The Other Woman

I looked around me in the quiet darkness, feeling the blood throb in my temples.  Curled up around my body, warm under the sheets, was Dennis, his breathing regular and deep.

I’d taken Zachary to my sister’s for an overnight stay, not even willing to tell her what I was doing; she thought I was going out with my girlfriends for a late night at the local bar, and that I’d come over with doughnuts the next morning to pick up my four year old son.  Instead, I had driven to the house Dennis shared with his wife.

He’d explained to me that she was going out of town for the weekend for something that had to do with horses or maybe it was archery; something outdoorsy.  He had offered for me to come over for dinner and then to stay overnight.   Of course the unspoken agreement was that the overnight stay would mean that we’d sleep together.

I had decided to allow myself to “go for it”.  I was tired, I was lonely, I was a single mother with no prospects.  I hadn’t been touched by a man in over two years and I missed it.  Here was a man whom I’d worshipped for 8 years offering himself up to me.  I had reservations about it, but after endless phone conversations in which we talked philosophically about the irrationality of monogamy, the cold facts of young love vs. married affection and the ill matched sex drives of older men and their same age partners, I started to loosen up on my reticence.

So I’d driven my little car and parked it out of the way on the side of his house that Friday afternoon while he poured me wine and prepared fresh shrimp and pasta for me.  I looked around the home he shared with his wife and marveled at what it would be like to be married to him, to have it all already figured out.  I wished I could be her and push the fast forward button on all of the hard stuff that lay ahead of me:  building a career, a network of friends, a social circle.  I closed my eyes and imagined sitting at this table every night with him, talking about our work, sharing a glass of wine and a meal prepared together.  It seemed perfect.

It had all been the perfect little illusion for me, pretending to not notice the elephant in the room, until Dennis’ wife called home for her evening phone call.  Hearing his easy way of speaking to her as he lied about watching TV and reading books all night made my scalp itch with sweat.  I could feel my flight or fight response kick in; what to do?

My fight response consisted of downing two full glasses of wine while Dennis finished his phone conversation, and then attacking him as he hung up the phone.   I’d dragged him to the bed he normally shared with his wife, the edges of reality starting to blur as the wine kicked in, and had my way with him.

Laying here now, hours later, I could hardly remember any of it, except the awful feeling that I’d done something terribly wrong.  Not just in general, but to someone in particular.  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could make out shapes in the room; I must be on her side of the bed because everything on this side of the room was laid out carefully and neatly.  The other side of the room had men’s clothes strewn about on top of the hamper; random pieces of paper were covering the dresser.  I couldn’t escape the fact, now that the effect of the wine had worn off, that I had just slept with another woman’s husband in her own bed.  How terrible a person did that make me?

I could feel Dennis’ breathing start to change, and watched him as he slowly lifted himself up from the depths of his unconsciousness.  His eyes slowly fluttered open and rested on me looking at him.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, tracing the worry line between my eyes.

“I just…I feel like I’m a terrible person.  I can’t stop thinking about your wife.  It just feels all wrong.”

“What part feels wrong?  The part that is between us or the part that is outside of us?”

I shifted my body so I was facing him.  It was a good question.  Was I feeling badly because the things that had happened between us weren’t good?  No.   I loved talking to him, loved spending time with him, loved the way he’d looked at me, loved that we were a part of each other’s lives.  Connecting with him sexually was the physical expression of all of that.  When I thought about just that, just what was between the two of us, I smiled; I couldn’t help myself.

“The outside.” I whispered back.

He shifted closer to me, leaning in.  “Let’s just focus on what just made you smile for now.   The rest of it will all still be there when the sun comes up, but the way this feels right now, between you and me…let’s make it last as long as we can.”

As he leaned in for a slow, soft kiss, I willed myself to do just that.