Darting between two men’s fluttering guppy tails assured my desirability. While empowering, shifting back and forth to reciprocate their attention was stressful. The anomaly of segregating my faithful wife persona from cheating adulteress caused exposure paranoia, not schizophrenia. I was living two separate lives.
Despite stealth, after my confession, “We screwed!” hubby remained insecure, suspicious, and played detective. He would suddenly accuse me of seeing another, then seek hysterical bonding.
Due to time stress, he assumed if there was someone else, it was someone at work. To encourage this dead-end suspicion, I told stories about engineers at work, then emphatically denied there was anyone else then accuse him of being irrationally jealous, as if it was a flaw he needed to correct.
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 the prepared food for he and the kid’s dinner, children’s school and activity schedules, house repairs needed and bills to be paid.
The best subterfuge was to keep the good and wanton wife roles simple and separate.
Edward only was permitted to enter my life when we were together. Then he leaped alive. He also crept into swing shift musing where we carried on imaginary conversations.
Hiding the good wife from Edward was easy.as there was little to conceal. He knew I was married, wasn’t interested in my family life. He demanded devotion only during his telephone calls and the brief times when we were together. I listened raptly when he called and obediently wore the attire, cosmetics, and jewelry he selected when with him as proof 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 life. Perpetually I fretted some subterfuge detail was overlooked that would expose my adulterous side. My time with him was truncated by our varied work shifts. When with him, Edward was blocked as if a nonentity and only family was allowed in my thinking.
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 who my vagina was, her name, which was hubby’s Vixen and my Cobra. I needed an alternate name to avoid betraying hubby and to retain separate modus operandi names for both
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 Miss Puki for Edward, Vixen remained hubby’s, separate love boxes for each. I told neither her Cobra name, who was 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.
So, I replied.
“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?"
“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.
I also kept any place visited separate, to avoid experience chat overlap and provide a tad of faithfulness for each. Distance when dining out with Edward aided exposure security.
Edward loved upscale restaurants. In Palo Alto, that included Rickey’s Inn and Restaurant, a vast local landmark. This is where hubby and I went for special occasions which nixed it for Edward. It was also too close and too popular with locals for exposure by someone I knew.
When suggested by Edward, I’d replied I’d eaten there too often and needed to see new places.
Hubby's only distant restaurants were Chinese ones in San Francisco which Edward knew nothing about.
San Francisco family trips after Chinese food in Chinatown were to museums, the zoo, Golden Gate Park and Steinhart Aquarium. I also took hubby to Sunday brunch atop the Bank of America building using Mom as a babysitter. There, we romantically looked down at clouds and the City. Edward had told me about it but Sundays were hubby’s so I made it a special place for us.
At the Aquarian, we peered over the railing down to the subterranean crocodile pond. There, basking crocs stared back at us motionless, their smiles reflecting their contemplation of the nice meal our family would make. We held the kids tight as they leaned over the railing and tossed dimes down in attempts to land one on a crocodile snout. That was permitted back then. I calculated the caretaker’s perk of collecting coins strewn among the crocodile smiles. By then there were no silver ones.
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 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.
Ever circumspect, I first drove through the Stanford Mall parking lot then onto a quiet residential street to see if I was followed. Assured safe, I 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.
Friday evenings were Edward’s, but they were fraught with exposure danger that required stealth planning and strong backup cover. 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 was following and went to Edward’s. With the night ours for sexual splendor, we did it twice before the night met the morning sun.
Before returning home, I showered, air-dried my hair, dabbed on perfume to cover any Edward lingering 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 it. He assumed I was his when with him and didn’t know of Squirt’s two to three times a week correspondence with Vixen.
Hubby was testosterone milked on Sunday night after family outings, on a Wednesday wake up after my swing shift and occasionally on a Monday when hubby awoke me early, a Saturday night and even a double header day after or before Lance and Miss Puki tangoed. 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.
The hard part was never mentioning anything associated with either guppy to the other. If something occurred with one, no matter how exciting, it could never 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. Once our affair developed, I told Edward I was going to take the pill. To my surprise, he said no, it would upset my hormone balance. He assured me he didn’t mind condoms.
I thought he might be wary of what I might contract from another. Over time, I twisted his condom use into marriage faithfulness in my mind. In this way, Edward was not “really” in me, only hubby. Later as AIDS vanquished the sexual revolution, it became a stroke of luck.
I suspected hubby’s occasional 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 took a keen interest in the things Edward branded me with, all of which fed his suspicions there was someone else. My answer to his questions of where my attire, perfume, jewelry, and cosmetic changes originated, was they reflected our affluent second income.
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.