A few years ago, I slept with your husband. Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t some kind of an apology. Nor is it an explanation. And, trust me, I’m not looking for your forgiveness. Because here’s the thing. All these years later, you don’t even know. Or at least I don’t think you do. Sometimes I see you, and sometimes I see him, and sometimes I see the two of you together, and it’s like nothing happened. But if you ever wake up one day and realize what happened, here’s why I slept with your husband.
There were a hundred different reasons. I was out. We were drunk. (Or, at least I was.) He hit on me. Or, wait. I hit on him. Whatever happened, it was obvious from the first few minutes after he and I ended up in that room together, without you, that there was something between us, and, to be clear, it wasn’t politics. It was sexual tension, and, sure, I saw that ring on his finger, and I knew he must belong to someone else, but it didn’t really seem to matter. Not at the time, anyway.
I didn’t really think about not doing what I knew I was going to end up doing. Or should I say “we.” Because no matter how much you end up blaming me, if you ever find out, it takes two to tango, and to call your husband a willing participant would be an understatement. What he wanted was written all over his face. He was bored.
I hope you don’t take that as an insult or think it was something you did, because
He was tired of it, of being good, and then this happened. And there I was.
Trust me, it wasn’t hard work. We flirted. He made it clear what his intention was. And going home to you it wasn’t. I think he liked that I pretended you didn’t exist, as if I hadn’t seen that ring on his finger (he never took it off, for whatever that’s worth), as if I knew he was married but I sure wasn’t going to let that stand in my way. And so, as men will do, he followed suit. He didn’t let you, or your marriage, stop him. And, if you think about it, can you really blame him? You know how men are. You can only keep a dog on a leash for so long.
The sex was good. Not the best I’ve ever had, but not bad for a one-night stand. I’m pretty sure it was better for him than it was for me. Afterward, he seemed relieved. Honestly, I felt kind of sorry for him. He seemed sort of mixed up, like even though he was there with me, he couldn’t quite get you out of his head, so he was there, but he was also not there, and so there was a kind of absence to him. Maybe you know what I’m talking about? Or maybe you tune it out. That’s what couples do, right? To survive.
Anyway, he kissed me goodbye like he’d see me the next day, and he said he’d call me, but he never did. Looking back, I guess I felt sort of funny about that, but I’m sure it was more complicated for him than for me. We were a puzzle that wasn’t meant to be solved, and we left it at that. Now, I pretend like I don’t know him when I see him, and you don’t know me, so I guess it all worked out in the end. Sometimes, I wonder if there were others, but I doubt it. He probably got what he wanted and went back to what he needed.
So, why did I do it? Because he was there. It was my own private power trip, and he was my accessory. I slept with your husband for one reason: because I could. I’ll take my karmic lumps as they come to me.