My secret puppet shadow was easy to conceal once sailing was nixed. It became a part-time, once a week dalliance. I called his office Monday, confirmed our usual Tuesday noontime tryst, left the next day before noon, drove over, enjoyed our bout and drove back. It was without fuss or muss, simple as that.
His house, a bachelor pad built after his divorce, was obviously designed for a man without a woman’s influence. It had a large lower level finished garage/shop, a middle level with a small kitchen, dining nook, living room, a half bath, a small bedroom which served as his office and another room to which the door was always locked but that was obviously not a door to a closet.
The master bedroom with full bath including Jacuzzi tub and adjoining open deck was on the upper level accessed via a spiral metal staircase. The upper level had panoramic views of the Puget Sound, the Narrows Bridge, and Vashon Island. It had a large, crow's nest ambiance.
From my first visit, I knew there was another woman. I could smell her presence. Although not living there, her visiting was evident by wastebasket discards William failed to clean up after. Snooping in them revealed, hairpins, tissues with lipstick or mascara smudges and once a discarded used lipstick tube. The feminine fragrance soap in the master bathroom indicated she was a Crow’s Nest regular. My being responsible for prophylactics meant she was on the pill or had her tubes tied.
He never opened the locked door to the room which he claimed was for storage. I knew if opened, I would find her stash for overnight visits. He was cheating on her with me and on me with her. He never let on there was someone else. Initially, I thought of spying to catch him red-handed or to confront him with wastebasket evidence but on reflection realized, it benefited us both to keep our relationship pretending there was no other. It was a version of, "don't ask don't tell."
No longer sailing, I avoided overnight rendezvouses. My adultery paradigm had shifted. I’d learned the value of time by and for myself if hubby was out of town. I was reluctant to then spend the night at William’s. The couple of times he broached my coming over for a night I replied hubby was home, to William’s apparent relief.
If I suggested a day meeting and he was evasive, I acted cluelessly. It became evident we both wanted a limited once a week, conjugal visit with a glass of wine, chit chat update, relaxed wham bam, all enhanced by a view of the Sound without relationship commitment. Tuesday noon times were soon settled on.
The drive from home or office to his crow’s nest bed was thirty to forty-minutes, the rendezvous two hours or less, total lap time, three-plus/minus hours, easily covered as shopping time. His fastidious sexual routine ritual was pleasant but domestic enough to be marital, a little too tame. Over two years there were about a hundred mock shopping trips, each a pleasant diversion, like having a pastry with coffee, forgotten soon after but enjoyed again and again.
I never had his house key. He knew when I was coming by my phone call, watched for my arrival from his midlevel living room bay window, pushed the garage door opener when he saw me pull into the gravel driveway, moved to the landing in the garage, pushed it closed as I entered the garage and greeted me at the top of the stairs. We kissed; his mustache cleansed of pipe ashtray scent due to my solicitation. He led me by the hand and we ascended the spiral staircase to his bedroom to enjoy our weekly romantic interlude.
After a glass of wine and hor's d' oeuvre, we were ready for sex and went into his stylistic action with the curtains open to enjoy the view. After sex, we showered or on occasion had a Jacuzzi tub soak. The only pause would be a show and tell during the catch-up chit chat, such as my showing a new dress, shoes, hairstyle or lingerie which he faked an interest in or his show and tell of gadgets for my faked interest. His portable mobile phone, a Motorola 3200, the first one seen up close, was the only gadget that perked my interest. I purchased one for hubby on my way back to the office after seeing it.
Occasionally we ate lunch after sex, the only times we talked in depth. We avoided our personal lives and talked about current events, sometimes his sailing which required my pretense of interest or about clothes requiring even greater pretense by him. It was simple, we enjoyed our trysts, he was cheating, I was cheating, it was tit for tat, no questions asked. It was the secret puppet shadow’s weekly exercise, her routine affair sex trot.
During August 1992, I came to see his deck remodel. He expanded the deck and installed a clear plastic canopy so it could be enjoyed on the frequent rainy days. The framer was hammering and sawing when I arrived. His pickup truck with ridiculous oversized tires had blocked my entry to the garage. He was, six-feet plus, big-boned, blond, with a wispy blond mustache and muscular biceps. His piercing blue eyes were friendly with a smile yet menacing without.
He was wearing Levi’s, a black T-shirt, was tanned from working outdoors and his blond hairs on his arms accented his sinewy muscles which flared up in bold relief when he flexed them working.
I sipped wine and made comments about the view to William while sneaking glances at the framer's biceps. The framer caught me right away. He smiled boldly which turned his eyes, friendly light blue. I pretended not to have noticed him. William left to get cheese from the kitchen below while the framer remained in my peripheral vision. The framer set his hammer down and approached.
"I'm Paul. I want you."
I like bold men but was taken aback, especially being at William's house and this young man working for him.
"Sorry, you can't have me. I'm taken."
"You want me too, I'll call."
“I’ll just hang up.”
“No, you’ll talk, cause, you want me too.”
He returned to his deck construction as William came back with cheese. William acted nervously. It was apparent my lingering presence was unnerving him. I assumed it was due to the framer’s presence but learned later it was my car in the driveway instead of the garage.
I nibbled the cheese, downed my wine, got up, kissed William goodbye to the framer’s smirk and left thinking about the framer.
It’s going to so enjoyable hanging up on you when you call, big bad boy!
That evening, on top and bottom with hubby, images of those golden fleeced biceps flexed before me.
Author Notes: Wife is attracted by younger bad boy.