Advice for staying married

While I must admit to being something of a terrible person, I have always wondered about those less terrible people, who have affairs because they don't love their partner anymore. What keeps them with these people? Money? Children? Some unusual obligation? I don't particularly know. I'm not one of those people. I'm happily married, though my penis seems to think otherwise. This guide is about how not to get caught in your fun endeavors.

Always use condoms--Easy enough. Trusting the person you're sleeping with should be a default, but sometimes a test can be missed, a symptom could slip by and not being single, you don't have the option of getting it treated quietly.

Keep your condoms someplace safe-- Unless you're somehow in a marriage in which your wife or husband forbids genital contact (poor soul), you've probably eliminated the need for these. It's great isn't it? Sex is about a billion times better bareback. Well, now that you're out in the world, screwing near strangers (or coworkers), and you're playing it safe, you need a place to keep this little buggers. Someplace convenient but where your spouse, whether prying or innocently looking for something, won't stumble onto them. This is where you need to know them a little bit. Don't choose a spare battery drawer, even if you think you're the only one who changes them. If you can avoid bringing them home at all, all the better, just remember to make a trip to pick them up before any rendezvous (and bring enough. I know that 1, maybe 2 will cover you 99% of the time--if not, tell me your secret!--but there are few things as sad as an unexpected readiness for round 3 to be defeated by a rubber shortage).

Never do it at home--I know, it's convenient, it's free and you know exactly the last time the sheets have been changed. Believe me, I get it. Here's the thing: home is where the spouse lives. They can come home at any time because of a business trip cut short, a shopping trip ruined by rain (really? you're screwing someone in your house while they're shopping? I'm not sure if you're brave or stupid), a workday that went wrong and they took off early, etc. There are more reasons though. Mostly in the left behind category. If your sex life is as interesting as it should be, disrobing is not something that is being carefully planned. Socks and bras have a tendency to be launched across the room, perhaps a dog or cat, if you have them, will think a piece of clothing is a plaything, and then there are the condoms. Let me tell you a story. When S. was over a week ago, and we fucked each other silly for a few hours, we somehow managed to go through 4 condoms. That's a lot. Unfortunately, I only recollected 3. I found three, 3 wrappers and 3 rubbers, duly collected them (not forgetting the little ripped off tops) and put them into a small trashbag, which I put into the larger trashbag and tossed that into the dumpster. Safe. Then, while tidying the house later that day (W. being out of town for a business trip, so luckily I had the time) I found another wrapper. Fuck. Thus began a mad tearing up the house for the used condom. Little thought of fact: when lying around, those things are practically invisible. After 45 minutes, I finally found it. Thank the lord. I'll also mention that before S. left, we spent a good 10 minutes looking for her sock. So, moral of the story: do it at their place (if they're single) or do it at a motel.

Don't use your credit card, dummy--Speaking of motels, they're a great way to get you caught. If you're the person who controls the finances, you may be tempted to believe that you're the only one that looks at the bills. You're not. Even though you may accuse your spouse of never looking because they rarely look, they'll glance at it from time to time. Keep this in mind. If you have a mysterious noon charge from Motel 6, they're going to know. So, here's the workaround. Get a credit card in your name delivered to you outside of your home. Work will do. If that's not feasible, use cash whenever possible. Most hotels/motels require a card on file to charge you in case you run off with their towels, so you can try to find one that doesn't (they're sleezy, but they exist) or you can get your fuck buddy to put theirs down. It's a complicated business, I know.

Don't use your cellphone either--Yep, they keep track of everything. Every call and every text. If you're somehow only screwing the same person once, so the calls are kept to an absolute minimum, you can get away with it, I'll admit. But as soon as 3 or 4 are placed back and forth, you're going to need an excuse. What's worse is when your fuckbuddy, feeling horny, places a booty call. Now there is nothing better than a delivery order for your sex, but there is also nothing worse than trying to keep that conversation away from your spouse who's sitting 2 feet away from you. The solution is called Tracphone. A prepaid cell is the way to go. Keep it turned off at all times (you don't want that one ringing and try to explain it) until you get a chance to check it, or if you're expecting (and can actually take) the call. They can call you if they want some and it won't get you in trouble. That is convenience.

Keep your lies in check--Don't say you're playing golf if you weren't. You'll have to have played with someone and that conversation can come up. If you say you went shopping: BUY SOMETHING. Make sure that the time spent is proportionate to how much you would normally spend. Don't invent friends and don't make your friends into patsies for your extra-marrital fun. They don't want to have to remember when they supposedly did something with you--they're not getting any from the equation.

Keep it outside of your circle--Friends and coworkers are out unless you really want to get divorced. The problem is this: you have a connection with these people, you're probably attracted to them not only because of their body, but because of their mind. This is called a relationship. Even if you're only wanted a quick screw, they may be thinking of something a little bit more. Let me tell you folks, there is nothing worse than a jilted lover, especially when the relationship they had imagined you two were cultivating was really just a sexual release for you, with them playing the role of warm sex-toy. It's just not a flattering thought. Keep it to the bars, the internet and creepy underground connections. I suggest gay guys that aren't really attractive, yet find some weird thrill in hooking you up with people. I don't get it, but I've run into a number of these fixers. God bless, is all I really have to say to that.

Don't lie to them--This may seem counter-intuitive, but don't lie to the men and women you're banging. Tell them you're married. This may lose you some (and bring you some, I might add) but it keeps things from getting out of control. If they think you're single and just wanting a bang, and you repeat that process a few times, they may think that something is blossoming. See above about jilted lovers. Don't let their expectations get out of control. Granted, most of the time you'll just crush their little dreams, but occasionally, they'll get righteously indignant and rat you out. Whoops.

Have fun-- You're a terrible person, sleeping with others while married to someone you want to stay with. Do you realize that? You are standing against everything society has ever stood for and you're doing it for...for what? You're breaking your promises to this person, you're lying to them and you're deeply humiliating them in ways that are hard to imagine. It's fun though, right? God damn it's fun. Enjoy you're devilishness.

The tale of S.

It has been a while, but that is because it has been an interesting week. Perhaps I will update the rest of the week, but let me tell you about last weekend.

S. was in town to visit family and so we decided to grab a few drinks together. This was good and fun. We caught up, we gossiped, we voiced the ethereal nothingness of a successful conversation, laughing and joking and speechifying and agreeing in a way that we would not remember later, but that was entirely satisfying.

S was dressed in a seemingly simple dress, but it was hard to keep my eyes off of her. The simple curves served her virtues. I found myself, as we drank and laughed, unable to keep my hands from touching her. I placed my hand on her arm, her shoulders, her knee and there was a thrill in it that all know. We closed the bar down and made our out back to my apartment where I poured us more drinks and put on some music.

The topic stayed mostly in bounds of friendly protocol, but my hands were on a planet of their own, drawn to her like a lick of flame into the oxygen of the air, hungering. We were drunk and so the moment itself is beyond me, but I put my hand on her cheek and she protested weakly that we shouldn't. I kissed her.

I am still thinking about her kiss. S. has a way with her mouth that I have not seen before. We kissed and we grabbed at each other, straining into the other, grabbing hold of clothing and body parts to tighten our grip. We let loose of each other's lips and roamed the neck and ear, our hands still grabbing and pulling. We lost our clothing and collapsed onto the couch. She protested again that we shouldn't. But I want to, I said to her, and she said she wanted to as well. We were gloriously naked.

Yet she kept her hand over her crotch except for when my dick was near her hand. She was drawn to it, stroking it and touching it. I told her I wanted to eat her, but no, she said, just fuck me. I did. We fucked until I was tired and my poor drunk dick couldn't keep up. Oh evil alcohol! I ate her. Oh, what a fantastic pussy S. has. The trim so perfect and elegant. I ate her for what seemed an hour, my vigor restored by her soft moans and my fingers inside her. She told me to get on my back so she could blow me. The mouth again, so incredible. That is a sort of heaven. I flipped her on her knees and we screwed for another good while, my head swimming and my body rejoicing.

Eventually it came to an end, I don't know why (drunken logic, I'm sure) and I picked her up to bring her to the bedroom. We crashed into the coffee table and I thwacked her head against a wall. No permenant damage done, I we back to her pussy. The thrill eating her. We screwed some more until I was sweating and exhausted and finished an then we collapsed and slept. Somehow this sequence, including the conversation took from 2:30 to 6:30. I slept the righteous sleep of the exhausted.

But I was woken up by myself at only 8. I crawled to S. and her pussy, exploring her with my tongue until she awoke and writhed and pulled my head into her and then I climbed on top. The poor neighbors with the shudder of the floorboards.

We fell asleep again, and she woke me a few hours later. Our fun was over, she had her commitments for the day and I had mine.

Call me tonight if you're free, I told her as I dropped her off. Sadly she didn't. Our friendship will continue how it was, which is how I am happy, for that is something I cherish. I can still smell her though when I lose my train of thought and I thrill at the thought of her lips on mine, our bodies pressed together again. Oh for her to come visit her family again, is my greatest wish. This time I want her sober, so the recollection of the bliss is more straightforward and wonderful.

Resolution

Firstly, there is something thrilling about posting on a blog about stupid mistakes and sex while working. It's not that I'm wasting company time (the work is done, my job now is to watch the clock), it's that it is something taboo.

What better way to break silence of the last week. In a nutshell, things have been boring. Interestingly, my baring of my soul and intentions met with reciprocity. Immediately a rendezvous was planned, detailed, setup and anticipated...which killed the fun of it. B and I had come to an agreement that it is what we both want, and that agreement has put a fizzle to the sizzle. The flirting this week has been as heavy as ever, but the payoff is nonexistant and seems like it shall remain that way.

So in a way, this is a post about things done right. No, wait, I'm posting at work. Disaster averted.