As I danced at the silver wedding reception this summer, I couldn't be happier. I was in the arms of the man of my dreams, feeling my usual spark of excitement as I felt his invisible hand slide under my breast, just for a second. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in my ear. 'Who could believe you've been married for 25 years.'
Married, yes, but not to him. I was dancing with my lover, in full view of his wife and children, and my husband and son – and no one suspected a thing. After ten years of an affair, we know how to do this. Despite our brazen behavior, we don't want to hurt anyone and have no intention of ending our marriages.
However, very occasionally we take a risk so insane that thinking about it afterwards gives me the creeps. I know there is no excuse for what I'm doing. At 52, we are old enough to understand the implications. But an affair doesn't have to be like it is on TV; all the bubbling rabbits, confrontations and drama. And I cannot recommend more highly the almost miraculous effect an affair can have on a stale middle-aged marriage.
As for my husband, his ignorance is bliss because my infidelity has actually improved our marriage.
My optimistic attitude is partly due to the fact that I am confident that neither my husband nor my lover's wife will ever suspect us. In the wife's case, as a size 80 athlete obsessed with the dangers of aging, she would only consider such a slender, fit and vigorous woman as a potential threat. In her mind, there was no way her husband could cheat on her with a shorter, rounder, older woman with big breasts and a wobbly ass, like me.
As for my husband, his ignorance is bliss because my infidelity has actually improved our marriage. Although so many other couples in our social circle have grown apart as affection and passion have waned, these days we are happier and stronger than ever – giving him no reason to suspect that things are up to no good.
However, ten years ago, before the case, it was very different. I was in crisis.
I wasn't unhappy, per se. My husband and I, who had been together for 15 years, had a perfectly good life, good, regular sex, a tolerably good work-life balance, and a fulfilling, cozy Three Musketeers relationship with our 13-year-old son. child. Living in Edinburgh, my work for a travel agency twice a month sees me traveling for two days to the office in London, alternating between staying with three single friends. I always had fun on these nights, but just like my life at home, even they were getting a little repetitive. Everything seemed stagnant. I became calm and craved excitement; something, anything, to spice up the pleasant but increasingly vanilla monotony of my life.
So you could say I was ripe for the picking when, just after my 43rd birthday in May 2014, an old friend from university came to stay.
We were close friends during our studies, but after graduating he moved to the United States, married an American and lost contact. However, on the occasions we did exchange messages, things were still very chatty and easy between us.
So, after he and his family moved to the UK, it was a surprise, but not an unreasonable one, when he called to say he was visiting Edinburgh on work and could he stay the night rather than booking a hotel?
Thanks to social media I knew he had only gotten better with age, but it was still a shock when I saw him in the silver fox's shoes. From the moment he kissed my cheek on the doorstep, my entire body crackled with electricity.
My husband was late at work and my son was on a school trip, so we were alone for the first few hours. I hadn't felt this combination of molten lust and almost dizzying dizziness since the early days of dating my husband.
However, he seemed completely relaxed and unaware of the whirlwind of sensations he had unleashed on me, and I finally composed myself. When my husband joined us, we were chatting and laughing like the old friends we were, and the three of us stayed up late, putting the world to rights over a few bottles of crispy Picpoul. 'What a cool guy!' my husband commented, when we finally went to bed.
I wasn't unhappy with my marriage per se, but things got a little boring
We both left for work before our guest woke up the next morning, so when I parked in front of the office, I texted him instructions on where to find tea and coffee. “I have a headache, but it was worth it”, was the answer. 'An even better stimulant than coffee would be for the house barista to deliver it to me in bed…'
I gaped at the message in shock. Was I the barista or was he just making a joke? Was it because I thought he was terrible that I was interpreting this as a sexual invitation? 'Is the in-house barista a figment of your 25-year-old imagination or is she around 40, a bit hungover and has her skirt buttoned wrong?' I typed with trembling fingers. 'Why don't you go back and find out?' he replied. — Oh, and I can help with the skirt.
And that was it. I don't remember thinking about anything as I turned the car around and headed back, but I know we never had that coffee and I didn't get back to work until the afternoon. After that, I felt neither regret nor shame, just a rush of excitement whenever I remembered what we had done.
I thought it would be a one-time thing, but over the next few days we texted each other like crazy. He immediately asked when we could meet again and we arranged to spend the night together on my trip to London the following week. I suggested buying an Airbnb instead of staying with my friends. He said it looked like a plan with legs – beautiful legs.
Our second date was even naughtier for being planned – and the sex was even better for not being so rushed. He later confessed that he had also followed me online over the years. Shortly after returning to the UK, he saw a selfie I recently posted on Instagram and felt a rush of desire.
When he was hired to come to Edinburgh just a few months later, he thought it would be a fortuitous time to see if I lived up to my image. As fate continued to play in our favor – my work bringing me to London, his wife's job as a morning personal trainer, which meant they rarely socialized on weeknights – it became clear that this arrangement suited us. two.
About four “dates” later, I asked how this would work and he proposed some rules of engagement: our marriages were sacred off-limits areas, not up for discussion, and not to be terminated; total honesty without taboos, both sexually and in mutual relationships; no one should get hurt, including our families. If either of us stopped having fun, we would break up.
And we had a lot of fun, because we discovered that we both wanted to be as naughty as each other. I took the opportunity to fulfill all my secret fantasies, from wearing a blindfold in bed to kissing passionately in a dark alley.
These were things I could have done with my husband, but now that the heady early days of our relationship were behind us, it would have seemed inappropriate.
I thought if I had suggested to him that we spice things up, I would be expressing disloyalty to the sex life we had.
However, the day came, ten months after our affair, when I felt like I might be falling in love with him. I confessed this. “Ah, that’s the last rule,” he said sadly. 'No one should fall in love. That's where everything goes wrong. Trust in me.'
That's when I realized that, unlike me, he'd done this before: a six-year affair in America that he ended when she got a little too serious. That's why he was so frank with me about the nature of our relationship, was careful not to see me too often – just once every two months – and gave so many tips on the art of an affair: deleting messages , never calling each other unsolicited, giving each other fake names in our contacts.
As I listened to him talk, I realized that I wasn't really falling in love with him – more for the thrill of the affair – and that I still loved my husband very, very much.
In fact, my affair saved my marriage. For the past ten years, I haven't craved more “magic” between my husband and I because now that I'm being pampered elsewhere, what we have now is enough for me.
No one knows me as well as my husband, or understands my humor, my humor, my way of doing things, like he does. And my love for him is no longer compounded by the everyday irritation I used to feel.
Money in our family has been tight in recent years, but these days I'm glad I roasted beans on toast in front of the House Of The Dragon with my husband, because I get all the wining, dining and illicit glamor I could want. my lover.
And the invisibility of women over 50 is not for me; Being seduced by him gave me the confidence to seek new promotions at work. I'm the envy of my friends for being so self-confident and sassy, for dressing sexy and not falling into the menopausal twilight of elastic waists, for being nice to my husband.
In fact, as more of our friends separate and divorce, we become known for the stability and love of our marriages.
Best of all, I'm no longer even remotely in love with my lover. Over the years, he and his wife became family friends: my son accompanied him to look for work experience, we had dinner out and we went to stay at their country house. I'd be lying if I hadn't felt uncomfortable on some of these visits, but it's not guilt – it's seeing him in a home environment.
Our second date was even naughtier for being planned – and the sex was even better for not being so rushed
No wonder he's different when he's not seducing me. He's unattractive with money, he's boring with health and fitness, and I don't like how he is with his wife when he's the patriarch of the family – a little bossy and condescending in a way he would never dare be with me.
He also maintains the illusion with her that he doesn't really drink, which makes me laugh, as red wine is one of the things we enjoy most together. The pattern of a night will be to meet for a cocktail, go back to my Airbnb, get undressed, and have urgent sex. Then we will lie naked on the sofa, drink a bottle of wine and, somewhat confused and languid, we will make love again, more tenderly.
He's always the first person to look at his watch and say he needs to leave. We never slept together. It's the classic way to get caught, he said. And anyway, wouldn't it be more fun to keep things sexy between us, without bursting the bubble of snoring and a man over 50's need to pee five times during the night?
Sometimes I worry about how long this can go on. He is increasingly busy with work these days and I considered that he might have his head turned by someone else.
I certainly haven't been tempted by anyone else.
I'm still delightfully happy with our arrangement. Without it, who knows what the state of my marriage would be?
Marina Ripon is a pseudonym
