Why I will never cheat on my husband
with a married man.
Words are everything. If you are a good man, you are a man of your word. You keep your word, do what you promise, to protect, love and cherish. Your word is good; Your name is not Mud.
It’s the other women really, the other wife. And the man I could never love, whether it be his fault or not, it doesn’t matter, his word is no good. I guess if this other man, the other husband, was open and honest about his situation, with his wife, the other wife, I might be able to. But how convoluted is that? It’s never gonna happen, no matter what my imaginations.
Why would I want to ruin my imagination, anyway? No need to mess it up with a little thing like reality. Like a mortgage, two children who won’t be paying the bills anytime in the near future, and a new job making a quarter of what I did before kids. So much more responsibility, with a fraction of the appreciation; the least I deserve is my imagination.
I imagine he would offer me his hand, like literally, hold my hand just for the pleasure of touching; walking along a trail, in the evening; watching the news, his fingers finding their way up the sensitive side of my arm, making my heart beat a little faster thinking of where they will lead. To my chin, directing my mouth to his. Then his mouth taking the lead, down my neck and shoulders, hands going further down my side, and feeling my body respond to his.
I wonder where we met, how this started. It gets fuzzier, harder to work out. Does he follow me towards the bathroom, and wait for me to come out? What does he say, a question perhaps? I was wondering if I could touch your sweater, so pink and hard, I mean soft. Not what I meant. I saw your hand there behind your back and it seemed to be needing something. A ring of stars swirl around my head, is he coming on to me, making me dizzy? We find a dark corner in this public place, and I find his hands. Deciding to draw this out, just playing w our shadows, smiling, wondering. It could be heated and fast, backing me up onto the counter, his mouth finds mine just as his hands reach along the side of my legs, up my skirt, I feel the hardness of his body so strong pushing into me.
Of course, if I really liked him, it would have to end there, right? I couldn’t allow him to bulge out of his pants and let me feel the length and width of his heart, without first bearing some soul. I imagine he has an understanding, a situation that makes it all okay, to see me again. Maybe a room at the Biltmore, where we can swim at the Coral Casino by day, and skinny-dip in the adults only pool after hours. Dripping wet back to our room where we make love until we can no longer move without fueling our bodies. Out of the room, we skulk scantily dressed, giggling and touching, to an out of the way table, with arched bougainvillea creating shadows on our perspiring faces, smiling elated. Not afraid of public displays of passion, our mouths share bites, and our legs entwine below the table. We bring dessert back to the room.