Darting between two men’s fluttering guppy tails assured my desirability. While empowering, shifting back and forth to reciprocate their attention caused stress. The segregation anomaly of transforming back and forth from faithful wife to cheating adulteress caused exposure paranoia and persona schizophrenia due to living two separate lives that couldn’t be comingled.
Despite stealth, after my confession, “We screwed!” hubby remained suspicious, and played detective. He would suddenly accuse me of seeing another, then seek hysterical bonding to ensure I was his.
I never revealed it was Edward behind, “We screwed!” He assumed it was someone at my work. When he’d accuse me, I’d respond emphatically honestly it was not anyone at work. To his question of who then, I’d scream no one and accuse him of being irrationally jealous, that he had a flaw he needed to correct, not me.
During the workweek, our interaction was a kiss as he left for work and a kiss when he returned home, and I left for work. Conversations were hurried exchanges about food I’d prepared for his and the kid’s dinner, children’s schoolwork, activity schedules, house repairs needed and bills to be paid.
My subterfuge modus operandi was, to keep the good and wanton wife roles separate.
Edward only was permitted to enter my mind when we were together. Then he leaped alive. He also crept into my swing shift musing where we carried on imaginary conversations.
Hiding the good wife from Edward was easy. He knew I was married, had kids, and never asked about my family life. I listened raptly when he called and obediently wore things, he adorned me with when together as symbols of my loyalty. Only my wedding ring vexed him.
Hubby’s betrayal was the arduous concealment. Unlike Edward, he couldn’t know there was another. I perpetually fretted one of my subterfuge details had been overlooked, some little thing that would expose my adultery.
To keep them segregated and avoid overlap mishaps, I internalized separate endearment tags for myself and them. I nixed Edward’s attempted naming me Sunshine, a term hubby occasionally used. He settled on Sweetie Pie. Hubby had his Sunshine but more typically referred to me as Hon. I used Honey for him and Sweetie for Edward.
On the bed, after sex, Edward asked, “Sweetie Pie, who’s your love box?
“Yeah, your vagina, she got a name?”
Edward wanted to know my vagina moniker. Vixen was hubby’s and Cobra mine. I needed an alternate name to avoid betraying hubby’s and keep mine secret.
Knowing a few words in Tagalog from Mom I said.
“Puki, eh, sounds sexy. Maybe a little too vulgar. Where’d that come from?”
"It’s Tagalog for vagina.”
“Hmmm... okay, Miss Puki, sounds better.”
Christened Edward’s Miss Puki, Vixen remained hubby’s, separate love boxes for each. Cobra remained secret and unfaithful to both.
Squirt was hubby’s penis, tagged when I first stroked him during our engagement and jumped back in awe as he spewed out. Edward's needed its own logo.
“Sweetie, what’d you name your penis?”
“What makes you think he’s got a name?”
“Come on, tell me.”
“Well, you’re right. Had to name him, cause he’s always telling me what to do. Did you see the Disney movie, Lady and the Tramp?”
“Movie? I thought it was a cartoon.”
“Yeah, it was but also a movie. You like it?”
“Well, when little, where are we going with this?"
“When young, I liked Tramp, thought he was cool and debonair. Tramp didn’t sound quite right, so I made it Scamp, like a little devil, no Mr., just Scamp.”
I didn’t want his penis logo to be one that other women used or heard. I wanted one of my own.
“I don’t like it. Did you see the movie Camelot?”
“Musical, yeah, long time ago.”
"Well, your Scamp is- Sir Lancelot, okay?”
“Hey, I like it, better than Scamp; how about Lance for short?”
So, it was, it was Sir Lancelot or Lance for short.
During sex, separated private tags helped avoid overlap slip-ups for the secret me, Cobra.
Cobra’s love box also segregated Lance’s and Squirt’s visitation times.
Sir Lancelot visited Miss Puki Tuesdays and Thursdays, the “T” nooners and on Friday night dates to ensure he was testosterone milked. Nooners were easy to conceal with their short duration while hubby was at work. A shopping explanation could cover if he called home but was never needed.
The best cover, however, was their incongruity. My morning sendoff of hubby and the kids, greeting the kids' return from school, cooking dinner before leaving for work, greeting hubby from work and my sleep need negated suspicion.
Circumspect, I first drove through the Stanford Mall parking lot then onto a quiet residential street to ensure I wasn’t followed. I then scurried to Edward’s and got back home in time for the kid’s school return. What happened during the couple of hours on “T” noon days was old news by the weekend, easy to remember to forget. The difficulty was sleep deprivation not concealment.
Edward’s Friday evenings were fraught with exposure danger. They required planning and fallback cover in case of a slipup. I called in sick an hour before hubby got home. In front of him, I dressed for work, explained what was for dinner in the oven, kissed him goodbye, drove through the work security gate, waited fifteen minutes then left. I drove to the Bayshore Freeway, took a last-minute exit, meandered a bit aimlessly to affirm no one followed then went to Edward’s.
Before returning home, I showered, air-dried my hair, dabbed on perfume to cover any lingering Edward scent, put back on work clothes and got home between 3 to 6 AM to an asleep husband.
I didn’t need to conceal my family life from Edward. It was, don’t ask, don’t tell. He never asked and I never mentioned Squirt’s correspondence with Vixen.
Hubby was testosterone milked on Sundays before or after family gatherings. For special occasions Mom babysat and we went out to dinner and afterwards to a motel for a passionate tryst that, I confess, sometimes included things I’d learned from Edward. Wednesdays, after my swing shift, I’d wake up him up for a duty booty call.
The hard part was never mentioning anything associated with either guppy to the other. If something occurred with one, no matter how exciting, it couldn’t be mentioned. With hubby, I concentrated on talking about the house, kids, neighbors, work, and mutual friends. With Edward, it was where we went, current events, movies and whatever book I was reading. If something too exciting occurred, to suppress, I twisted it into a girl at work story.
My biggest fear was pregnancy which would unravel my life. Having given birth twice, I could never have an abortion. While hubby had his vasectomy, Edward could get me pregnant. I told Edward I was going to take the pill. To my surprise, he said no, it would upset my hormone balance.
I thought he might be wary of what I might contract from another. Over time, I twisted his condom use into my marriage faithfulness. Edward didn’t spew in me, only hubby. Later, when AIDS vanquished the sexual revolution, condom use returned.
I suspected hubby’s hysterical bonding was his vicarious excitement of me as a hot-wife, part of his waylaid swinging agenda. He may have initially suggested swinging, not to have sex with other women but to have a hot-wife.
He no longer took me for granted, was obsessed with the fear of losing me, paid attention exclusively to me and lost interest in pornography. To help him, I praised him, tried to please him, stroked his ego when I could and let him win arguments. I acted the perfect wife; one he could be proud of. His friends, in response, told him how lucky he was to be married to me.
Author Notes: The wanton wife learns to keep lover and husband in separate worlds.