Summary

The article recounts the author's journey into infidelity, driven by a mix of emotions including fear, loneliness, and a desire for power and revenge, which ultimately leads to a realization of the need for healing and recovery.

Abstract

The narrative begins with the author's initial curiosity that leads to an extramarital kiss, sparked by her husband's absence on a trip to Papua New Guinea. The author, named Marilyn, describes her descent into a series of secret affairs, fueled by a need to feel important and regain a sense of power in her marriage. These actions create a wedge in her relationship, despite the secrecy. The thrill of the forbidden and the adrenaline of the unknown become addictive, as she navigates through various emotional states and the complexities of her actions. The article reflects on the power dynamics, racial and class differences, and the eventual realization that she was using people as objects for her own gratification. The journey concludes with the author seeking help and beginning the process of recovery, expressing gratitude for the support she received.

Opinions

The author initially justifies her actions as a response to her husband's month-long trip, indicating a sense of abandonment and fear.
She acknowledges the excitement and the "heady drug" aspect of cheating, suggesting that the illicit nature of the affairs was a significant part of their allure.
The author admits to feeling empowered and in control through her infidelity, particularly highlighting her ability to choose and discard partners based on her privilege.
There is a recognition of the emotional void she was attempting to fill, especially after a miscarriage, by engaging in activities that mimicked motherhood.
The author reflects on the moral implications of her actions, particularly the exploitation of racial and class differences during her "acting out."
The article conveys the difficulty of confronting the consequences of one's actions, as the author delayed seeking help for an extended period.
The narrative ends with a sense of gratitude towards those who supported the author through her recovery, suggesting a transformative journey from addiction to healing.

You Can’t Return a Stolen Kiss

AKA the heady drug of cheating

Kunai tribes man in Mount Hagen, Papua New Guinea Photo by Trevor Cole on Unsplash

It started gradually. Out of curiosity. At least that’s what I told myself.

Somehow I found myself sitting in a car with Steve. I remembered his name because it’s the same as my then husband’s.

I remember some of the other one’s names, but not all.

I had not set out to be unfaithful. But I was punishing my Steve for going away for a month — to Papua New Guinea.

It wasn’t about me wanting to go. I did not.

I was scared. For him and of being alone for a whole month. Hard to imagine now when living alone is the most delicious treat I can imagine!!!

Even though we had really good friends over there he was visiting, I kept hearing stories of highway robbery and worse. And knowing my Steve, he’d likely take off on a hike or back packing adventure where stuff could happen.

Anything not to feel

I was depressed in my aloneness, which set me up to catch the salsa bug at the Festival on the Lake we used to have here, launching us into summer.

I launched into salsa dancing all the way across the bay to a dive of a night club called Elegante. Wishful thinking on someone’s part.

But they had live music every night and lots of eager, young, hot, willing dance partners, all friendly and some fantastic dancers.

I don’t remember how this young Steve was as a dancer. I do remember how he was as a kisser. Cause that’s what and all we did in the front seat of his car.

Kiss.

So, are stolen kisses hot because they’re hot, or because they’re stolen?

Could it be that the adrenaline rush of the whole forbidden fruit aspect was what made it so? Even so, what I remember the most is curiosity.

As if I was conducting research. What does it feel like to cheat? And does the stealing of the kisses make them more exciting. Or if they are more exciting is the stealing of them why?

After all this is just a young guy I just met and there was no chemistry going on, really.

Of course there was the I’ll show you! I’ll teach you to leave me alone for a month while you traipse off to exotic places on the other side of the world!

Of course, if it’s a secret, how does it show him? How can it hurt him if he doesn’t know about it?

What I came to find out is that harboring this kind of a secret put a wedge in the relationship that both of us felt even if only one of us knew what caused it.

This just in:

I wanted to feel important in the relationship. More powerful, as I wrote about previously.

It Was Never About the Sex

It was always about the power or lack thereof

medium.com

He had the power to go away for a month in spite of my wimpily expressed fears. Yes I told him I was scared for him but did not want him to miss this trip of a life time.

I would not stand in his way.

I would balance the power gap by seeking revenge in my ill-conceived not so little way.

Well that first kiss was like a gateway drug.

It was heady and hot. I felt the power rush, or at least the changes in brain chemistry. I liked how it felt. Both physically and emotionally.

Pure raw unadulterated pleasure.

I was hooked. If a little felt good, could I have more?

Turns out, that was not hard to arrange. Being older, whiter, richer, and with a car put me in the driver’s seat. I got to pick..and discard.

Power. Control. Revenge. Oh, were they heady drugs.

Combined with the aspect of intermittent rewards — like never knowing who would be there, and who I’d pick had its similarities to gambling — one of the most insidious of behavioral addictions.

All I did with this Steve was kiss. I don’t remember ever seeing him again.

But shortly thereafter I met Mario. And we got “involved.”

One of the things we got involved in was taking his younger siblings to places like Ocean Beach and playgrounds various.

Given my recent miscarriage, I was in an unacknowledged, un-grieved raw place around these issues, and playing mommy even for short spurts of time fed that place in my heart that felt like an empty echo chamber.

By this time, my Steve was back and all this involving was done on the sly. Did it occur to me to get help, go to counseling, grieve my losses?

Nope.

Not till almost two years and many “Marios” later and not by myself.

Getting help would mean admitting not only was I out of control, but I was violating many of my own personal values, not the least of which was using other people as objects for my own gratification.

It was not lost on me that I was taking full advantage of the racial and class differences in my acting out.

As many addicts can attest to, allowing ourselves to be present to all the implications of our behaviors is rather overwhelming. And no surprise, feeling overwhelmed is yet another great trigger to use or act out.

No wonder it took as long as it did.

A gracious thank you to the folks that loved and supported me as I kicked, screamed and sobbed through the recovery and healing this led to.

Thank God it took no longer than it did.

Marilyn Flower writes fast fun reads with a touch of magical realism to strength the imagination of socially conscious folks. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her during these crazy times. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, and five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco.