Reasons to be wakeful

Friday 2 am…..

I was awake anyway. The reason is very small and beautiful, with golden curls and makes little sucking sounds while it sleeps. I tried to go back to sleep myself, but disobedient thoughts crowded in, ricocheting around in my head, pushing me out of bed again.

So here I am, laptop on lap, a single lamp to lighten my corner of the room, wondering which path of my crooked tale to talk about.

 I am not sure when it happened, but I feel as though my reasons for continuing with this blog/diary/confession, whatever you want to call it, has changed. Or is it me that’s changed?

I started writing, as a form of catharsis; a way of viewing the entire tableau of my indiscretions, so I could analyse why I so easily took the turn down the murky track of infidelity.

Initially I blamed my fall from grace, on a drunken and drug fueled one-night-stand with a stranger. As if somehow he alone was the catalyst that started the chain reaction that converted me from faithful wife, into a faithless adulterer.

I eventually abandoned that self-delusion and admitted to myself that if it hadn’t been him that night, it might have been someone else, some other night. Another place, another time, another man – the same result.

Of course the question asks itself, was I born bad, or did something happen to turn a nice, roman catholic girl into the cheating blogger you’ve been reading about?

I’ve often speculated that I might have something of the nymphomaniac gene. That too was discounted, since I’ve generally found myself well sated after a good, solid fucking.

It’s difficult to judge oneself – those of us who are given to this type of self analysis, swing from being hyper-critical and inwardly cruel, blaming our genetic makeup (the born to be bad syndrome, if such exists), to being too lenient, blaming circumstance and our treatment at the hands of others.

Who did you wrong lady?
No one….Someone. One man……


I have broken off from my present narrative to write a reply to certain remarks and criticisms that have come my way over the airwaves. Perhaps criticism is the wrong word – rather say comments – or maybe accusations.
Let’s just call it communication.

The bottom line to all this communication is that, these fine people have weighed, measured, judged and found me guilty of being a woman of loose morals. That sounds better than coming straight out and calling me a slut.

Thanks to Mr A, Ms B, Ms C and of course Mr D.

I suppose I’ve been expecting something like this for some time. People have strong views on adultery, and they have it seems stronger views on people who talk about the adulterous deeds they’ve done, are doing, or might do.

Having re-read every word of the blogs I’ve written (post the last batch of mail from certain people), I must point out that I have categorically not claimed that adultery is a good idea, and I do not hold the opinion that adultery is a happy or desirable life choice. For me it was like stumbling and falling down a smooth sided hole, with no ledges or ladders on which to halt my descent, or climb back out. Does that show a weakness in my character? Yes, I suppose it does.

Am I comparing myself to a certain Alice in Wonderland? No comparison was intended, but the longer I think of it the more I realize that my secret life has been fantastical at times, and like the fictional Alice, also rather confusing. Have I been chasing a metaphysical white rabbit? Looking for something that doesn’t really exist. Or am I stuck in a labyrinth doomed to forever search for the prize at the centre?

I could wonder down these mental dark-alleyways all day….

I am, I admit, terminally flawed.
Has my continuing adulteries improved my marriage? No it hasn’t.
Has it harmed it……..? Probably.

Someone wrote that even though my husband is ignorant that his wife is a cheating slut, and that he may never ever discover it, my marriage is broken. Some days when I’m at my lowest, I definitely agree.

Who has benefited from my philandering? I suppose I have. As have those of you for whom my blog is merely entertainment and perhaps a source of harmless titillation.

One of the messages said, and I quote, “…screw around if you have to, but please don’t burden the world with the details. All you are doing is justifying the dirty deed and making the simple minded think that it is alright to follow your example…..”

Yes there are those who feel that people of my ilk are destroying the institution of marriage, by making serial adultery seem like a joyful, harmless wheeze. I wish I had a logical and well thought-out answer to that accusation.

I suppose the best way to demonstrate how I feel about it, is to give this warning to those who, for whatever reason, might follow my path;
Adultery leads to a pile of conflicting emotional shit that never really goes away, no matter how much therapy you get, or how often you are told that you have to forgive yourself. It’s far easier to say you forgive a cheater, than to actually do it. Trust once lost, is generally gone forever.
I know, I’ve seen some shit.

I may be a fool, but I am not fool enough not to realize the risk I’ve run. I worry that I’ll do something – forget something – say something… or that someone will discover my secrets and bring my entire house of cards tumbling down.

I do admit to a certain naivety – like most people who live a lie. I kid myself into believing that I’m wise enough, and smart enough navigate the labyrinth of deceit and subterfuge, and will somehow avoid the pitfalls that wait round every corner.

As I’ve said from the beginning, I wasn’t one of those wives who can cry that their husbands don’t love them or didn’t fuck them any more. I didn’t spend years stewing in a loveless bed, to finally fall onto the cock of the first man to pay me a complement.

I don’t feel myself to be some sort of devil prophet preaching to the multitude. This blog was and remains a way of documenting what I’ve done, in order for me to try to rationalize and perhaps understand the reasons behind my aberrant behaviour.

I’m long past blaming the first man who took me to bed when I was hardly able to understand, or resist what was happening. He may have been in the wrong, but I recall that he too was behaving under the influence of drink and drugs. What followed after that first time was consensual, and done in the full realization that I was elongating a sin against my marriage. But I was already on the treadmill.

I did, do, and will always have a feeling that I’ve lost that innocence and pristine one-man-ness that most husbands want their wives to have. I am to blame, and I’ll always carry that shame, that guilt, that feeling that I’ve forever tarnished something that was so perfect.

It’s hard for me to get across to someone who’s never shared a bed with multiple semi-anonymous men, that there’s a world of difference in the kind of loving and tenderness that comes from someone you know loves you completely and without reserve. It is even harder to explain the waves of affection that flow from me, when my husband claims and enters me, which is entirely different to the animal heat that describes the kind of sex I got with those men who have used my body. And whose body I used in return.

“…he would have every right to despise you…..” someone wrote.

I agree.

“……how would you feel if you discovered that he was in fact cheating on you……?”

Answer – devastated.

Would I understand and forgive him? I don’t know. Probably…….. not.
Yes, that makes me a hypocrite. I’m not perfect. Or even near perfect. But I wouldn’t expect forgiveness from him if he ever discovered even one of my many secrets.

Finally, I don’t expect empathy or understanding from anyone who stumbles on this blog. In fact I would be surprised if there’s anything other than criticism, scorn and derisory comments.

Yes, you guessed it….I often wallow in a slime-pit of self pity. Are you really surprised?

I know…..again

Today, for the first time I’ve found a quiet corner of the foyer on the ground floor of the office block. It’s tastefully decorated with large water-colours on the walls, leather chairs and solid oak tables. There’s calming background music, soft lighting and the air smells vaguely, attractively sweet. I wonder how I’ve never noticed this place before.

Over the past few months I’ve been less and less to the local coffee houses and bars. I don’t really know why. Or perhaps I do. I was a different person, no midriff bump to tell the world that I’d been fucking without the use of a prophylactic. Is that the first thing that comes into peoples mind whenever they see a woman carrying a baby gut? Do they instantly have an image of her on her back having the beginnings of a baby squirted into her?

Thinking back I can probably recall the very instant his life giving semen started its fateful journey. It was a Sunday morning after he’d hauled himself out of bed to visit the bathroom. I’d vaguely heard the pissing sound as the deluge hit the water.

Then he’d crawled back into bed, his big hands snaking around my body to cup my left breast, before sliding down over my hip and around to nestle in the soft curls of my pubic hair; searching for the starter button and finding it already slightly erect. And that was the beginning. That was generally how it always started on Sunday mornings.

Well…. since then my world has been well and truly rocked. Here I am several months later, less able to see my feet, than I was the last time I opened up my lap-top, with the intention of communicating with those few of you who are still interested in what has happened and is happening in my little life.

I’m not so much blooming as ballooning. I’m as round as a barrel (probably not strictly true, but that’s how I feel). My waist is daily disappearing; my ass is expanding into next week; I’m starting to waddle like a duck and as for my breasts…… lets not go there. Of course he likes the new cup size, even though I was never small to start with. Men!

It seems like an age since I watched with bated breath as the little blue line appeared on the pregnancy test stick, confirming that I was at long last in the club. I’d wanted this baby so badly. And don’t get me wrong, I still want it – him? her? But I want it to be here. Now. Today.

Some lucky women I’m told, enjoy the nine months it takes to incubate the egg into a fully functioning independent life-form. For me, so-far, it’s been almost day to day vomiting and discomfort. And the daily slog into the city isn’t helpful or comfortable. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I start maternity leave.

Everyone says that it’s the best time of a woman’s life, like having Christmas every day.

Each morning he kisses my bump and almost as an afterthought remembers that I still have lips. He’s already the proud doting daddy.

He went out a bought a pile of books; Baby Names; Bringing up Baby;  Baby Tips for Dads; The Expectant Dad’s Survival Guide etc, etc….. There’s a trend forming. Who’s having this baby anyway?

Of course he says that he doesn’t mind what it is. But I know he really wants a son. And I’d love to oblige, even though there’s a little selfish part of me hoping the little, screaming bundle arrives with a sweet little vagina between her legs.

We still make love, more at my insistence (if you can call it that); a constant desire for food in the shape of soft iced-cream, asparagus and avocado isn’t all I have a craving for. I’ve never felt so overwhelmingly horny. I’d happily bend over the sofa or kneel on the edge of the bed twice or three times a day, if he was home. Of course he dutifully obliges, but he’s always so… so God-damned careful, loving and gentle, it makes me want to fucking scream.
But the orgasms… God! They don’t just make me go weak at the knees, they actually turn my bones to water, and make the atomic bomb go off in my brain. Some of you ladies will know what I mean.

There is of course the other side of the news I divulged last October – my mother’s cancer diagnosis.

For her the last five months have brought hospital visits, chemo, radiotherapy, nausea, dizziness, sickness, hair-loss and bloating, (sounds familiar – apart from the hair loss). It’s hard to watch someone you love, who was so alive and vibrant at the start of the year, slowly transform into a listless wraith, staring into space, lost in her own diminishing world.

Even so, she tries very hard to be cheerful, which kind of makes it harder for those of us who love her.

So now you have my letter of excuse. I promise it won’t be long before I take up the reigns of the story again. Now, where were we………..?


On sex and relationships

On sex and relationshipsTo date I have had forty-seven requests for advice on sex and relationships. I have also received three proposals of marriage and seventeen offers that made me laugh, shiver and wonder whether the writer shouldn’t be locked away in a dungeon and the key conveniently lost.

To the first I have replied that I do not feel myself qualified to give advice, since I believe that there are professionals far more willing and able to advise, or lead the sexually lost into the forest and leave them snivelling against a tree, like Hansel and Gretel.

In general, sex is a simple technique – do what pleases. If it hurts stop and reconsider the possible rewards or problems associated with continuing.

Some techniques take practice, and can, with a little perseverance lead to great delight. However, not all positions or forms of penetration are for everyone.

You alone will know if you want to do this or that. If your gut says no, then listen to your gut.

If he or she insists, then it might be time to wonder if they have your pleasure in mind, or only their own. It might be time to run for the hills, throw them out of the window, or just pull on your underwear and call a cab. If necessary, leave without your panties.

I thank the gentlemen who feel that I am the lover of their dreams (as one put it). However, I cannot at this time accept marriage proposals. But I must say that the pictures were impressive. No, I cannot return the favour and send pictures of my breast or any other part of my body. Really! What a suggestion. I blush.

The other offers, (not of marriage), were interesting, and under other circumstance would certainly tempt me. Especially the one from JBM.