My Cheating Friend - 2
A few days ago I wrote a blog about “my cheating friend.” She’s a woman who’s been married for ten years and suddenly had her first affair. Only she discovered what she’s been missing and now she wants to meet the new man again.
Last night she called me. She told me that she’d seen my blog and read the comments. Then she broke the news. “And my husband saw what you wrote, as well.”
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Well, I know that I agreed that you could write about some of what I told you, if you changed the details, so no one would know who I am. And I thought it might be interesting to read what people said . . .”
“Was there a problem?”
“You could say that,” she continued. “My husband told me over dinner that he’d seen your blog and I almost suffocated on the food in my mouth.”
“Oh no. . . what happened?”
“I pretended that I suffocated on my food, which I did. He doesn’t suspect anything. He just said he was happy that the story wasn’t about us.”
I have to admit that I felt pretty uncomfortable at this point. So I tried to tell her that she couldn’t go on like this and she couldn’t live a lie. She agreed and said that she felt very guilty, really terrible.
But then she stated, “It doesn’t matter. I have to see that man at least one more time. It’s not just the sex. When I’m with him he makes me feel so special. He validates my feelings, and he cares and is so tender. I feel this deep connection that I haven’t felt in years. We have so much in common. If you hadn’t experienced this you wouldn’t understand.”
I asked her what would happen now.
She told me that she’d set up a second rendezvous with the young gentleman she couldn’t stay away from. There’s a medical conference in Santa Barbara this weekend, and she is going away for two nights without her husband and she plans on meeting her lover there.
“Aren’t you the least dissuaded by the comments you read on my blog on Huffington Post?” I asked.
“Those people are right. I should run. But I just can’t. Don’t you see; I may only experience something like this once in my lifetime.”
I’m not sure if she believed that herself. I could tell that her brain told her one thing and her heart simply didn’t care. She was hoping for the impossible. I asked her to call me after the weekend, when she returned from her trip and her meeting with her new lover, if she wanted to talk.
I knew one thing, whatever she felt it was more addictive than crack cocaine.