stubborn and independent, I’m not someone to raise my hand saying, “I need help.”  I handle everything on my own.   Always have, always will.  Is that detrimental to my health?

What if that mentality backfired and triggered an auto-immune disease to develop?

I have so many thoughts along these lines. I would love to purge myself of any memories of Niall.  But I can’t.  That’s not how affairs and memories work.  Niall is still there….

Sure you move on, but the memories are like a caboose that follows you around.  Depending on the curvature of the track, sometimes you see them clearly.  Other times they are hidden from view, stuck in a dark tunnel, as you chug along the track.

It doesn’t help that I ran into Niall’s wife last week at the annual Christmas Lighting ceremony.  Vivianne had run ahead to look at a store window display since it was decorated for the holidays.  As I stood on the north side windows, less than 8 feet away, there she stood staring at the very same display- but from another angle.

My heart dropped.  And I scanned the crowd like an FBI agent, while feverishly texting my best friend to, “Fuck!  Come to X,Y,Z store NOW!”  Bless her heart, she was there in minutes, as we had gone together to the event.

Niall wasn’t there but of course, it made me think of him.  How could I not?  One second I am enjoying the holidays, the next second, that Niall caboose was suddenly the first carriage of my memory train.  Front and center…and it all came flooding back.

So the memories have been triggered by another casual run in.  It’s bound to happen where we live.  So it’s kind of expected, but still a shocker every time.  It doesn’t get any easier.  The entire thing has made me wonder if I should finally write my affair story.  And get it all out on paper.

Do I need to process something?  Could it make my condition worse?  Is it somehow causing my current condition?

I don’t feel stressed, as of today.  But then again, if the doctors knew about what I have gone through these past few years,  I wonder if they would say, “Yeah, stress can cause all sorts of symptoms.  Even yours.”  Or, “Absolutely not.  Stress wouldn’t cause this.  And could not trigger an auto-immune disease.”

I would love to hear your honest thoughts…as this is a sincere question and point of discussion going around in my head.

Video

Real Time Thoughts

 

(Author’s note: I will likely delete this post within a week)

 

When I started this blog, my intent was to tell my story from beginning to end.  I never wanted to clutter my site with blogging awards or chain mail thingies, nor wanted my blog to be a place where I vented about the affair aftermath on a daily basis.

But today is a difficult day, for many reasons.  And I am going to break my storytelling protocol to provide a rare glimpse of actual present day angst.

Today is a meaningful day.  I went to the hospital for yet another follow up, and was told that I do not have cancer.  This underlying medical issue developed right before my relationship with CEO ended.  So walking back into that hospital, sitting in the same waiting room and wearing the same white baffle knit robe conjured up many emotions today.

I sat in the very same changing room where I took a photo and sent it to him.  He quickly replied, “Oh my God, I just lost my breathe.  Are you ok?  Praying for you (and I’m not religious).  Let me know the outcome once you know, ok?”

The doctors ran multiple tests, only for the radiologist to finally say it’s benign.  But I had several hours until that occurred and I sat there thinking, “What if?  What if I am diagnosed with cancer.  Would I then reach out to CEO?  Would I then reach out and have one more conversation to put every last swirling question and emotion to bed?  Would it keep my head faced forward, for life, and keep my heart only thinking of my family?  Knowing just how precious every second with them would be?  Would getting a diagnosis of cancer be the magic pill to binding my heart completely to the ones I truly love?  To the ones who show what true love is?”

Those thoughts as well as many others concerning the special meaning of today is something I struggled with immensely.  I wanted to reach out to him and my brain was firing all it’s synapses to do so.  But it was hard, brutally hard friends.  For I have a years work of no contact under my belt and just as much pride and ego wrapped up in that accomplishment.  However, somewhere deep inside my heart, I yearned for him to know.   That I still cared—even after everything that happened–I still did and I still remembered.  And that I didn’t forget.

The significance of today was not lost on me.  I wished that I could have reached out.  To say a lot of things that have been on my mind for months.  To share that he was still in my thoughts, even after all this time.  Truly.

So I did what any woman trying to forge the next chapter in rebuilding her marriage would do….I ran home to my husband and cried about him yet again.  I shared my struggles and pain over how conflicted I was.  I shared aspects of our story, yet again, with my husband.  And then we went out for dinner and a glass of wine trying to reconnect/rebuild our marriage from this point onward.  Brutal honesty–it’s not an easy thing to do my friends.

Because even if every single fiber of my heart wanted to reach out to him–it wants, even more so, my family and children’s happiness above all else.  And it should be that way, rightfully so.  That was always the crux of my parting thoughts to him.

So all I can do is send love and friendship from afar, wishing him continued success in all of his endeavors.  And hope–so so sooo much hope for a transformative year in his marriage as well.

Another year stronger.

Another year of figuring this all out.

Fly on, my dear friend.

Fly on.

 

 

 

 

Innocent Words

Saying goodbye to Billy was the right thing to do.  But it wasn’t easy at the time.  I poured myself into running each day, while the sound of the ocean lulled my mind from the heartache I felt inside.  The constant pounding of the pavement soothed my soul more than therapy ever did, turning me into a water runner.  It became my place of solitude.  A time just for me, which was something I hadn’t experienced since having our first child.  To be honest, I never felt as if I could take a step back, away from the constant demands of motherhood.  I came last and had for a very, very long time.

Mile after mile, I tried sorting everything out in my head, hoping for answers beyond my immediate reach.

You will get through this I thought.

No. No you won’t, I would hear back.

He made your heart beat again.

Yes, I know…and now, it’s suddenly gone.

Eventually Laura’s words would invade my battling dialogue whispering, “I don’t think you’ve dealt entirely with your husbands affair.”  I would quiet her voice as much as I could, running next to the sea.  As the onshore winds pulled tear drops out from my eyes, I continued to analyze various scenarios running through my mind.  Should I divorce my husband?  If so, how and when?  Should I wait till the kids are older?  Should I just suck it up and keep plodding along hoping somehow, one day, he will wake up from his passivity towards our marriage?  How will we split our assets?  How would we manage joint custody of the children?

I was feeling the pressure mounting in my chest, as I dissected each and every question apart, looking at it from every possible angle.  The final straw was realizing that if we did indeed divorce, one or both of us, would likely re-marry.  Incorporating another person into our broken family unit is a reality both of us would have to face.  Someone else, yet unknown, would share the responsibility and privilege of raising our precious children.  That was a realization I was not ready to face or comprehend, yet it lurked in the inner recesses of my thoughts.  Urgh, I was so confused and stressed out thinking about the realities of divorce, but even more so after calling my brother for advice.

“It’s financial suicide.  The reality is over 70% of divorces are initiated by women but the statistics show, it takes a tremendous amount of time to recover from the financial impacts of divorcing.  Kiss your lifestyle goodbye, or get over it.  He’s not a bad guy.  Most men cheat on their wives at some point, he was just stupid enough to tell you.  He didn’t have to.  Give him a break.”

My brothers condescending words echoed in my head as I reached the end of my run.  My shirt clung to my body from miles of perspiration, as I recounted what he said to me the night before.  As much as I felt our marriage had run it’s course, I felt incredibly trapped.  Neither he, nor my mother, thought I should divorce.  “Well you can’t divorce him. It will mess up the kids.  That’s what is so wrong with the world, everyone just throws in the towel.  Why do you think there are so many screwed up kids now?  Because of parents divorcing just like this.  Did you honestly think it was going to be easy being married?”

Their words reverberated through my mind as I drove along the coast back home.  Every song on the radio seemed to bring me to the brink of tears, but I pushed them back, willing myself to have a positive day.  As I turned the key to our front door, I was met with complete silence.  Both kids were at school, at least for the next few hours.  I had time to myself which rarely ever happened.  Zane had just started preschool and I was adapting to this new phenomenon–absolute stillness in our normal bustling home.  As I jumped into the shower, I again heard those all too familiar words, “Honey, I don’t think you’ve entirely dealt with your husbands affair…

Laura’s voice kept haunting me until I finally turned off the valves.  Stepping out of the hot shower, I threw on my robe and walked over to my nightstand.  My pruned fingers opened the drawer and I gently lifted several robins-egg blue Tiffany boxes.  Under the boxes laid the triple-folded letters which had laid dormant for over a year.  These were my husbands confession letters, safely hidden away, for my eyes only.  The first was his initial attempt at being truthful.  The second was his updated version of events.  The third and final letter- a one page addendum if you will.

 

To my wife,

This letter is an addendum to the confession letter I provided you on May 15th, 2011.

In my first letter that I provided you, I did not disclose the whole truth.  There were sections of that letter that I left out details and others where I lied.  In the account of the New Jersey trip where I took a girl back to my hotel, I lied about using a condom.  Also, I lied about the girl leaving, as she stayed in my room that night.

I know that given the gravity and seriousness of what I had done, there was no detail that could make the confession worse.  That being said, I still chose to try to “soften” my confession by telling these lies.

This letter is to clarify that these details I had provided were a lie and to validate that everything else in the letter is accurate.

I am very very sorry to have hurt you so deeply.

Love, Me

 

It had been a long time since I read his confession letters.  But in an instant, I was transported back to being pregnant and holding these very pages, now covered in brown stain marks from the tears that originally fell upon them.  It had been over two years since he gave me these letters and during that time, I felt like we transitioned into just friends co-parenting our children.  I felt no anger towards him.  There was no malice in my heart.  I just felt indifference, really.  The reality was we were parents now.  And in terms of working well together, we did.  But the heart-stopping love that I felt on our first date was no longer there.  Truthfully, the passion I had for my soul mate died after his confession and my heart had been on life support ever since.

Seeing Billy after so many years made me realize just how far our marriage had actually fallen.  How incomplete it actually was.  And essentially how empty my heart felt.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I reached over to my nightstand again, this time grabbing my iPad.  I started searching “husbands who cheat” or something to that effect.  Hoping Dr. Google would somehow have the answers to my marriage woes, I pressed on looking for answers.  The search results brought up marriage rebuilder websites and various betrayed spouses screaming at the rooftops about how angry they were.  On one hand, I understood their pain.  But on the other hand, that just wasn’t me or how I would ever choose to deal with my frustrations.

Reading the hatred and vile words exuding from their hearts, I had no endeavor to add rage into mine.  I needed to understand the mechanics and motives for adultery and how our marriage got to where it was.  I didn’t need to fill my time listening to strangers egg each other on about how they were somehow “better than their cheating husbands”.  From the bottom of my heart, I knew I was no better than my husband.  God taught me that we were both sinners in His eyes.  Sin is sin.  Sure, mankind wants to create a ranking system here on earth.  However, God certainly doesn’t lay it out like that.  You are a sinner too.  Laying judgment upon my husband wasn’t going to solve our problems.  It was just going to add more sin upon my own heart.  I had enough pain in there, I didn’t need to heap on more.

However, I didn’t want to listen to that advice brewing around in my mind.  I knew it.  But I didn’t want to follow it.  I wanted to run away from God because I was hurt that he would bring me this broken man as my husband.  This man God?  Really?  This is who YOU planned for me to marry?  I devoted my life to him.  And where did it get me? Last.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I called out to God and heard…absolutely nothing.

To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if God existed anymore.  With everything that had happened since moving into our home: a difficult pregnancy, being harassed by the crazy neighbor, my husbands confession, a death in the family– where was God through all of this?  I found myself wondering, “Is God even real?”

I started searching for answers and reading voraciously.  Hours worth in fact.  I finally came upon an article that captivated me.  It was the first story I had ever read, that spoke about affairs in such a way, that I finally “got it”.  It was so intense, so passion-filled that I felt like a voyeur looking through the peephole of two cheating hearts.  Naively as it was, I read on, not entirely understanding the subjects lives.  But wanting to.  Curiosity had me engrossed reading paragraph upon paragraph and just how they came to be in each others arms.  It was utterly foreign to me, this adulterous underworld they both lived in.

As I contemplated whether or not this was a work of fiction, I was interrupted by a flock of bright green iridescent birds squawking high above.  Despite their raucous behavior, I envied these parrots for they were free.  Able to fly where ever they wanted, through the canyons of Malibu to the southern tips of San Diego, they roamed the skies.  Free birds is what I called them.  And oh, how I wanted to be free.

Listening to the parrots, I turned off my tablet resting it against my smoothly shaven legs.  I sat there soaking up the sounds of nature while dismissing the lovers story as a work of fiction, too far fetched for real life.  Just a work of epic erotica, I thought.  But there was something mentioned in the article that popped back into my mind weeks later.  The details of that story would marinate in my thoughts as I ran by the sea.  Within a few weeks, my curiosity had grown to such an extent that the next time I found myself alone, I tapped away on the glass iPad keyboard two, simple, innocent words.

My life would irrevocably change from that moment on.  In retrospect, I gave up on my marriage in that very moment, for which I would profusely apologize to my husband in due time.  But that was the moment another domino fell in my life.  And they only seemed to pick up momentum as each one tumbled before my eyes.

Playing with fire will get you burned, or so they saying goes.  Mess with the bull, you get the horns is another.  I’m old enough to know better, but still crazy enough to think I can outrun them both.

And I did for a while.

Until the fire of another mans touch consumed me down to my core.

First course please.