To protect my identity, I am typing this on my super-secret spy computer, from a super-secret bunker. Well, I am actually on the old laptop in my cold-as-Nordic tits basement. For soon-to-be obvious reasons, I can’t allow my husband to stumble upon this confession.
I troll for boyfriends on an online website for married people. This story will self-destruct in 90 seconds and singe your fucking eyeballs. I wish.
Let me begin by saying that this website has saved my life, or at least the life of my vagina. I am in a 17-year-old marriage which is practically sexless. I wish I could blame this on my husband, but the truth is…it’s my fault.
It isn’t that I am just not attracted to him anymore. The reality is that the thought of any sexual activity with him utterly repulses me. On the rare occasion that I do have to put out, I dig my nails into my skin and play alphabet games in my head to disengage. Albany, Birmingham, Colorado Springs…
The pressure for me to marry right out of college came from my parents. From a very early age, it was drilled into my head that I had to marry someone Jewish or else I would be disowned. My father escaped Nazi Germany in 1936 so I get where his head was at.
The problem was, I didn’t really like Jewish guys and they didn’t seem particularly fond of me either. I was happily dating my Irish-Italian boyfriend from college for over three years when I met my husband at a bar. Finally, a Jewish guy was showing some interest in me. He was good looking and had a decent job so there you have it.
Within two weeks, I dumped the goy boyfriend. Eight months later, I was engaged. A year after that, I was married. Mazel tov. My parents still love me.
Other than our wonderful children and the physiological need to both breathe and consume food, Judaism remains the only thing we have in common and, frankly, I am pretty over the whole organized religion thing. Once my kids get Bar Mitzvahed, I am out of there.
Whatever sexual attraction that existed at the beginning of our relationship was a sham. It was merely a conduit for attaining the ultimate goal of marrying a Jewish man.
For a while I didn’t care about the lack of physical intimacy. But then something happened as I prepared for my 20th high school reunion. I lost a shitload of weight. I started straightening my hair. Men started to notice me, and I dug it.
I craved intimacy and it wasn’t just for sex. I wanted a boyfriend who would resuscitate me.
I began my search, the way many others do, on Facebook with some old boyfriends. They were easy targets because they were a known entity. The one I wound up having an affair with was a guy who obliterated me freshman year of college. Finally, the balance of power had shifted to me and he was rapt.
Despite the fact that he lived across the country, we managed to see each other a few times. It was hot and fulfilling for a while, but nostalgia can only take you so far. After a while, I recognized him for the middle-aged man he had become, not for who he was in his fraternity house.
I lost interest in him, but not in the desire to have a boyfriend. By then, I knew I needed to have a relationship with someone who I could see on a more frequent basis. So again, I turned to the Internet.
You probably are familiar with the website on which I registered, but I really DO NOT want their lawyers to come after me. (Not only have I been fucking around, but we’re also getting sued! Woo-hoo!) I will just refer to the site as something that sort of sounds like Mashley Addison.
Having very ethical and sane friends, I never spoke to anyone who had actually dabbled on Mashley. I was scared as shit to do it, but I was grossly unhappy at home. I wrote a kick-ass profile, uploaded some cute, but not slutty, pictures to a private showcase, and I was ready for the adultery business.
The responses poured in. Dozens of them. It’s not easy being a guy on that site. From what my Mashley friends have told me is that they are bombarded by solicitors and there are very few viable women to actually date in the flesh. So for a decent-looking gal who actually had a pulse, I was a hot commodity.
Mashley gets all kinds. There are some on there who are just curious. Many who desperately want to have an affair but are (justifiably) petrified of getting caught (and/or of getting Herpes). For them, cyber sex staves off the urge to cross the line.
That wasn’t for me. I suck at cyber sex. There are also many people who are looking for NSA sex with multiple partners. That wasn’t my bag either and, thankfully, those guys were easy to identify early on in the process. When someone asks you straightaway how your pussy is shaved, RED FLAG! I was looking for a boyfriend and I was very focused about my quest.
Don’t forget…I went from a serious college boyfriend directly to a husband. I never really dated. So here I was in my early forties, dating for the first time, and I found it intoxicating. I am an attention addict (It’s a real disorder, People. I read about it online so it has to be true), and all of the interest I was getting really hooked me. I dated like a fucking wild woman.
Now I can sense that you are getting the wrong idea about me and I don’t necessarily blame you, but I had A LOT of first dates that went nowhere. In truth, the majority of first dates were ONE AND DONE. Not “done” as in “had sex with,” “done” as in “you are a major loser and I’d rather get impaled with a rusty fence post than have sex with you.”
You know that game that you play with your girlfriends after a few bottles of red and a pack of Parliaments, when you sit around and make lists of all of the guys you slept with? Well, I would do that with my Mashley dates, but I am afraid to actually write that shit down.
I would have to guess that I have been on around 30 dates. Between me and you (and you and you and you…), I wound up having sex with nine of the Mashley men. And from those nine, I had three, meaningful and loving pseudo-relationships.
It did take time and finesse to figure out how to navigate the sometimes scummy waters of Mashley. Initially, I had no idea what kind of man I was looking for. This was the first time I was able to explore and find the kind of person who would make me happy, even within the confines of an extra-marital affair.
Finally, I didn’t have religion to consider. I was on a mission to determine what my “type” was. I started trolling on Mashley before the Ashton-Demi collapse so the concept of Cougarism was still raging. The dates with the younger men never, ever evolved into anything meaningful. I simply could not get my knickers in a knot over someone in their thirties.
But a type did finally emerge. I found myself most attracted to men who were somewhat older than me. Intelligence was a big turn-on. And this probably will sound superficially gross to you, but I liked men who were well-off.
I preferred city dwellers to suburban doofuses. I was hooked by the guys who had fucked-up stories to tell — dysfunctional childhoods, frigid wives, coke addictions. I wanted a man who, I egotistically believed, I would be able to rescue. A man who I would give everything he had been missing to, who would be, in turn, indebted to me forever.
Off-limits were men who used “LOL,” men who found Thai food to be exotic, and men who listened to shitty music. My type was the former actor, present-day lawyer, from New York City, who was in recovery for something. My prince charming!
But once I had identified a type, what good was it? It doesn’t change a thing because I want to stay married. I know you haters are going to rip me apart, but I am going to lay it on the line for you, as despicable as it is.
Obviously, I can choose to get a divorce, and if my husband was a douchebag, I would do that. But he’s not. I have a nice life with two children whose lives I don’t want to blow up. I don’t want to be poor and I don’t want to live in a shitty apartment.
There it is. I am spoiled. I want to do that proverbial cake-having and cake-eating thing. And if I get caught, I will deal with it. Ultimately, it may not be the worst thing to happen to me.
And I’d be ahead of the game by already knowing my type. I’d have to ditch Mashley for a more traditional, online website, but from what my single friends (all two of them) tell me, they are not so unlike Mashley. A big difference is, on Mashley, if the first date goes well, sex is pretty much a given on the second date.
Everything is streamlined on there. Married people don’t have the time and resources for hardcore wooing. The logistics of dating when you are married are a fucking nightmare. Everything has to be condensed and fast-fowarded.
Having met someone pretty amazing a few months ago, my Mashley profile is now hidden. Hidden, dear readers, not gone. For as great as a Mashley relationship can be, they all have to end at some time. And three months in Affairworld is like three years in the real world.
This guy will probably dust me soon enough and, of course, there will be tears. But inevitably, I will dust my vag off, unhide my profile, and search for the next lonely, and horny, boyfriend.