If the father thing was just down to Professor or the Animator, it’d be a whole different story. But how do I explain Justin?

How, indeed.

I dunno, I guess I’ve been careless. Ha! The understatement of the century.

Some honesty. I think maybe underneath all the excitement I was having, swinging between guys, I wasn’t just shutting down but I was also feeling a little… angry. Angry at Professor for not stepping up to the plate when I asked. Angry at the Animator, for not wanting more from me than sex and casual friendship. Angry at myself, for settling.

Yes, settling. Somehow, having my cake & eating it too feels like I’m settling. How is that possible? I think all the omissions and little white fibs I’ve relied on to keep things from being “awkward” are backfiring on me. Yet, it’s not like I need to “come clean” to anyone — Professor is not an idiot. He knows I’m not an angel, has some idea what I’m up to when I take off on one of my so-called errands.

I tell him just enough, and if he wanted to know all he’d have to do is ask some kinda follow-up question. I wouldn’t lie. But he doesn’t ask, so why go into gory details that he doesn’t need to hear? Why rub it in?

On the other hand, why doesn’t he want to know? Therein lies the root of my resentment, I think. If he cares about me as much as he purports to, then how can he let me run off by myself so often? How can he just smile when I crawl into bed at 2:00 am, welcoming me home with open arms like I’m a prodigal daughter instead of this cuckolding floozie, all cheap heels and someone-else’s-bed head.

Screw him, then. Next time, I’m not tip-toeing around where I’m going or what I’ll be doing. What’s that old song line? Something about choosing not to decide is still making a choice. By his own complacency, Professor has chosen to be in this weird situation with me. I can’t keep shielding the truth, we both need to own up.

Who knows? Maybe we’ll talk and agree that we’re a great couple in many ways but when it comes to sex, I get to have a little on the side. Not sure I’m totally cool with HIM having other girls but so far that hasn’t been an issue, his sex drive is much lower than mine. So perhaps we’ll explore some kinda polyandrous arrangement… with rules and boundaries and respect and honesty, of course.

Maybe that would, indeed, create the ultimate “Friends With Benefits” situation?!

I’m fantasizing, here, but ya never know. Imagine the ideal, and then work back from there, I think.

So I’ve a swell plan for confronting things with Professor. Too bad I didn’t think all this thru a few weeks ago, before I’d started banging Justin. Cute, young, unsuspecting Justin. Oh that poor kid has no idea what he stepped in.

And perhaps he’ll never know. Haven’t made up my mind how much I need to tell him. As it is, he knows pitiful little about me. Just some friendly new tenant at the condominium pool this Summer. I don’t even remember how we crossed the line, really. One of those unseasonably warm Saturdays last month, when they opened the jacuzzi and put out lounge chairs for sunbathing while the ground crew worked on the big pool, fiddling with hoses and motors and running that silly little submarine thing that swims around, sucking up debris.

I dunno why Professor wasn’t with me, but I’d brought a book along, and a little cooler with some water, a few beers. Place was mostly empty, I was bored. Soon found myself watching the guys, and admiring the impact of sunshine & manual labor on shoulders, arms, chests, legs… Words like “golden”  and “strapping” kept coming to mind, especially when I focused on one particularly happy-go-lucky dude who looked like he was working his ass off, but he was smiling & joking away like he was hanging with buds at a frat party.

He noticed me, noticing him. The rest, they say, is history…

Although how & why I allowed myself to get knocked up remains a mystery. Of course I am fully aware I failed to start up the last month of birth control pills, and pregnancy is of course an obvious consequence. But I didn’t MEAN to skip my pills… but my old pharmacy is in another town, and I kept thinking I’d get around to moving the prescription, but then I kept putting that off…

And after I realized what was happening, I got lazy about using condoms with the Animator, who knows why?

Bah… maybe I do. I think I’m courting chaos. I was taking foolish chances cause I wanted to shake up my world, to force new directions the way gardeners trick plants to flower way before the weather is warm enough. Professor and the Animator will dither along forever… I guess something in me needed to take charge and push the need for some action, any action. Even being dumped by both of them would be preferable, I think, cause at least then I’d have a clean slate to work from.

I never intended to bring Justin into this, but we were unprepared when we first started getting physical, and it seemed pointless to go thru the effort of finding/obtaining/using a rubber when I was taking such chances with the Animator already.

And now, here I am. Good grief.

Betcha thought I forgot about this journal, didn’t you? And I almost did, truthfully. Things were going so well, I almost felt embarrassed to keep blathering on about how awesome my life was.

Operative word: was.

Not to be dramatic, but lately things have exploded (imploded?) so thoroughly that I’m starting to feel like the overwrought heroine in a bad Victorian novel — clutching bosom, heaving heart, and all.

Really, it’s not all that bad. Still living with Professor, still banging The Animator. Only, now instead of swinging about in the thoes of an exciting “love triangle,” I feel like I’m just biding my time till the sky comes crashing down.

I’m pregnant. The father? Good question.

It gets worse: neither man in my life gives a shit about me. Which doubtless comes as no surprise to anyone who dares ask the obvious question, “When is a guy not jealous when his sexual partner is seeing other men?”

Uhhhhh… I’d like to buzz in now (better late than never): when he doesn’t care.

DING DING DING

There I was, having my cake and eating it too — and eating it and eating it and eating it. Gorging myself, barely even tasting. Now here I am: alone & fat on my own indulgences.

That metaphor sucks, lemme put it another way. I was getting such a high bouncing between guys, I failed to focus and assumed I was the one playing when it seems I have actually been getting played.

Damn, that’s more explanatory but horribly cliche… and a little exaggerated. But it’s how I *feel* so there ya have it.

I shouldn’t be so surprised. I always assumed The Animator had other chicks, he definitely keeps some kind of a “rotation” that I can’t quite pin down but I’ve picked up patterns and can always tell when it’s about time for him to surface. Of course, at first we fucked quite constantly but that peetered out after a few weeks. Rather conveniently, too, so I could turn my attention to Professor. Sexual attention, that is.

I’ve been a machine! So weird… this “friends-with-benefits” thing amped up my drive so much my own mother pulled me aside and whispered, “You’re talking like a man!” after catching some of my weekend wrap-up with my sisters.

I guess I was. Maybe my testosterone’s outta whack. Maybe I have an ovarian cyst, pituitary tumors, or an adrenal gland dysfunction (thank you, WebMD!).

Or maybe I’ve been so hopped up on sex to distract myself from the raw truth that I can’t handle emotions with more than one guy — and since I can’t choose between guys, I just shut off my emotions. I stopped seeing Professor and the Animator as friends and instead reduced them to body parts and orgasmic experiences.

Which, at the time = HOT!

But life has a funny way of squeezing into even the most carefully constructed fantasies. I see now the key to “friends with benefits” isn’t the “benefits” part at all, but that part at the front, the “friends” bit.

I could use a friend now, oh boy. Someone to help me sort out this mess inside me, cause I fear my current state is due not just to carelessness but also some deep-seated need to take all these feelings inside me and bring them to life, to make something real from all my hiding & pretending.

How can two weeks have blown by so fast? Or has it been three? I can’t keep track, lately… I’ve just been a big ball of pleasure with orgasms on top. Lots of orgasms.

The other night, I had trouble falling asleep and as I tossed & turned, it dawned on me that I was carrying some tension in my face… Turns out, I was smiling! Yes, my cheeks were pulled back in a happy grin, totally unconscious. I have been THAT delighted by my life these days.

Crazy! To think just when I was ready to throw in the towel on Professor, just when I’d given up on enjoying the Animator’s erotic charms… suddenly, things came together perfectly. I guess all I had to do was decide what I wanted, and go for it. I might not be living conventionally or even particularly honestly, at that — but I am having a FANTASTIC time.

Do I feel guilty about Professor? Kind of. But on the other hand, it’s not like I didn’t let him know, flat-out, that I needed more foreplay & intimacy from him. Evidently, sex isn’t a big deal for him, or else he’d put forth some effort towards pleasing me. But outside the bedroom, he’s kind and sweet and caring and reliable and smart and funny… The perfect guy for me. Which is why I didn’t wanna let him go in January.

Funny, how Professor didn’t work as a friend with benefits, though. It was weird dating other guys, and then going home to him. Backwards, really. He’s “boyfriend” material, not a “fuck buddy,” but then, I’m glad we went down that road because it’s like he started this friends-with-benefits thing. I just flipped it around. He gets even more of me, now.

And, frankly, I think I’m a better girlfriend because of this arrangement. Now, when he pushes into me without foreplay, I don’t sweat it cause I know that I’ll get loved on soon enough from the Animator. In fact, I have been so well-sexed lately that I am delighted to offer Professor my body whenever he wants it — he’s a terrific boyfriend, if I’m not obsessing about why he’s not touching me.

My only issue so far is feeling like I’m living a double life. Gotta make some adjustments, like, I turn my phone off when he’s not around, which feels kinda sneaky but on the other hand, I don’t wanna rock this boat. I get the feeling he’d be a lot less cool with my running off to do “errands” (#1 excuse when I’m seeing the Animator) if I were also taking private calls/texts all the time. So when Professor is in the house, I’m all about him.

I also make sure I cook & clean & keep the place extra nice… Again, I think I may be compensating, trying to balance out my relationship dalliances by excelling in domestic operations. Seems to be working. And, for his part, I couldn’t ask for a more focused, attentive partner.

I love him, seriously. I even love fucking him these days — his gentle, purposeful plodding feels so earnest & sincere I just wanna hug him to me… Sometimes, I fantasize that I’m a hooker, and he’s a dear, sweet John that I treat like a king. And why not? He’s opened his home & his heart to me. It’s not his fault he’s so bad at sex. Everyone has their hang-ups, I’m kinda glad his is one I can get so easily around.

Met up with the Animator after work. Just a quick little stop over, home by dinnertime.

Is it me, or is sex really good when you’re baked?

Best. Weekend. Ever.

Lemme explain.

Friday night, Professor took me out to a super-sweet dinner to celebrate my name on the mailbox & our “official” status as cohabitators — not the most romantic word choice, but the thought was nice. He’s such a dork… which is wonderful, cause not a lot of people appeal to the “Poindexter” side of my personality.

Great meal. We shared a cheese plate so good I almost wanna weep now, just remembering the creamy lushness. We did the chef’s tasting menu, too, each ordering different nibbles so we could try almost everything on offer. Wine flowed, conversation followed… we were holding hands, making goo-goo eyes, the whole nine yards. After dessert, we took a long stroll through the neighborhood, talking & laughing & blissing out on “happy couple” vibes.

We got home, and he actually tried to arouse me before he ripped off his pants. Operative word: tried. Gotta give him credit for lots of long, slow, lovely kisses and even a few caresses, but unfortunately I was a little taken aback by his efforts. Just as I realized I was slipping into the pleasure zone, my brain woke up like, “Wait a sec! He never does this! What’s going on…?” and kinda put a damper on things for me. But I’ll be ready next time. Assuming, that is, I don’t have to wait for another major relationship milestone to get some more foreplay.

Saturday morning, we fucked again: quick, hard, urgent, awesome. He was heading out the door to help his mom with some house stuff when I got a text from the Animator. Great timing! I had a few hours to myself that afternoon, so why not? I could use some extra attention after being so worked up twice in the last 12 hours.

We met in the little park outside his studio, and instantly my body was like, “YEAH!!!” So liberating, to not have to bother with dating rituals or social courtesies — we both knew why we were there, and pounced on each other accordingly.

He took me inside where he’d set up a cute little futon just for us. Warm candles, soft blankets, chilled water. First thing he did was lie me down, spread my legs, and dive in… Heaven! A little weird, though, to think that he had his mouth where Professor just dumped not one but two loads recently. Sure, I’d showered afterwards, but still.

Is that a FWB faux pas? Should we have written a “full disclosure” clause into our agreement? I’m trying to decide if I’d care if he was banging me on the same sheets that some other chick just creamed/sweated all over, and I can’t really say how I’d feel. On one hand, it’s kinda gross but on the other hand, ignorance is bliss. Pretty sure I wouldn’t want to know, but then dirty sheets are one thing. Another man’s semen in the pussy you’re eating is another.

Whatever. We had a blast until it was time for me to head back to the apartment & get dinner started. Professor came home minutes after I did, but I was so fast in the kitchen he assumed I’d been there all day. Perfect timing! Another lovey-dovey evening together, and then Sunday he surprised me with a day trip to this farm market in the country. Another text from the Animator, which I had to ignore until I got back.

Now, we have plans to hook up again tomorrow night. He says he just finished a book on erotic massage and he’d like to “practice” on me. Woot!

I almost feel guilty, having my cake & eating it too. But it’s hard to feel bad, when Professor clearly is not interested in meeting my needs in bed, and when the Animator is delighted to be “used” this way.

I am one lucky chick these days!

The Animator was laughing when he answered my phone call. “So soon?” he asked, “I didn’t expect trouble in paradise for another few months.”

And I agreed… and then filled him in on the foreplay situation here. He was, kindly, flabbergasted. Assured me I was certainly worth touching. Offered, in fact, to touch me anytime I wanted.

“You’re such a playa!” I teased him… but seriously. I told him that his excuses were just the sorta bullshit that turned me around to Professor, who at least was available and reliable and welcomed me in all aspects of his life. You know, like a real boyfriend. Which is what I deserved.

But I also deserved kissing… touching… fondling… Maybe if he could tone down the lovey-dovey shit, we could fuck platonically and just have a good time in bed, period? Cause I loved having sex with him, I just didn’t like feeling ignored and avoided afterward.

“Are you saying you wanna be a friend with benefits?” he asked, and I had to laugh. Yeah, I guess I was suggesting such an arrangement. I could be so much happier with Professor, if I could slip out from time to time for the physical attention I craved.

We spent the rest of the phone call sketching out loose rules for our relationship:

1. Discretion — no hot texts or emails. If one of us wants to hook up, we’ll simply ask if they’re “around.”

2. Location — encounters will be at his place

3. Romance — declarations of love, admiration, future plans, promises, etc. are just emotional expressions in the heat of the moment

4. Communication — we will talk about our feelings & be honest about expectations

5. Safe Sex — we’ll use condoms and get tested regularly, just in case

Damn! My panties were wet, just laying all this out with him. Can’t wait to reunite with his big, thick cock… his wonderful hands and mouth…

Texting him now, hopefully won’t be long before I’m benefitting from our friendship!

Oh I am so mad, I wanna spit. Mad at myself, mostly. Been giving Professor a break when it comes to our sex life, going so far as to excuse his less-than-passionate advances as lack of experience or confidence or timing concerns… but no.

Last night, I told him as gently and as positively as I could that, while I really enjoyed having sex with him, I needed a bit more warm-up.  And he got pissed!

He said, “Sorry, this is how I make love,” and I assumed he must’ve misunderstood me. I wasn’t saying I had a problem with our fucking, just that I’d enjoy some fucking around first.

Oh, he heard me alright. “What do you want, Cosmo moves? I don’t do that shit,” he told me.

But I needed it, I explained. Without some touching — not a lot, just even a little — penetration could be unpleasant, even painful.  He suggested I should be getting all the foreplay I needed in the hour or so we watched TV on the couch before bed, during which time he usually put his legs on me and I would rub them. For him. And yet somehow, that’s supposed to make me hot..??

But what if I could use more? Like, maybe, for a change… he could touch me, instead of me always touching him. Maybe he could touch my breasts or stroke my arms or sensuously tease my butt and thighs…?

Nope. I am still in shock over this part of our conversation:

ME:  … or you could stroke my arms or my butt, or…

HIM:  Oh, not when we’re cuddling.

ME: What?

HIM: There’s cuddling <hand gesture over here> and then there’s sex <hand gesture over here>.

ME: Can’t cuddling be a part of sex?

HIM:  No! Cuddling is one thing and sex is another. They’re separate.

ME: But sometimes cuddling and sex kinda go together, right?

HIM:  No.

ME:  What? No? Of course sex and cuddling go together.

HIM: No they don’t.

ME:  I think I know what sex is. Yes they do.

Annnnnnnd, ladies and gentlemen: we have a stalemate. Seems we have agreed to disagree.

About sex.

Oh no… this doesn’t bode well for us, does it? I mean, I see two possible ways for this to play out:

1. I grow more and more resentful as Professor continues to shove his dick into me like I’m his own personal jerk-off receptacle. To avoid him, I start pushing my bedtime back so that he’s asleep by the time I turn in. Eventually, we stop having sex altogether. Breakup ensues.

or

2. I grow more and more depressed at the thought that I’m not attractive enough to be touched. Boy, I must be hideous. To prove my own worth, I start hanging out with other guys, eliciting their advances. Eventually, I find a nice, normal guy who can appreciate my body as well as my company. Breakup ensues.

At least I won’t feel bad, calling the Animator or checking in with Lamont this weekend. Neither one qualifies in the “nice normal guy” arena but they’ll at least help me feel not quite so ugly and undeserving. For now.

Well, well, well…

They must smell me coming.

An article this week on one of my favorite blogs ponders a phenomenon I’ve been dealing with myself, lately:  can men somehow “sense” when a woman becomes unavailable? Seems more than mere coincidence, the way old crushes and “coulda been’s” come crawling outta the woodwork as soon as you find yourself in a committed relationship.

The author, however, claims to be blissfully in love so she’s merely scratching her head over this theory, whereas  I’m still kinda nervous about this whole move, and am seriously wondering if the Universe might be sending me a sign.

Tally so far:

1. the Animator, who’s continued to keep tabs on me. I get at least one text daily reminding me he’s still interested

2. cute guy from a book club I used to belong to suddenly messaged me, said he missed me, asked to meet for coffee

3. not one but TWO ex-boyfriends  friended me on Facebook

and, perhaps most the most tempting,

4. an old crush from high school who’s been on my periphery for some time now finally has the opportunity to rock my world.

“Lamont”  and I ran in the same circles back in the day, but although I thought he was smart & cute & funny, I never really imagined more than flirty friendship. But then over the years after graduation, I lost touch & essentially forgot about 99.9% of the kids I hung out with… but somehow not Lamont. In fact, I found myself thinking about him a lot. Even dreaming about him.  Like, nasty, dirty dreams that shook my semi-virginal constitution to the core.

Somewhere around my Sophomore year in college, I broke down and wrote him a pathetic letter, spilling out my feelings and suggesting that, if he was available, maybe we should go out or something. It was the first and only time in my life I’ve ever taken the initiative with a guy, and it paid off: he called me right away, and we began a torrid affair.

Unfortunately, it was all on paper. We exchanged letters, photos, mixed tapes — everything but bodily fluids. Well, we had one lovely evening in each other’s arms, but barely got to 2nd base before decorum intervened and, also, I think we both assumed we’d have many more evenings to explore each other. But no; I flaked.

Our schools were hundreds of miles apart, our majors were polar opposites, and despite the attraction and connection I felt, I couldn’t imagine our lives meshing. He had big goals and I was, well… me.

While I’m no slouch in many regards, I can also be a handful of trouble. I don’t take anything seriously, for instance. I tend to gravitate towards fringe or even freakish jobs, people, events. Sometimes, I dress like a whore. I do not follow direction well, have no respect for authority, and often deliberately go against the grain purely out of boredom and disrespect for conventional protocol.

What can I say? I’m a shit-disturber. And when I saw Lamont was headed for such a bright, shiny future, well…  something inside me screeched on the brakes. I guess I could see the writing on the wall, even back then. And sure enough, Lamont went on to marry a beautiful, similarly goal-oriented woman, have a brood of adorable children, a stunning au pair, a life of global challenges & responsibilities, blah blah blah.

We’ve kept in contact over the years — always flirty but never serious. Till just the other day, when he chatted me up online to touch base and then let it slip that his wife & kids would be out of town for two whole weeks next month.

At first, I was taken aback. I mean, the nerve of this guy! We hadn’t been alone together in decades and suddenly he gets a hall pass and he assumes I’ll drop everything to fuck him?? I brushed off his comments but oh how they’ve simmered…

My mind keeps bringing me memories of our times together way back when. Our chemistry. The electricity!  We’re not getting any younger. Why continue to wonder what it’d be like to finally act on all that passion? What have I got to lose?

Professor, I suppose. But then, if he didn’t get spooked by the Animator, why would he care about Lamont? How would he even find out? We live together, but our schedules are hardly synched yet. I have plenty of time to arrange pretty much anything my heart desires.

Oh, but this isn’t about my heart — it’s about my body.  And my body is aching for attention these days.  Oh Professor… I wish we had more fire between us… I wish I wasn’t so tempted to stray, so soon after settling in.

Or have I just settled, period?

I’m in!

Dust is still settling, but I’m typing this from my new “office nook” with a new view of some park I will soon know by name.

I’m dazed. Doesn’t feel real, yet.

This morning, the dog and I walked Professor to the train. Came back to realize I’d never, ever, been alone in his apartment before.  I walked from room to room, taking inventory of our blended possessions: mine, his, mine, mine, his, his, his, his…

Most of this stuff is his, of course. I’m still picking thru my place for odds ‘n ends and then will have a garage sale at the end of the month, when I officially move out (paid this last month’s rent when I signed the lease, so I might as well use it).

Anyway, the urge to start ripping into his personal things was overwhelming! I’ve never felt this way before, with any other boyfriend.  I swear, I’m not a snooper!

Sure, I’d grown up poking around my parent’s dresser drawers like any other curious kid but it’d have never occurred to me to dig into their closets or into pockets or purses or wallets… I might have little respect for personal possessions but intellectual property and privacy is sacrosanct in my book. So I am shocked to admit that I peeked into a box in his closet and found a really douche-y tie and a pair of tacky cufflinks. And now my stomach is churning, I’m so wigged.

Why? What is wrong with me?  The thought of him “accessorizing” with this shit — hell, the thought of him accessorizing at all, period…  Weird! He’s the most un-flashy dresser I know. I can’t picture him wearing this organically. I bet they’re presents from an old girlfriend. Or from a time in his life when he was clubbing and having one night stands and acting like the kinda guy I’d never wanna be with.

Oh my god, I’m inventing shit to be upset about!  This is totally why I don’t snoop :  every little discrepancy between the man I know and the “evidence” I find feels like a betrayal.  No matter how innocuous.  A tie and cufflinks, really? That is all it takes to put my head in a spin?! I’m an idiot.

And I can’t stop. I just noticed a notebook crammed into the bookcase between some old college texts. Probably just notes from a class but my hands are shaking, now, cause I know I’m tearing into it.

Nothing. It was blank. Whew, that was close.

Why am I doing this?!  I read somewhere that one of the consequences of cheating is that cheaters tend to grow suspicious of their partners cause they project their own wandering hearts onto them. Am I trying to catch Professor in some kinda infidelity?

More likely, I’m hungry for a peek into who he really is. We don’t entirely connect, yet. We don’t really share deep feelings & thoughts. Don’t talk much about our pasts or dreams.  He’s quiet, peaceful…keeps a lot to himself, it seems. No small wonder that I’m tempted to break the rules and gather my own intelligence.

But no good can come of snooping, I know this well.  If you come away with nothing, you prove nothing except you’ll stoop to violating your partner’s privacy, congratulations. But you ALWAYS find something — even when it’s nothing, your imagination loves to run wild in these instances (see above).  Any new thing out of context can be threatening.

And as with the cheating, now I gotta wonder:  is he snooping on me? Like the bitch I am, I set up a cigar box on my desk with memorabilia from trips and old boyfriends. A brain trap, if you will. I doubt he’ll be tempted to investigate — he’s super conscientious — but for some reason I feel better, just underscoring (to no one in particular) that I have my own secrets, too, ya know.

The casual sex scene’s gotten a lot bigger these days, thanks to legions of cheating men & women finding each other on sites designed specifically for married or attached individuals seeking a little side action.  Top sites such as AshleyMadison.com boast 8 million members, thanks to aggressive advertising campaigns as well as basic human nature.

What’s the deal? Who are these people? Redbook reporter Lisa Taddeo’s MSN Lifestyle article investigates the men behind the profiles, and comes up with some not-so-surprising similarities. Anyone who’s been actively meeting new partners should be able to identify:

- the restless intellectual, wondering what he’s missing

- the sad sack looking for respect/admiration

- the newly tied-down party guy missing his single days

- the sex freak who can’t keep it in his pants one minute

Looks to me like guys keep being guys whether they’re married or not. Which is a point Lisa brings up after spending time with “H,” a 30ish engineer engaged to a woman with high marks in every regard but he’s obviously not committed if he’s cheating on her. Why go through with the marriage? Lisa suggests these men take it for granted they must eventually wed in life: “If they’ve dated a woman for X number of years, marriage comes next, an obligatory stop on the endless conveyor belt.”

Well duh. Women do this too, and then they wake up a few years after the ceremony to realize the guy they’re hitched to hasn’t done any of the shit he used to talk about, and furthermore he is the biggest fucking baby…  My point is: it’s not uncommon for people to put pressure on themselves to get married, and in doing so choose the wrong person.  We’re all guilty of being blinded by our own unrealistic expectations, at some point. You live, you learn.

Perhaps what we can get from Lisa’s intel about “cheaters” is that they’re not all that different from you and me. In fact, they ARE you and me.  And our fathers and our mothers and every person who’s not had the heart to tell someone they didn’t love them anymore.

I’m thinking sites like AshleyMadison actually help marriages endure, because so many couples are together out of convenience or duty more than genuine love and passion. Life is long, and it’s hard enough to just tolerate another person “forever,” let alone maintain romantic attraction to them & only them.  Love is by nature fickle and ephemeral — that’s part of the rush.

If familiarity breeds contempt,  ”infidelity” websites nurture our inner selves so that we can continue supporting and sacrificing for our families. We all want to be needed but we also want to be desired. To be attractive. To feel the flush of infatuation from time to time. A bit of clandestine intrigue can go a long way towards smoothing out the long, rough road of daily life.

Ready to explore? All you need is a profile describing what you’re looking for. No need to post photos or details publicly — most sites allow you keep potentially incriminating information hidden until you grant access with a private key or code.  Using internal website messaging keeps your communications discreetly separate from your home or work email accounts.

Meeting and corresponding with prospective sexual partners can be exhilarating! Often, just trading messages back & forth can be surprisingly satisfying, after years of monotony.  Er, monogamy. Ha!  Is it any wonder those two words sound so similar? Might as well be synonyms.

So let’s not worry about changing our lousy husband or warming up a frigid wife. Chances are, you’re ridiculously mismatched anyway. What do you expect? That was so long ago. You’re totally different people now.

But you’ve got a family to take care of so don’t jump ship. Just sneak off into your own private lifeboat for awhile.

(seems to work for the Europeans)