What My Affair Helped Me Understand About Myself
I am a cheater. There, I’ve said it.
You can throw stones at me if you are that saint, for all I care. It’s not going to make any difference.
Six months ago I was in a deep depression, frustrated by my marriage, struggling with my self-preservation, and low self-esteem. I was miserable. In all senses of this word. I hated my life, hated my bragging, hated my sadness. I was seriously considering divorce and I cried about every little thing that upset me.
Told you. Mi-se-ra-ble.
My husband kind of pulled back, and we drifted apart. I think at some point he started hating my guts because he couldn’t understand what the fuck was my problem (he still doesn’t get it.) But that’s a whole another story for another time.
My point is that I wasn’t at my highest when I met Alex. He wasn’t either.
We met at work, during one of my business trips. He had recently joined the company I worked for. We instantly got along and so, our friendship begun. He invited me to dinner one day, strictly professional, of course. We ended up drinking the night out and talking about all at once. We flirted. It was easy and felt very natural.
I wasn’t thinking anything of it, at first. But I did notice that he was exactly my type. He checked almost all of the boxes (or so I thought.) I even had to masturbate later to ease the tension. That’s the effect he had on me.
But it’s the next day that changed everything. The day that actually made me a cheater.
No, we didn’t fuck, as you might think (not then, at least.) But I got drunk, opened up even more (which included crying and complaining about my life and previous trauma,) and I kissed him. I did that consciously. I wasn’t drunk at that very moment. I knew he wanted it too. But I had a ring on my finger, and, of course, he knew about my marital status, so I had to be the one to step up.
We spent the next day together as well. We talked some more, telling each other secrets and being very open. And then I left. My business trip was over, but our relationship has just started.
In the beginning, I was mostly the one to initiating all communication. I was pretty struck by him, you see. Plus, I don’t have any problem with making the first move. I liked him, a lot. He liked me too. We were attracted to each other. Physically and emotionally. So, why we bullshit? (c)
We started talking on the phone, video chatting, texting each other. He was a bit distant at first. I was married, and it bothered him (more than it bothered me though.) We decided that each of us must make a decision and the other one will respect it, even if it meant we should stop communicating outside of work.
We haven’t.
On the first night of my next business trip, we’ve slept together. And it was really good. Women often have troubles when they first have a sexual encounter with a new partner, and I am no exception. For me, it was different with him. Since then, we are having sex every day when I am there, with just a few exceptions. Sometimes, we do both morning and evening fucks. Sex with Alex is just amazing. I mean it. He is a very selfless lover, he loves exploration, and we both enjoy the same things in bed.
But sex is only a part of the deal. We also maintain a great emotional and intellectual connection. We have intimacy. You know, these “not-dates” when you go to bars and restaurants to talk, when you share personal stuff, when you are comfortable with each other even when you are not fucking, that type of things.
It’s also a relationship. Just a different kind of one.
And since, it’s all out there, I have to confess. I started comparing them — my husband and my lover (I know, a shocker!) I live in the real world and know that there are no such things as unicorns, fairies, and happy endings, so I understand my bias. I know I can’t compare seven years and six months, thousands of arguments and zero (or well maybe one,) committed relationship and a secret affair.
Still, there is something that makes this particular relationship to stand out of the rest. And it’s not the fact that I’ve never had a secret lover before, it’s this honesty and down-to-earth attitude that helped me see myself in a totally different light. Here’s what I discovered.
I have a “saviour complex.”
I had a couple of troubled relationships in the past (who am I kidding, none of my previous boyfriends was normal.) My husband is also a complicated man to be with. It always bothered me, and I never really understood why these men are so attracted to me. I was wondering what was the problem.
Well, the answer is pretty easy. Me. I am the problem.
When I met Alex, I realized just how much I love troubled men. I want to help them overcome their struggles, heal their wounds.
Emotionally unstable? Damaged? Has a fucked up relationship with his family?
Sign me up. I’ll help them. I will take care of them, get them out of trouble, listen to them, advise them, help them become better.
I am good at that. I’m fascinated by a new challenge. Which leads me to another conclusion.
I don't want easy.
Who the fuck wants easy? Not me.
I always thought that I want a peaceful and quiet life, a calm, stable type of love. I craved for it. Looked for it.
Well, I got what I wanted. It sucks. Careful what you wish for.
I wished to be married to a decent man. I am and bored out of my fucking mind. At least, I was.
After one particularly stressful job, which ended quite badly, I wanted to find a safe place. I did. I run away exactly the year after, found another shithole and I saw myself thriving and growing.
I know now that like it all on the edge. Dangerous, forbidden, complicated, hard? Bring it on, baby!
Rough times make me focused, straight-to-the-point, they make me feel alive. But, there is another loophole.
There are different types of “hard relationship”. And I want a very particular kind.
I don’t want to be with a person who makes me feel miserable, belittles me, or ignores me. I don’t want to be abused and I don’t want to be made a second priority. I don’t want to be controlled, left alone, or ashamed of.
I want to be challenged, called on my bullshit, seen right through to my core, pushed to new limits, and fucked till I sore. I want to be given choices and obstacles. I wanted to be chosen every single day.
Do that, and I’ll become the best partner in crime, lover, and wife. Because these are the things that really define me, that allow me to opened up, to explore my hidden potential. There is one more thing that makes me who I am, though. And it might be hard for many people.
I won’t survive without physical touch and words of affirmation.
One of the problems that my husband and I have is the lack of expression of his affection. Don’t get me wrong, he is not a fucking stoneman, so of course, we hug, and kiss, and have sex. And he says that he loves me and I am beautiful. It just does not match my level of need.
Physical touch is how I express affection and care and it exactly what I need to receive in order to feel loved and desired. Holding my hand, kissing my cheek, stroking my legs or my butt, hugging me — there are so many ways to show closeness. It does not have to even be sexual.
Words. Another powerful tool. I am a talker and oh my gosh, how much I love to hear compliments and praises, even jokes can help from time to time. We all need this in order to feel confident. I just need more.
I am special.
Sounds very arrogant and self-aware, and you would actually laugh at me if you knew real-life Phoenix. She has pretty low self-esteem and even lower self-worth. But she has recently been explained how and why she is special.
I am not a Messiah, not a saviour, not different from other troubled young ladies. Yet, I am special. Because I feel like one. Because I deserve it. Because I really am special.
Dear Alex, thank you for your many lessons, and especially for this last one. You’ve changed my life. I mean it.
