The “Why’s” of Cheating

Finding the Right Lover for an Affair

The “why” is everything.

“Why do you cheat?” I ask every potential lover.

First question out of the gate. I rarely get an honest answer, but sometimes it’s close.

“No passion at home. It’s stale and boring.”

Wrong answer, dude. Everything is stale and boring after decades of marriage. I get it. I understand, but that’s not the guy I’m looking for.

“I love the thrills,” another said.

Doesn’t everyone?

“I need more.”

Three words that close the book for me. I’m out. I need more means you are looking for a side piece. Not a lover. There’s a difference.

“She doesn’t even look at me,” he wrote. “Really?” “We’re like roommates.”

Yes, me too. Getter warmer.

What kind of marriage do you have is the underlying question. Are you happy? Are you miserable? Are you somewhere in between like most of us?

Too happy is unacceptable, so is too sad.

It’s a fine line to walk between desperation and desire. I need a man who wants an affair partner with an emphasis on partner. I’m your partner in the bedroom and on the phone.

• You treat me with respect and watch my back.
• You will show up when you say you will. You won’t ghost. Make excuses. Play games.
• You want this as much as I do.
• You are grateful.
• You know how hard it is to find a good lover. You don’t take me for granted.

That’s the bottom line. We want each other.

I don’t want a man who is looking for a “friends with benefits” situation.

Why?

Because “friends” is never part of the benefits.

I would argue in a purely transactional relationship like an affair, friendship doesn’t exist. And it might not. It’s rare to find someone who genuinely cares about you without wanting to run away together and start a new life.

I don’t need happily ever after’s. Disney endings are not real. They are a fantasy, just like an affair.

“We can make this work.” “Why can’t we try?” “We are so good together.”

Because I’m a middle-aged woman who doesn’t believe in happy endings.

A long-term depressing marriage will do that to you.

If I leave, I want to be alone like Garbo but sunburnt on an Italian island drinking Limoncello in the afternoon.

“Ciao bella, come stai?” the younger Italian men eyeing my décolletage would say.

I don’t want the baggage of another crappy partner.

I would like a man who gives me the room to explore. No more forced monogamy. It didn’t work the first time around, and I doubt it will work the second.

I’d like freedom with my fucking.

I’ve earned it.

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