After Elliot, I snuggled back with husband, spent more time in the office but by 1990, three years after Elliot, on turning forty, I rebelled against being a middle-aged woman.
The children in college no longer needed my cinnamon rolls. I was their past tense mother, the mom who raised them. Now we were all "adults", my position, the one who takes care of holidays and pays household bills.
At the office I could be replaced by a book keeper. My business card title, "Office Manager" was a misnomer for social secretary. I didn't have a real job and finding one outside of the office made no sense for what the business generated. I was simply an appendage, not necessary for anything. While trying to accompany my husband on business trips with his frequent flyer miles I often was left home, alone.
He had his mistress, the business. Who was I, simply the provider of domestic tranquility? Financially well off, I became a Nordstrom's and Sak's Fifth Avenue attired ornament who spent half a day once a week at a salon, maintained shoulder length hair, bathed in a bubble bath, used exotic lotions to keep a supple skin and layered it with expensive French lingerie. I drove a SL500 cream colored hardtop Mercedes with vanity license plate, in short, a stereotype rich, bitch, ornament, a title which didn’t annoy me.
It kept me from seeing myself as past tense but wasn’t enough to avoid a mid-life crisis; I needed something dramatic, a statement greater than wearing an orange dress.
After wishing for larger breasts since Erica I decided the ornament needed a boob job. They went from 34 B to 36 C on a summer afternoon in a plastic surgeon's office with periareolar saline implants, not to big boob bimbo, just a notch up, so I told myself. Once the soreness receded I put on heels and stood naked before my full-length mirror and admired my new shape. Maybe I was a boob girl, they looked great.
They needed to be shown off, a test drive, if only Erica could see them. Shopping, I tried different outfits to see how to enhance them, selected bras which promoted them and developed other attire accents which made my presence known. I selected a perfume few wore to announce my presence by smell, wore heels which drew attention by their walking tap, decorated like a Christmas tree with expensive jewelry and used TV news anchorwomen as role dress models. It was a full 40-year old life crisis.
The attention my upscale appearance garnered ensured I wasn’t a past tense woman. I wanted men to notice my eyes, hair, neck nape, legs, clothes and breasts, walking by, entering a building, getting in or out of a car, I wanted to be noticed, the opposite when young. I smiled thinking about my Pee Che folder hiding once upon a time. Now I was the crudely referred to, attention whore. It was fun to flirt as a 40-year old woman but only if men flirted back. I made sure they did.
With enhancement, I was top-heavy. Like a teenager rapidly growing my enhanced outline bumped into little things. With their soreness eased, hubby having his playtime with them, my enhanced profile incorporated in my movements, it was time to see what they could accomplish.
While originally blaming my husband's swinging idea for my unfaithfulness, with Elliot I realized I was promiscuous and stopped blaming hubby for who I was, a woman addicted to affairs, their excitement, and self-esteem assurance. Affairs were a craved drug stimulant which controlled me. Even while with Elliot I fantasized milking three men. When it ended I knew it was partly because it was time for his replacement.
After Elliot I was honest with myself. I craved illicit sex and accepted I was going to continue being libidinous, the real reason for my breasts augmentation, not for myself, not for hubby but for men yet to meet. I don't think even hubby believed it was all for him, though he had no objection and encouraged me when I brought up the idea.
I was a sex predator and wanted to experience more men before I was no longer desirable, difficult to admit until the honest realization, I was my father's daughter. The dilemma was not being faithful; it was keeping my addiction hidden. I wanted the sanctuary of marriage while in affairs.
Reviewing my past I realized Edward almost cost me my marriage. I stupidly thought my husband's swinging agenda would provide a rational for his acceptance of my infidelity. Once his jealousy was exposed, it was too late to stop seeing Edward. My lies it was over were not entirely convincing. It made my life schizophrenic, in love with 2 men, one dramatically changing me. More importantly, it remained the elephant in our marriage closet. With the elephant in there we were not the same couple who married. It was never mentioned but we both had to move around it.
Enrico only played a sexual role and was easy to hide with his own need for cover. I was circumspect with Daryl and Elliot but much of my cover was due to my husband's preoccupation with kids growing up, his business expanding and luck. I did, during their affairs, learn tricks to keep my libidinous life hidden and how to manage a secret life. If discovered hubby would be devastated and even if still married, we no longer would be true husband and wife. Like a spy; exposure meant death, death of our marriage.
I learned to compartmentalize, not just physical things but everything, to be two persons in one, never commingled. I kept my mind focused on my duality ensuring clear memories of each, paid total attention to the present being experienced and scheduled separate actions for the future. Keeping focused meant keeping the wrong word from slipping out, knowing what was said and done in each life and always keeping an escape answer if questioned for a discrepancy. I also learned the puppet shadow presented is unquestioned unless you lifted or tore the screen. The trick was keeping the screen in place.
I had allowed no public physical contact with, Enrico, Darryl and Elliot unless there was a cover excuse; unlike stupidly done with Edward. Still, past secret shadows were only covered with, made as necessary lies because I failed to recognize who I was. I gambled and won but made unwise bets.
I accept who I am, I want to be married, married to hubby who I love and admire but I’m addicted to being unfaithful. I must be careful not to hurt him.
I’ll cheat but only when the odds are in my favor. I’ll train my secret puppet shadow and carefully manage her.
There’s no need to hurry. Events, let them unfold, take advantages as opportunity presents itself in a secured stealth mode. Be professional, be a professional cheater.
Author Notes: With middle age crisis also comes the realization it is her and only her who is to blame for her wantonness.
Accepting herself she understands she needs stealth to keep her marriage.