Is this “Cheating?”

On having a “secret friend.”

For most of my life, I’ve looked at situations as black and white. They were either one way or the other. Precious few gray areas. But as the years go by, I find myself questioning hard-won beliefs that have quantified us as either “good” or “bad” as we blunder through this life we’re given.

Full disclosure: I was going to write this story as if I had a “friend” who confided in me and wanted to know the answer to the above question. But that’s not me. I can’t bullshit you guys. Most of you are too smart for that, especially those of you who I now consider as friends.

Five years ago, I created a false profile on Ashley Madison, the hookup site for people who are either married or in “committed” relationships. My reason for this questionable endeavor: I was conducting research for a screenplay. And that is no bullshit. You can read about it now if you like.

To say that interacting with strange men on this equally strange site was a weird experience would be a gross understatement. Every time I scrolled through my “messages,” I felt soiled. And aghast that I was enjoying it somewhat…as if I were being allowed into a secret club.

I wanted to attempt to find out — and perhaps understand — why people would take such a risk. And if they were indeed trolling for other sexual partners, why not just leave their current situation? Why cheat?

Because life is more complicated than that. Life is not “black and white.”

Everyone has a story. Some people have no problem with transparency. They wear their hearts on their sleeves. Others dance around the truth. And I lie through my teeth. At least I did on Ashley Madison. Here, I reveal things I never imagined would be possible for me. But once you open that door, it’s hard to go back.

On AM, I managed to unearth a lot of “meat” for my screenplay. And, in the course of telling lies to the would-be cheaters who reached out to me, I met a man who stood out from the others. A smart, funny, cultured guy who lives in the same city as I do, but in a suburb a good distance away.

This was not my intention. I never imagined this happening when I created that bogus profile. But we became friends. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing on that site. He told me that his wife was no longer interested in having sex with him. A story you could blow the dust off of. But I believed him and in turn, told him the truth about why I was on AM.

This man and I started messaging regularly. And then we progressed to emails followed by phone calls. Very long phone calls. And most of them while I was at work. (“Screw you company X.”)

Funny thing: My friend is a lot like my husband. Intelligent, with a wicked wit. I don’t suppose that reasoning would hold water if I were found out.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I was doing, but I knew I didn’t want to stop. Why would I? It was titillating. For the first time in years, I felt the beginnings of arousal. A full-body rush that came out of nowhere and jolted me because I no longer knew what to do with those feelings.

Because I don’t want to disrespect my marriage or my husband who I love dearly, I’ll only say that physical intimacy has taken a back seat to other issues. For a very long time.

Yes. I’ve imagined what it would be like to have sex with another man. I’m only human, after all. My five senses are still in play, thank goodness.

And yes, I’ve imagined what it would be like to have sex with this particular man. My friend. But not in a “real-life” kind of way. I consider my imaginings more fantastical than anything.

My friend and I discussed it. We’ve “sexted.” We’ve had some phone calls that became pretty heated. We even met for drinks, albeit less than a handful of times in five years. It’s strange, I know.

Why bother?

Truly, I can’t believe I’m writing this. I wonder if I’m trying to assuage a sense of guilt I don’t really feel, which is odd because, by nature, I always feel guilty about something. I don’t know if that’s the fallout from my OCD, or what, but it’s true. I take a lot on myself. I always have. It’s wearying.

Should I feel guilty? After all, I haven’t done anything wrong but I’ve thought about it.

Does that constitute “cheating?” Does the fact that my husband knows nothing about my friend constitute “cheating?”

I suppose the fact that I’m asking gives me away.

Again, this is one of those instances where I’m relieved my husband doesn’t read my stories unless I put them in front of his face. I think he knows that I reveal a bit more than I probably should. But, I’m an avid student of life and I write what I know. And, I also believe he knows that I would never deliberately hurt him. Never.

I can guess what you’re thinking. “Well, Sherry, if your husband found out about your secret friend, wouldn’t that hurt him?”

Maybe. Probably. Yeah. But I am who I am and I’m craving…something. Maybe I’m just selfish.

Marriage is difficult. As wonderful as it can be, it is a shit-ton of work. Anyone who’s been married for a long time knows this. And keeping that initial spark alive takes even more work. So many couples let it go. As if sex, after a certain period of time, becomes an afterthought. Something to “get through,” if that.

What happens to the butterflies? Where do they go? Why do they go?

Because we get lazy. And complacent. Or we “let ourselves go” in the mistaken belief that we no longer have to try to be sexually appealing for our partners. Nothing could be more false. As the years pass, we have to try even harder.

I am envious of longtime couples who still hunger for one another sexually. Talk about a gift that keeps on giving. What must they know that some of us don’t? Simply this: That those of us seeking physical intimacy must make a concerted effort if we want the butterflies, the heat…all of it.

If two people are in agreement that physical intimacy is no longer important to their relationship, that’s all good. But what if one person feels differently? What if one person longs for more?

I am a sexual being. And getting older hasn’t lessened the heat of that fire. But for a fire to burn bright — to its fullest potential — it must be stoked. And I am not ready to become ash.

Ironically, the relationship between my friend and I will never progress to a more intimate level for reasons I’d rather not share. So the joke’s on me. But still…is what I’m doing wrong?

Tell me, please. Beat me up, if you like. I can take it.

My feeling is that ultimately, this “friendship” or whatever the hell it is, will probably die a natural death.

As I write this, I’m reminded of the excellent 1961 film, Splendor in the Grass, starring Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty. It’s about oppressive parenting, sexual repression, and the resulting heartbreak.

The film’s title comes from the poem by William Wordsworth: Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.

The passage that a broken-hearted and broken-down Natalie Wood is forced to read in front of her class has always moved me with its poignancy:

“What though the radiance that was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass of glory in the flower We will grieve not rather find strength in what remains behind.”

Not good enough.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thank you for reading. If you got something from this piece, please check out the following:

And please check out the following my publications Rogues’ Gallery and the newest, The Militant, co-edited with my friend Stephen Sovie. Looking for fearless writers, by the way!