Getting Away With It
Lies and Acting in Adultery
Getting Away With It
Coming home after a meet with my Italian lover was an adrenaline boost. My brain was working furiously to keep up with my sex drive to hide all evidence.
Did I smell like sex?
Was I wearing gym gear since I said I was at a class?
Am I too happy? I have to tone down my just-fucked joy.
Will my hubby notice?
“Woah, my ass hurts,” I said to my husband. I was pleasantly sore. The double entendre was lost on him.
My ass had gotten used.
“Ok,” he answered, not even looking up from the couch.
He didn’t notice.
I left him on the couch hours ago, and he was in the same position when I got home.
Did he do anything? I won’t say it. I won’t. I just got massively fucked. I’m happy. I don’t care.
I went about putting my pretend gym gear in the wash. I always had multiple items floating in my gym bag for this purpose. And I stocked body spray in my car to spritz on before coming inside.
It helped that I could shower at my lover’s place if I needed to. Having wet hair was plausible since I was “swimming.”
I just loved the feeling of getting away with shit. Coming back from affair partner’s place, entering the house, ready for anything…suspicion, questions (what took you so long?) aaaannnddd…nothing! A totally clean getaway this time. No need for the ready-made excuses. I could save them for another time. Yay, me! It really felt amazing.
Is anyone else as twisted as me?
What could I get away with? This was dangerous territory with more and more at stake. That was the problem.
Badmarriedman on Reddit wrote, “Oh yeah, we’re cut from the same evil cloth. I just love the acting that goes into the lying. ‘We are soooo busy at the office, honey…looks like I’m going to have to stay a little late tonight. I’m so tired of this!’ And then hear her response, ‘I feel so bad for you! Take your time and get your work done. I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.’ Hang up the phone, and it’s off to Red Roof! And then sitting at the dinner table when I get home, the scent of my affair partner still on my lips.”
Oh boy, no wonder everyone hated adulterers.
I wasn’t alone in my depravity. I would delight in my husband being unaware of where my mouth had been. I loved feeling my wetness at home, my damp underwear. I knew my husband wouldn’t touch me, so there wasn’t a chance he would ever guess how turned on I was. But still.
“I sat at the dinner table with my pussy dripping from you,” I texted my Italian lover later that evening. “It was hot,” I added.
“God, you are so fucking sexy,” he said. “It was glorious.” “You are a bad girl,” he wrote. “Yes, I am. Aren’t you lucky?” I responded.
He nodded. He knew he was damn lucky.
An excerpt from my book: r/adultery.