I let Edward call again and again, as my marriage vows eroded. Both of us time-stressed, a few weeks passed quickly. Hubby and I argued during the little weekend time we had together when we never did before. At our workday breakfasts, I was sullen, created issues, got cross over little things. I blame shifted guilt of Edward’s calls to hubby.  He hadn’t changed, I had. I compared him to Edward, unfavorably to provide excuses to take Edward’s calls and meet him again.

The desire to see Edward again built up until it was no longer possible to contain. He asked to go for a ride in his Porsche but I was afraid to be alone with him in his car and kept putting it off. Then one noon call, I suggested we meet someplace again for lunch. Instead, he suggested dinner at Michael's, a French seafood restaurant in Sunnyvale. It had a theater next door and we could also take in the movie Chinatown he wanted to see. It had to be a Saturday evening, his only night off. Getting out on Saturday evening was difficult for me, no shopping excuse would work, yet I agreed. I only knew I would force an excuse to go. I was out of control and didn't know if I could even wait until Saturday. 

Saturday afternoon, household duties completed, a meal prepared for hubby and the kids, I announced I was eating out. Hubby taken aback wanted to know why, where and with who. I retorted.

“It’s just a couple from work. You know Patty and this guy at work who talks to me. He wants to see the movie Chinatown. We’re just friends. What’s the matter? You’re not jealous, are you? It’s just dinner and a movie with Patty. He's gay. I can go, can’t I?”

I pretended to seek his approval but was going with or without it. Confused and unsure, he asked.

"Who is he?"

From past successful lying, I knew to provide true distraction details.

"I just told you, a guy from work, a nerd. Looks weird, suffers from acne, girls make fun of him but we talk. I ran into him at the Mall with Patty. He asked us to see the movie. Patty agreed to come as long as he pays. We talk about books and movies. No one’s nice to him. I pity him.”

There was a guy at work who fit my lie but I didn't talk to him either. Patty was a girl at work who would lie to back me up. I had my template distraction truth to avoid a lie tripwire.

“You want me to be sociable, so I said yes. His name’s Randy, Randy the Gay Dandy the girls tease. You wanted to go swinging. Now you get jealous over nothing, me seeing a movie with a nerdy guy and a girl from work."

"Who is he?"

It was time to confront. More detail could result in a trip up. In a terse tone, as if to start an argument, I replied.

"You’re jealous as expected. Well, I'm going! It's too late to change. It’s just dinner and a movie!"

He stuttered.

"Be back by 10."

He was avoiding an argument but also assumed my going might promote a second swinging attempt. It never occurred to him, I would be jealous if we went swing and I didn’t want to be a grope toy. With no knowledge of the phone calls or lunches, he suspected nothing, because he took me for granted.

He watched intently while I dressed. I donned the silken dress, strapped on the shoes and put on the dangling earrings Edward bought. He observed I kept my wedding ring on. I taunted him by waving my hand before his stare, as if he was ridiculously suspicious.

As I tilted my head to hook an earring in an ear lobe hole, he asked.

“Where are you going for dinner?’

“Denny’s, it’s Dutch treat, except for the movie.”

I said Denny's to keep him from barging into Michael’s to create a drama scene and said it was Dutch treat to belie his suspicions it was a date. He had to take care of the kids but might still do something rash and take them to Denney’s to check up. If he did, I’d say it was the Sunnyvale Denny’s, not Mountain View’s.

Setting my previously prepared dinner on the kitchen table for him and the kids, in coded words the kids wouldn't understand, I reiterated his questioning my seeing a gay nerd meant he was irrationally jealous. I said I was going and he should forget swinging due to his irrational jealousy. This deflection kept him quiet but he insisted on my being home by 10, his way of accepting defeat with his conditional surrender. I agreed by saying, “yes, yes.” I knew he thought back by 10 avoided sex. I was pleased with my lies.

Before leaving, I returned to the bedroom bathroom, opened the vanity, took the condom package he’d bought for his swinging fiasco and hid it in my purse. Back in the kitchen, I calmed him.

“I’ll be back by 10. It’s only a movie and a snack after. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing!  I’m glad you’re jealous. I was worried you didn’t care.”

I kissed him for back up assurance, opened the garage door and hurried to the car. He watched from the kitchen window as I backed my white banana station wagon out onto the street, the car the best evidence of innocent intent.

At 10 PM, I tersely phoned from the theater and said I’d be late as I was going to have a glass of wine with Patty and hung up before he could protest.

After dinner, movie and torrid sex with someone I was afraid until that night to ride alone with, I returned home to the only man up until then, I knew intimately, a man I felt safe with but was now afraid to confront.

The night with Edward opened a new world but one I was afraid would destroy my existing one. I was in love with another man, a man who maybe loved me but would never marry me. Now I had a husband to face. When I entered the house past 1 AM, he was waiting in the kitchen as I exited the garage. My hair was rumpled and damp from the shower at Edward’s. I couldn’t look at him. It was obvious.

He asked accusingly.

"What happened, why are you so late?"

Looking down at the kitchen floor, I replied ambiguously.

"You asked me to socialize, I did! Now you're jealous! What do you want?"

Then I remembered Dad’s advice on lying.

Never look away. Keep it simple, something he’ll believe.  Add something he knows is true.

I looked up directly into his eyes.

“I had too much wine with Patty. That’s why I’m late.”

Terrified of his reaction, I awaited his response, head tilted to one side, looked directly at him, ready to accept screaming, perhaps a blow. Instead of yelling or hitting me, he led me to the bedroom, stripped me and threw me on the bed.

Naked, I lay back and let him have it. Warmth flowed over me as he thrust in and out and kissed passionately. Things were turning out okay, spousal rape an acceptable penance.  As he climaxed, I lifted my pelvis to assist. As his semen, sans sperm, spewed into me, I was still his wife.

We rolled apart and I went into a deep sleep. In the morning, he again hopped on me, finished in a frenzy of ownership declaration then grilled me after his deflation. I avoided answers as best I could, talked about an imaginary book discussed, suggested we see the movie, told him the name of the wine we drank but evaded mention of sex and let him fill in the blanks. After grilling, I admitted to a cheek peck kiss on departure which shocked both Patty and me. As a result, I’d never see him for a movie again. When asked if we used a condom, I replied.

"What an insult. I didn’t want him to touch me let alone cheek kiss me. If we were going to do it, I would but didn’t because we didn’t!"

This caused me to remember the condoms in my purse. I pretended to use the bathroom and put the little packet back, pleased I didn’t need to cover for a missing one.

The next week, I bought a fish tank for the family room, got some guppies and a little frog and convinced my husband to comb his hair straight back. His inquiries abated in our morning and afternoon kids' handoffs but he remained suspicious.

I had to re-establish a “girl’s night out” routine for cover. The next Saturday morning I casually said the girls at work wanted me to go bowling and asked if that was okay. He had no objection but I didn’t tell him when. After dinner, I announced I was going bowling. We argued but I reminded him I’d already told him and it was just bowling with girls from work, not a movie with the nerd. He watched from the kitchen window again as I hurriedly backed the car out. I was out of control.

At Edward's, he walked me to his garage parking spot and I finally rode in a Porsche. Learning I could shift gears, he let me drive to Sunnyvale Bowling Alley. The car surged with power, leaped forward each time I fondled the gas pedal, floor clutch, shift knob and changed gears the Holy Trinity on steroids. The sharp turns swayed our bodies. In the bucket seats, my mini dress rode up my thighs as my pumps worked the floor pedals. The car reeked sex. I loved it. It made me wet.

Why bowl? Let’s race back and hump on the bed. God, I love shifting these gears, even downshifting.

He was a good bowler and tried to improve my game but to no avail. I enjoyed his holding me to guide my arm but was nervous about being caught seen with him. I glanced about but recognized no one. Despite the unease of being seen with him, I became at ease being with him.

After bowling, he introduced me to sushi and sake at a Japanese restaurant. At his apartment, after a glass of pinot wine, I led him to the bedroom, undressed him and had him lay on the bed, face up. His penis stood erect, straight out, like the Poersch gear shift. I mounted him, rode him as my Poersch. He flipped me over and we finished together, me a bucket seat as he shifted gears.

I showered but kept my hair dry and returned home with a full goodbye kiss at my car door. He squeezed my buttocks and opened the door for me. Driving home on the El Camino Real in my domestic white banana, I felt elated yet guilty. I still wanted family and the safety of home. What was I doing driving home at 1 AM after seeing another?

At home, the grilling began but I deflected with innocent admission details such as having eaten sushi but with the "girls". His inquiry soon ended as I was led again to bed for sex and then left alone to sleep. When I awoke late Sunday morning, I realized it was too late to visit our parents. Edward was already disrupting my family pattern.

It was okay. I was in love, so I thought. We never went swinging. Well, I did but my husband didn't.

The next Saturday night I stayed home due to hubby’s suspicions. The Saturday after, however, unable to stop myself, I announced.

“I’m going to girl’s night out bowling again.”

He was sullen, asked me not to, pleaded not to. My mind whirled how to devise a subterfuge which would stabilize my domestic safe world swirling out of orbit but still see Edward. The canard, bowling with the girls, was a desperate stop gap but had to fit until I could figure out something better.

Again, he watched from the kitchen window, like Mom did, as I backed out the driveway to meet another, like Dad did. On the way to Edward’s, I experienced a spasm of indecisiveness and stopped at a supermarket parking lot. With my head on the steering wheel, I told myself to go home.  Raising my head, I put hesitation aside, got out and hurriedly brought cheese, crackers, and wine a failed diversion.

Back in the car, I drove directly to his vacant parking space, reserved by Edward to conceal my car from the street. I walked with swift determination through the parking labyrinth toward Edward’s apartment, clutching the bag holding my supermarket purchases. I strode to his door, in a fog, the fog of love with hubby, family, home only a peripheral thought.

I must manage events to keep family intact as Edward’s love plays out.

When he opened the door, instantly I was in another world, his. He took my package, we kissed, but instead of opening and serving what I brought, he turned me around and led me to his car, exiled on the street. Sunk in its bucket seats, we zoomed to the Japanese restaurant again. There, munching uni maki, his favorite delicacy, he watched me intently as I nibbled on a California roll. I drank sake while he drank Asahi beer. He claimed sake and beer enhanced the taste of sushi but I liked neither. His silent stare, versus usual conversation leadership, unnerved me.

After sushi, he hustled me back to the Porsche and drove to his apartment, faster than his usual fast. I was thrust back and forward with each gear change and jerked slid to side on turns. Parked, he jumped out, opened my door and hurriedly led me by the hand to his unit and up to the bedroom, wordlessly. His rush and continued odd silence unnerved me.

Perhaps he’s upset about something I said. Is he already tired of me? Has he met someone new, is a nurse or a woman doctor chasing him?

Standing next to the bed, I worried he thought me a "silly girl" below his intellectual level.  Leading me hurriedly to the bedroom, not even pausing for wine and my cheese and crackers began to upset me.

Maybe I’m a silly girl but I’m not being taken for granted!

He undressed me deliberately, led me to the shower, turned the water on, waited until it was warm, opened the glass door and told me to shower. I obeyed but as the water streamed on me, I thought.

Why isn't he joining me? Isn't he taking a shower? Why is he belittling me, leading me around as if I’m just meat?

Out of the shower, he wrapped me in towels, dried me off thoroughly and sat me on the bed naked. As he undressed, I thought.

This is how it ends. I assumed too much. It's obvious, I'm just his sex toy. He didn't even shower. So be it. Get it over so I can go home, I should’ve known better than expect him to love me. I’m a simple girl, a stupid girl. He’s a jerk, destroyed my world just to use me. I hate him!

Once he too was undressed, he spread me on the undulating water bed. I just wanted him to be done so I could leave. He moved my feet and hands near the bedposts, turning me into an “X”. Vulnerable, exposed, spread eagle before him I shifted from hate to fright.

Is he into some tie-up game? Don’t let him. Don’t submit.  Get ready to resist. If he brings out tie-up stuff, get up, run. Scratch if he tries to stop me from leaving.

Watching frightened, spread on the bed prepared to leap out, grab my clothes and run, he started lighting candles in brass holders.

He’s going to drip hot wax on me! Oh, God, I’ve no chance to run. No one even knows I’m here, who he is? 

I cried and in terror and whimpered.

“Leave me alone. Don’t touch me. I want to go home.”

Surprised at my panic, he smiled down to reassure me, said softly he would never harm me, to relax. He bent down and whispered he was only going to teach me to be a woman, to explore my erogenous zones, the candles were only for my romantic enjoyment, their flickering shadow light to enhance my pleasure.

His voice calmed me; its tone more relaxing than his words. I nervously glanced back and forth at the candles but mostly kept an eye on him. The trickled tears on my cheeks dried. He gently kissed them. I moved my arms and legs to no longer be an “X”. He didn’t object. I began to relax. As he continued to assure in his calm voice, relief replaced fear. He wasn’t a pervert. I was going to be okay. The shift from love to hate, hate to fear, fear to relief, a confusing rapid change of emotions.

He moved to the base of the bed and massaged the heels and insteps of my feet. Moving on the bed he massaged my legs from my ankles to knees, then thighs, one leg and then the other as the water bed undulated in agreement. Satisfied, he rolled me over. I clutched a pillow to steady myself with the pitching water as he massaged my back. It was my first massage. As he kneaded each taut muscle, their pent-up tension dissipated.  Soon, fully relaxed, face down in the covers I was smiling at the silliness of my recent panic.

He moved up and kissed the nape of my neck. I felt his firm penis and thought he was going to enter me but instead, he rolled me back over, spread my legs and kissed my thighs, each kiss a little higher up. By the time he reached my vulva, I was moaning pleasure. Eyes half-closed, I enjoyed the romantic enhancement of the flickering candlelight as instructed.

He licked my labia area from bottom up. No longer afraid, I sought his caresses and kisses. He moved to my clitoris, gently stroked it in little circular swirls with an index finger, swirled his tongue around it and sucked gently.

When my back arched up to climax, he eased off until I receded from the cusp of sexual oblivion. He got up and put on a latex glove he assured was only to avoid a fingernail scratch. Gloved, he gently probed my vagina from back near the cervix then worked forward to my "G-Spot". While massaging my inner vagina his tongue twirled and his lips nibbled my clitoris. Suddenly, I arched back, shuddered all over and experienced an orgasm so intense I ejaculated a little liquid. The doctor was pleased with his patient.

He brought a warm damp towel and whipped off my perspiration. Calmed, the water still again, he renewed his erotic assault. As if playing a piano, he started with soft notes, increased the tempo and intensity as he caressed and kissed pleasure keys until I was twisting and moaning, receptive and pleading for more. With a condom on, he slid his penis in and guided it to my "G-Spot”.

I leaped about, thrust my pelvis up to his downstrokes, suddenly shrieked my first verbal sexual exclamation.

"YES, OH YES!"

As I finished, my pelvis jumped in spastic rhythm to meet his.

When he finished and pulled out, I curled into the fetal position and fell asleep.

He shook me awake to tell me it was time to leave. As I arose, my body tingled. My skin was alive. We ate the brier cheese with toast, naked at his little kitchen table. The flavor of the tea, the crunch of the toast and the tang of creamy cheese tasted different.

Aware of the time, I rushed upstairs, showered again and dressed. The shower water gave a shudder of pleasure to my skin. My clothes caressed me as I put them on. My body was alive with sensory sensations.

He walked me to my car. We separated with a last kiss. My lips hungered for another as we broke apart; my cheeks yearned for another caress. Driving home at 2 AM, the range of emotions experienced swept me.

In a few hours, love's blind fog first changed to confusion under his silent stare. Pride's insult at his indifferent rush to take me as a sex object flared then flashed into hate. Spread X on the bed, the candles, shifted from hate to fear. Then his soft words, kneading and kisses flipped hate to relief and relief to sexual ecstasy. The rapid emotional shifts, like shifted gears and turns in the Porsche, jerked my emotions about and ended in explosive overdrive pleasure. Combined they changed me. He was right. The night changed me into a woman but not into the one he thought it would.

At home, as before, my husband waited. As soon as I walked in the door, he grabbed me and led me to the bedroom without words, stripped me, pushed me on the bed and entered me, his rough lust rape, to claim me as his.

As he crudely took me, I experienced another emotion, acceptance, love’s acceptance. I was his wife, the mother of his children, he was my husband. I had hurt him, him who I loved too. I needed to turn his hate back into love for me.

When he withdrew, it was too late for questions. They would wait until morning. I curled again into the fetal position and slept until noon. Once up, I fixed lunch but didn’t know what to say or think and stumbled through motions awaiting my grilling.

Everything was otherworldly, my parochial repressed sexuality sloughed off, replaced by sensuality. I had to feel, taste, smell, hear and see all anew.

The night before I'd experienced love, hate, fear, ecstasy, and love again.  My compulsive love's rush to see Edward, its confusion with his silence, its sudden change to hate, then to fear, ending in ecstasy, that changed me. Acceptance of my husband's hate, his claim I was his wife, the mother of his children, the love of submission my need to reclaim his love, that changed me too.

I no longer was a girl who still had to grow up. I was a woman, a woman in love with two men, one sexually, the other as my husband and father of my children. I had to understand who I was and be a woman, an adult one, perhaps like my mother.

After lunch, the children outside blissfully playing, the questions began at the kitchen table. I didn't know how to answer. I’d been gone too long, came home too late and obviously had taken a shower just before returning yet still smelled of sex. He kept pestering me, to tell the truth, assured me he already knew, claimed he understood and it was okay but, to be honest. I knew I should deny but he wouldn’t accept my lies. I was cornered. The only out, surrender. I finally blurted out.

"We screwed!"

Just two words, once said, immediately regretted, grieved for a lifetime. 

Stunned, he started questioning about details, wanted to know who, if I had an orgasm and if we used a condom and even whose when I said we used one. I yelled in defense he was jealous as I knew he would be and walked out to the bedroom, afraid he would be enraged and hit me, something I’d never feared before.

Instead of attacking me with jealousy, he followed and again attacked me sexually. He grabbed me, threw me on the bed, stripped off my clothes, spread my legs and entered me, a look of rage on his face. I didn’t resist. I accepted marriage rape as a deserved punishment. Not having answered his question if I experienced an orgasm the night before, I faked a one as he finished.

After sex, he bombarded me with questions about his performance, his rage somewhat abated.

"Am I as good? Did you enjoy it? Do you still love me?"

The last question almost a plea. He was insecure. I tried to hug him but he pulled away. I pleaded.

“You don’t need to worry. Only you are my husband. I only did it because it was part of your swinging thing. I wanted to see if you still loved me, to see if you’d get jealous. I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t do it again. It’s over.”

Lies spewed on the wing of the moment. Well, not all, I was sorry I hurt him.

We avoided one another for the rest of the day. That night, in the living room, the kids tucked in bed, he started anew. He demanded to know who it was, who had entered his wife.

“Who screwed you!”

I couldn’t reveal Edward. If I did it was all over with Edward, perhaps even my marriage. I still wanted both. We had a screaming match as hubby kept cross-examining to box in my lies. I told him I couldn’t talk about it. It only made him jealous and it was over, I wouldn’t do it again. Finally, I yelled.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

This sent him into a screaming argument which I responded to in like manner. I then shut down, hands on my ears and refused to talk. He responded by stomping to our bedroom and slamming the door shut as if to say I was now out.

I sat on the sofa pretending to watch TV as my situation played out before me. I knew Edward was a dead-end but knew I couldn’t stop seeing him. I knew I loved my family and didn’t want a divorce. I knew I was making a mess of my life.

I got up and checked on the kids, terrified they heard the yelling. They were both asleep. Assured, I tossed and turned on the sofa until drifting asleep about an hour before I had to rise again to get the kids off to school and my husband to work.

As my eyes opened, he stood before me. He was holding a cup of coffee.

I was scared he might throw it at me. Instead, he said he loved me and offered it to me. I stood up and told him I loved him and would never leave him, what was done was done but wouldn’t happen again. I could see he, like me, had spent a night of tossing and turning without sleep. My heart went out to him. I hugged him and we lay on the sofa hugging without a word until the kids demanded breakfast.

I got up and fixed waffles and sausages until the kids could eat no more. Hubby ate little. Sullen but without further argument he got ready for work. The kids assured all was well in their world left for school. It was like old times but it wasn’t.

 As hubby left for work I stopped him.

“It’s okay, honey. You needn’t worry. It’s over. I’m never going to be “sociable” again. I didn’t want to anyway. It’s done. It’s over. We’re going to move on and forget it.” 

He didn’t respond, just left. I accepted his silence as the first step in his healing.

The words blurted out, "We screwed!" could never be retrieved. My Camelot had crumbled, Sir Lancelot had breached the moat. I was Guenevere, the traitor, hubby, poor King Arthur. When swing shift time came, it was the first time I took sick leave but not the last.

 My only option was guile, convince hubby it was over, create an artifice of faithfulness with a secrete me, one who met Edward, to live two lives in one.

That evening, in front of him, I threw away the condoms he bought for his swinging agenda to convince him it was truly over and mollify his wrath by placing some guilt on him. I changed the bedsheets and climbed in and waited in the nightie he most liked me to wear while he brushed his teeth. He came out of the bathroom, looked about and climbed in bed.

He took me softly, as his wife. We were back together, in our bedroom, in our marriage bed. I knew it wasn’t the end of his ire but it was the beginning.

Assured, sleep greeted me after he withdrew. I happily slept on the wet spot. Thereafter I let him have sex whenever he sought and always climaxed even if faked. We still argued but not about my admission. Its friction generated arguments about little things but the “we screwed” words were in the marriage closet.

Afraid of his jealousy, I avoided any mention of swinging or infidelity. If adultery inadvertently popped up, I covered by saying it’s a terrible mistake, like a car accident something which happens, that for me it was a mistake but just sex, like his proposed swinging, inferring it was a mistake we both made.

All untrue, I was seeing Edward.

My clandestine affair went into a complex stealth mode. I wanted to spend nights with Edward when possible rather than race home as if Cinderella. Edward switched his once a weeknight off from Saturday to Friday. With ample sick leave, two to three times a month I called in “sick” on Friday and Edward and I spent the night together, unfettered by the clock’s stroke of midnight. During the week, I drove to Edward’s for “nooners” Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was sex with Edward two to three times a week, and ditto for hubby. In two segregated worlds, I milked two men and loved them both. The trick was keeping my separated lives from accidental commingling.

My marriage changed. I became the dominant half. Hubby lacked his former confidence. I switched his underwear to boxer trunks and bought brass candle holders and bee's wax candles for our bedroom. As a woman, however, I worked at rebuilding his ego even while betraying and endangering it.

I no longer played the girl act but acted like a woman as Edward wanted, one who enjoyed sex. Like hubby, however, I wasn’t the woman he assumed. I no longer was in awe of him. I began to assert myself by redecorating his apartment, did his laundry and cooked for him.

I tried to control both male guppies, as a woman is wont to do.