In The Beginning ….

Before I could help myself I was googling him.

Yes, I’ve come to use it as a verb, because it’s an activity. It’s action. Sometimes, it’s just reaction.

And maybe it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t – on a lark – sent him my number to text me.

I had given it to several others, making every single one believe it was special. But I copied and pasted them all. So much so that – and I still really don’t – exactly know who was texting me.

I just got the text when I was staying with my friend. We were both on the web site. I had shared my secret with her.

“I’m sorry I running a little late,” he wrote. And I flipped out. I looked at her and said, “Was I supposed to be somewhere? Did I make plans and forget them?”

Because I wasn’t sure. It was entirely possible. Here we are, two supposed adult women, on a site to meet cheating men, while we are going through divorces. And we are on dating sites, like for single guys.

Neither of us has even been to court yet. We have adult children, for fuck’s sake. But damn. It’s exciting. The attention. We kept joking that we were gonna have to make lists, especially to compare and make sure we aren’t talking to the same men.

I wasn’t a stranger to it, but she was. And she was having fun. So when I got the text, I replied … honestly. I asked who he was. There are too many e-mail addys and screen names and profiles and who is who from where and why?

But I took a chance. And I told him to call.

And he did … over and over. I let my guard down. It seemed like forever, but it was fewer than five days and we were in a hotel room, fucking.

It was just a carry over from our conversations, a natural progression. And I get up the next morning, drive two hours back to the same small town, with the same small minds and the same old shit and I think, maybe I should just go back.

But I can’t. I could, but not to see him. He doesn’t belong to me. He doesn’t belong to ME.

He’s someone else’s husband and father and child. I’m his fantasy world, but he’s my reality. I don’t have a choice in the matter.

JM was in Houston, three hours away, doing the same thing.

And she texts, “Wow. This is fun.” And it is. But when she calls, I know she feels it, too. She knows his wife’s name. They had already talked about how he was strictly on loan.

But still. Here I am looking at his Facebook profile. It’s set to private. Kinda funny to me since what we did was much more private than anything he could possibly have on a social networking profile.
I had the look in his eyes. I had his attention. Even if it was less than 24 hours. It was real.

So we’ve exchanged texts. And real life seeps in. My friend and I are both drinking. It’s not even 4 p.m., but it’s part of our lives.

We are angry, we are tired and frustrated and hurt. But we have THEM. But we don’t.

And we know that weekends are the hardest. Weekends are for families, for fathers, for husbands … we don’t have our husbands anymore. We only have them.

reality

I sent him an IM telling him to get out of my head. But he doesn’t. He won’t for a while. I know, because I’ve done this before. I know the train will crash, it’s just a matter of timing. Will it be a long, sweet beautiful ride or will it derail quickly?

That one is anyone’s guess. But if it goes quickly, it’s for one of two reasons: we’ve become too connected or we become needy, like their wives and we are work and we aren’t fun anymore.

So it’s a juggling act. But it’s still an act. And every play has to have a finale. And then, if we can, we move on to another … hoping it will be different. Hoping that we will find our own happily ever after that some woman was stupid enough to take for granted, to not have sex with, to not touch or care about anymore.

Maybe we will. He said the house pays 87 cents on the dollar. I’m hoping my odds are that good.

Where were they when we were looking? Where were these smart, funny, successful, powerful guys? Why do we have to play the role of the other woman? I want to be his.

I wasn’t entirely honest with him, although I was when I put my profile up, on a website, saying I was married. I was. Until he kicked me out. I still am, even though my husband doesn’t want me anymore. He does.

He wants next week. I would give him every one. I’ve given him my text inbox. I’ve gotten rid of every text but his.

It was too crowded and His words are more precious. Because I don’t get to see him, talk to him, touch him, every day.

He said his wife doesn’t touch him. She just stopped. And I have been in her shoes, too. I’ve loathed the familiar … until it was threatened. And when I tried to cling back to it … it was too little too late.

So I am a professional saboteur. I didn’t even know how to spell it. But I know how to live it.

So here we go back to reality.

I have two kids: 17 and 6. She has four, with the last being 14. And even though I’m a mom of such a young one, circumstances led me to having too much time on my hands.

The custody battle was horrible. I rolled over. I did. I know. He fucked me, but I let him. So it’s not rape.

But I believed I didn’t have a choice. He had the money. He had the families behind him. He had an attorney. And I foolishly believed that my ex wouldn’t want such a young girl. Yeah, I was wrong.

Three years later, and we are back in court, fighting the same battle. I have an attorney this time, but it’s not changed much. I will get to see her Saturday, from 1-5 p.m – with conditions. No Sunday. No church. That’s all. And I’ve not seen her since July 6. No one feels the same sense of urgency as I.

So I move away, more into my other reality. The one where I am someone else. I am in control. I call the shots.

But by God, you’d better have alcohol handy by the end of the day or I can’t do it. I know it. Unfortunately, so do many others. I’ve lost weight and I’ve been drug tested because of it.

Nope guys. I never MEANT to go from a size 12 to a 4 without noticing. And I notice now. The hollow cheeks, the empty eyes, they all speak of pain if anyone was to listen. But I turn the volume down so no one can hear it.

And I give away pieces of my life, but not all. Not to everyone. Fuck that. I’m not vulnerable. I don’t give a fuck.

But I do. And that’s worse.

My next ex kicked us out on the Fourth of July. Earlier that day, I had updated my status as, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” It wasn’t foreshadowing. I knew. I knew it would come to a head that night. And I wanted it to happen.

Congratu fucking lations. I won. I didn’t win. We all lost. We ALL lost. But it’s hard to stop when you’ve put it in motion. You have a lot invested in it. So you brush yourself off. Start new. And … well … then it gets complicated.

I have been here before, in my first marriage

The weekends

Weekends are painful. Last night we went to bed worn out.

We sleep (she and I) in the same bed for comfort. We’re not doing anything naughty, we just sleep better that way.

The first thing I do is check my e-mail and texts. I have some, but I only care about his.

I get a text from another married man. One I really liked; one I slept with. But he holds no interest to me now. I might keep him for Saturday mornings, but I haven’t decided yet. I just can’t do it today.

But then again, the day just started.

He texted me. He’s having breakfast with his family. “Pretty ballsy,” he said. Yeah, it is. But don’t screw it up I’m thinking. Don’t screw it up so that I can’t see you anymore.

You are the only one I can let my defenses down with. The only one who knows there is a real me and a persona. I don’t want you to get it, but you do … instinctively.

And it scares me. But more than that, it excites me. Did I say his personality is exactly like Jeremy Piven, a la Ari Gold, a la Ari Emmanuel? He thinks it’s an insult. It’s not. He’s a hustler by instinct and design. He’s motherfucking fierce.

Always looking for his next prey. He’s ruthless. But that’s his public side. I saw a glimpse of the private side, but then I had to leave. That’s what he said.

I didn’t have to leave, but I did. And I didn’t. Because he’s very much with me right now.