So, as of last Wednesday, I am back on the adulterous market. James and I have ended it.
I'm in a lot of pain right now; despite the fact that I knew it was coming, it wasn't a mutual decision. The tough thing is not being able to tell my best friend, Hubby, about it. Last night he took me out for Thai and all I wanted to do was cry into my sticky rice.
James is struggling with his feelings about me. The last few weeks have been incredibly intense. I can't define in what way; just that our emotional connection has risen to a new level. I'm sure in any other situation, that kind of butterfly-stirring, firework-lighting effect would be welcomed, but when you're cheating on your husband or wife, it's the last thing you want to feel.
There were a few hours, lying in bed with James, drunk on romance, where I thought about running away. I rehearsed it in my head; telling Hubby what I'd done, letting him hate me, packing a bag and escaping with my lover on some generic highway into a postcard sunset. Alas, reality always find a way of seeping in to your fantasies sooner or later.
On Sunday we met for lunch, and James named what we have been avoiding for the past year; we were in hopelessly love. He cried, I cried. I was all very dramatic. Although we parted agreeing that we both needed 'space', this is most definitely the end. Seeing each other again after having christened the elephant in the room would be far too dangerous.
It's at times like these where I have to remind myself why I embarked on an affair in the first place. I love my husband; he is my one and only, the Rhett to my Scarlett, the cream in my cake. James was only ever meant to fill a gap. Like some kind of good-looking, emotionally intelligent Polyfiller.
Forgive my DIY analogies. James wasn't just some device. He was a living, breathing human being, and to refer to him as any less than that would be cruel. Which, unfortunately, is all I'm capable of being at the moment. It hurts too much to think about what he really meant to me. For the next few months, he will be the adhesive that closed up the cracks in my marriage, nothing more. At least until I get my thoughts together.
I think it hasn't quite hit me let. It's all still at arm's length. Give me a few days, I'll be your regular suicidal dumpee.
Monday, 19 April 2010
Thursday, 1 April 2010
April fool
Dear Ron (in Florida),
Thank you for your comment on my previous post, entitled "Apologies". I always appreciate comments from my regular readers, and it seems you have a good understanding of the sort of human being I am.
In particular, you understand that I am just the sort of women who welcomes, nay, encourages, comment from strangers relating to my genitals.
Your phrasing is divine; your point so well executed. A statement this powerful need not be constrained by the laws of grammar. I applaud your boldness, and, if I wasn't currently married, maintaining an extra-marital relationship, and planning my advances on our new office intern, I would surely fly out to the States and let you "dive into my nether-regions", as you so beautifully put it.
Alas, as my status does not allow it, you may be waiting for some time.
Kind regards,
Michelle (sadly, rather far away from Florida)
Thank you for your comment on my previous post, entitled "Apologies". I always appreciate comments from my regular readers, and it seems you have a good understanding of the sort of human being I am.
In particular, you understand that I am just the sort of women who welcomes, nay, encourages, comment from strangers relating to my genitals.
Your phrasing is divine; your point so well executed. A statement this powerful need not be constrained by the laws of grammar. I applaud your boldness, and, if I wasn't currently married, maintaining an extra-marital relationship, and planning my advances on our new office intern, I would surely fly out to the States and let you "dive into my nether-regions", as you so beautifully put it.
Alas, as my status does not allow it, you may be waiting for some time.
Kind regards,
Michelle (sadly, rather far away from Florida)
Monday, 29 March 2010
Apologies...
Work...ridiculous...
Papers...filling desk...Idiot colleagues not helping...
James moments...few and far between. Husband has officially given up on my nether-regions. Expect to find 'Gone Fishing' sign down there one of these days.
Have developed uncontrollable crush on our new intern. So gorgeous. Would of course be a complete and utter craddle-robber if I did anything about it...but no harm in looking. Well, staring. Christ.
Currently distracting self from the never-ending spreadsheet that is my life by listening to Sinead O'Connor and eating Snack'a'Jacks (really not sure how to punctuate that). Finally managed to get a copy of Spotify without paying for it. Had day of 80's hair metal yesterday. Now feeding my ovaries with a bit of the said shaven-headed diva. They love it.
Hello to all my readers. I promise I will be back properly soon. But until then...
S xxx
Papers...filling desk...Idiot colleagues not helping...
James moments...few and far between. Husband has officially given up on my nether-regions. Expect to find 'Gone Fishing' sign down there one of these days.
Have developed uncontrollable crush on our new intern. So gorgeous. Would of course be a complete and utter craddle-robber if I did anything about it...but no harm in looking. Well, staring. Christ.
Currently distracting self from the never-ending spreadsheet that is my life by listening to Sinead O'Connor and eating Snack'a'Jacks (really not sure how to punctuate that). Finally managed to get a copy of Spotify without paying for it. Had day of 80's hair metal yesterday. Now feeding my ovaries with a bit of the said shaven-headed diva. They love it.
Hello to all my readers. I promise I will be back properly soon. But until then...
S xxx
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Valentine's Day nightmare
Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't one about equal rights or a brighter future. It was about my sordid affair.
Picture the scene. It's Valnetine's day. I am supposed to be at work, but because James and I couldn't possibly spend the evening together, we are having a midday brunch and sex-fest at a local hotel. For some reason, we have decided to bring the two big breakfasts up to our room and, rather like that scene in 9 and a Half Weeks, are proceeding to feed each other.
Except this isn't 9 and a Half Weeks, and after 5 minutes, our room looks like a ram-raided greasy spoon - chunks of sausage and streaks of bacon lie strewn across the bed. One of my bra cups is filled with tomato sauce, the other with mustard, making me look like some futuristic condiment dispenser. James has three hashbrowns in his y-fronts.
At this point, my phone rings. It is Hubby, who is parked outside my work building across town.
'Happy Valentine's Day love. Just thought I'd come and surprise you. I'm at your office, but I can't seem to park. Do I need a permit?'
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
'Ermmm, hiiii love. I'm actually just on my lunch break at the moment...'
'At 11 in the morning?'
'Yes, well. You know me. Gobble gobble gobble'.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
'Okay...well. Do I need a permit or can I just park here?'
My mind is racing with excuses and possible explanations for my absence. I need something that will occupy him - at least for the time it take me to get in my car and drive to meet him...
'Yesss, yes, you do. It's actually quite a complex procedure though. Maybe just park in the NCP around the corner? Then I can meet you in Starbucks and we can have a coffee or something...'
'Okay, that sounds great'.
Saved. Just.
James, flustered by the phone call, just keeps nodding and before we can discuss who's paying the bill my suit is on and I'm out the door and in my car. It's 10 minutes to the Starbucks I mentioned, but Hubby is terrible at finding his way around. I pray for isolated traffic accidents, for street-stalking Evangelists. Anything that could prevent hubby from reaching Starbucks before I do.
Thankfully, when I tumble through the door of the cafe, my spouse is nowhere to be seen, so I grab a seat. Punters stare wildly at me as I collapse into a sofa and frantically fix my suit.
After about 5 minutes, I hear the door go, and a familiar voice say my name. Standing up, I turn around and am greeted by the shocked, open-mouthed expression of Hubby. He is staring at my face, scanning every inch, eyes frowning in repulsion. Turning to face the mirror on the wall behind, I see why. My entire face is covered in egg yolk, from chin to forehead, lumps drips slowly off my nose like a jaundice zombie.
I literally have EGG ON MY FACE.
No prizes for guessing what this one means, folks. Pre-Valentine's Day anxiety? Not me.
Seriously though. My subconscious can fuck off. I am going to have my cake AND eat it. And no breakfast-themed nightmare is going to stop me.
But it might make me a bit more careful. Yikes.
xxx
Picture the scene. It's Valnetine's day. I am supposed to be at work, but because James and I couldn't possibly spend the evening together, we are having a midday brunch and sex-fest at a local hotel. For some reason, we have decided to bring the two big breakfasts up to our room and, rather like that scene in 9 and a Half Weeks, are proceeding to feed each other.
Except this isn't 9 and a Half Weeks, and after 5 minutes, our room looks like a ram-raided greasy spoon - chunks of sausage and streaks of bacon lie strewn across the bed. One of my bra cups is filled with tomato sauce, the other with mustard, making me look like some futuristic condiment dispenser. James has three hashbrowns in his y-fronts.
At this point, my phone rings. It is Hubby, who is parked outside my work building across town.
'Happy Valentine's Day love. Just thought I'd come and surprise you. I'm at your office, but I can't seem to park. Do I need a permit?'
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
'Ermmm, hiiii love. I'm actually just on my lunch break at the moment...'
'At 11 in the morning?'
'Yes, well. You know me. Gobble gobble gobble'.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
'Okay...well. Do I need a permit or can I just park here?'
My mind is racing with excuses and possible explanations for my absence. I need something that will occupy him - at least for the time it take me to get in my car and drive to meet him...
'Yesss, yes, you do. It's actually quite a complex procedure though. Maybe just park in the NCP around the corner? Then I can meet you in Starbucks and we can have a coffee or something...'
'Okay, that sounds great'.
Saved. Just.
James, flustered by the phone call, just keeps nodding and before we can discuss who's paying the bill my suit is on and I'm out the door and in my car. It's 10 minutes to the Starbucks I mentioned, but Hubby is terrible at finding his way around. I pray for isolated traffic accidents, for street-stalking Evangelists. Anything that could prevent hubby from reaching Starbucks before I do.
Thankfully, when I tumble through the door of the cafe, my spouse is nowhere to be seen, so I grab a seat. Punters stare wildly at me as I collapse into a sofa and frantically fix my suit.
After about 5 minutes, I hear the door go, and a familiar voice say my name. Standing up, I turn around and am greeted by the shocked, open-mouthed expression of Hubby. He is staring at my face, scanning every inch, eyes frowning in repulsion. Turning to face the mirror on the wall behind, I see why. My entire face is covered in egg yolk, from chin to forehead, lumps drips slowly off my nose like a jaundice zombie.
I literally have EGG ON MY FACE.
No prizes for guessing what this one means, folks. Pre-Valentine's Day anxiety? Not me.
Seriously though. My subconscious can fuck off. I am going to have my cake AND eat it. And no breakfast-themed nightmare is going to stop me.
But it might make me a bit more careful. Yikes.
xxx
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Insider info
Rosie just sent me this...
http://i.illicitencounters.com/v/valentines_ebook.pdf
It's the IllicitEncounters.com e-Book. And it is very funny. Have a quick look on your lunchbreak ('Gifts for your mistress' is particularly LOL).
Much love xx
http://i.illicitencounters.com/v/valentines_ebook.pdf
It's the IllicitEncounters.com e-Book. And it is very funny. Have a quick look on your lunchbreak ('Gifts for your mistress' is particularly LOL).
Much love xx
Monday, 18 January 2010
Affair overload
Gosh darnit. I love having a lover, but I am strating to wonder whether I should take a break from James, if only to preserve my health.
After the snow meant our trysts were delayed, the last week has been spent doing major romantic catch-up (read : 2 hotels visits and a cheaky mid-morning fumble in my car this morning).
Hubby has now recovered from his mysterious illness and has since taken up a baffling interest in DIY. SO while he's banging about in the spare room trying to install some shelves, I can be downstairs on the 'net, Skyping pictures of my cleavage to James. Which is, of course exactly what Skype was intended for.
Nice to be back to normal again. Not that my routine is very routine!
And thanks for the sympathetic comments by the way - even though my situation probably shouldn't receive any sympathy. Naughty girl! Slap on the wrist! etc.
xxx
After the snow meant our trysts were delayed, the last week has been spent doing major romantic catch-up (read : 2 hotels visits and a cheaky mid-morning fumble in my car this morning).
Hubby has now recovered from his mysterious illness and has since taken up a baffling interest in DIY. SO while he's banging about in the spare room trying to install some shelves, I can be downstairs on the 'net, Skyping pictures of my cleavage to James. Which is, of course exactly what Skype was intended for.
Nice to be back to normal again. Not that my routine is very routine!
And thanks for the sympathetic comments by the way - even though my situation probably shouldn't receive any sympathy. Naughty girl! Slap on the wrist! etc.
xxx
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Snow is bad for my marriage
My garden looks like a postcard.
Inside, I am seething.
Hubby and I have been stuck in the house for the last three days and he is really starting to grate on me. You would have thought that a few days alone with the love of my life would be bliss. And I guess it would have been, if Hubby had not contracted a severe case of Man Flu.
The man has become Caesar-like, barking demands from his chair in the living room, from where he sits in his smelly bathrobe, watching reruns of ER. Every sentence is punctuated with a groan. He has a cold, and yet his appearnace suggests he is dying from some as-yet-unknown superbug.
This sketch from Man Stroke Woman seems to articulate my predicament pretty well...
Like a good wife, I have been running around, picking up his snotty tissues and pretending to sympathise with his hypochondria, but I have had enough. I am now upstairs, listening to Annie Lennox, and have told him to look after himself. After all, my bastard employers are insiting that I work from home.
Anyone else stuck? I hope not. Being housebound is a bugger.
xxxx
Inside, I am seething.
Hubby and I have been stuck in the house for the last three days and he is really starting to grate on me. You would have thought that a few days alone with the love of my life would be bliss. And I guess it would have been, if Hubby had not contracted a severe case of Man Flu.
The man has become Caesar-like, barking demands from his chair in the living room, from where he sits in his smelly bathrobe, watching reruns of ER. Every sentence is punctuated with a groan. He has a cold, and yet his appearnace suggests he is dying from some as-yet-unknown superbug.
This sketch from Man Stroke Woman seems to articulate my predicament pretty well...
Like a good wife, I have been running around, picking up his snotty tissues and pretending to sympathise with his hypochondria, but I have had enough. I am now upstairs, listening to Annie Lennox, and have told him to look after himself. After all, my bastard employers are insiting that I work from home.
Anyone else stuck? I hope not. Being housebound is a bugger.
xxxx
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