Love

The Affair

The thing about Colin is, deep down, I knew it wasn’t more than what it was. I needed him and he needed something from me that he wasn’t getting from his “real life.” Typing now from my patio in the San Francisco Bay Area, California, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a little bit of kismet at play here. Colin is a photographer originally from the SF Bay Area and at the time of our affair, he was an expat in Singapore with a successful and beautiful wife and kid in tow. I never really asked why he would stray from his perfect life, but I guess it didn’t matter to me at the time. I was consumed by my own need — and he checked all the boxes.

From the outset, he was different from the other creeps who answered my Craigslist ad. No penis pictures. Not that photos of male appendages were offputting — I was looking for an affair afterall, but he was clearly intelligent and cute. He noticed my email through our exchanges and found this blog. Imagine my surprise when he mentions my blog in one of his emails. I was impressed for sure at this “mastery” — he definitely got extra credit for that.

When I decided to meet him, it was out of extreme desperation. I was not sure why at that point in time, but I felt like that a lot. Little things would trigger a huge response and bigger things such as planning an extramarital affair would drive me into a downward spiral. I never mentioned this to him, but he wasn’t the first person I responded to. I had met Tim the bigshot economist just earlier that week and our encounter drove me into a black hole. I needed something else to soothe my pain. Colin was that something else. He was smart, cute and checked all the boxes for a minimum viable fling.

We met in the neighborhood of Serangoon in Singapore near the famous Chomp Chomp Food Centre. I wore my favorite babydoll dress and was determined to be “myself” and be as comfortable as possible. With Tim, I had dolled up in a new dress that made me feel like I was up to the occasion. With Colin, it was as if I could make the situation better if I was as close to my natural self as possible. As it turns out, I did feel more comfortable with Colin. But perhaps that had to do more with his personality and how the careful way he handled me. He never promised more than what he could give, but he also lavished just enough attention to get what he wanted. What we both wanted. Standing near a lamp post, I fidgeted a little, looking around for him. I had only seen a small photo of him, and it was late at night, so I wasn’t completely sure what I was looking out for.

He spotted me and before I could get nervous, he was next to me. We walked to his place, which turned out to be a three-story bungalow with glass floor-to-ceiling windows. Ha, glass house. The irony of it now that I think about it. He escorted me quietly up the third floor of his glass house, the stairs of which were adorned by canvases of his photographs. It was always fascinating to me to visit another’s domicile and absorb a little of the inhabitant’s life. Obviously, we both had one thing on our minds and when he informed me that his young daughter was sound asleep in one of the rooms just a floor below us. My conscience twitched a little at the thought. But then, my scorching desire and need to be loved got the better of me.

Gently, he came at me in a way that I assumed only great fathers with daughters understood how to approach women. He was respectful but in a way that made me feel wanted and loved. Obviously, he had a deep sexual desire he wanted to fill, perhaps as much as I had. He kissed me and laid me on the bed, which I assumed was for guests of family who came to visit. Then, he lifted my dress and carefully removed my panties to a huge sigh of delight, like a little boy at a candy store. Wasting no time lunging down under, he went at me like a ferocious tiger, repeating how he “loves this.” It made me feel good that he enjoyed it and thinking about it now, he’s perhaps one of the most grateful lovers I’ve ever had. He was constantly grateful for the ability to have sex with me. That honestly made me feel awesome… and was just what I needed at that time. The validation and the amazing attention he showered me. Even if it was just to my pussy.

Unlike my nervous and guilt-ridden tryst with Tim, my first time with Colin was surprisingly easy and satisfying. Perhaps because he made me feel like I was more than just a one-night stand and that he appreciated me. Not the “real” me per se, since he didn’t really know me. But the “me” I was when we were together, even if what we were doing was having sex. We started planning other trysts, either his wife or mine was out of town. Sometimes weeks in advance. Once, he arranged for the maid to come at another time. Or, another time, I would meet him when my husband was at work. For a while, he made me feel alive. I spewed out poems on this blog dedicated to how he made me feel. I never felt proprietary strangely enough, like I had felt with so many others. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I was married as well. There were times when I would feel lovelorn pangs of adoration and what seemed like love. But then reality would hit me and I would realize I didn’t feel that way about him. I felt grateful for his presence at such a low point in my life. He was my pick me up. Once, he said his daughter caught on to our affair when he was texting me, saying “Are you texting your girlfriend?” As the word “girlfriend” was uttered, I felt a fleeting moment of fresh hope. But that was all there was to it.

We had great sex and awesome intellectual conversations. That’s it. I can’t say I really understood him nor his motivations, but it sure seemed like he understood me (at least it seemed like from his comments about my blog posts). But mostly, we had great sex. He was just exciting and comfortable, all rolled into one. If I had a person to thank for helping me be more comfortable with my sexuality, it would be him. I must have been a bundle of nerves back then, so kudos to him for helping to keep me on an even keel. Although it never really felt right fucking someone else’s husband on her marital bed, I did it anyway. I just didn’t have the morality and control I feel I’m starting to get ahold of now. After some pretty intense fucking sessions at his place, I would shower in their bathroom. I would say that weirder than fucking on his bed was taking a shower and seeing bits and pieces of their lives in the form of the products they use, the hairs on the brushes, their dirty laundry. That was the most uncomfortable part of my entire affair with Colin. Taking a fucking shower in his awesome resort-style bathroom.

When I decided to “escape” to San Francisco, Colin was supportive, like a caring, real friend would be. There was no real sadness — almost like we both knew the affair had served its purpose and would someday end. He had always had a careful measure of support and warmth, and always projected an image of being my biggest fan, that I could do anything I wanted. I realize now that I don’t really know him at all. What did he really think about me? Why was he having an affair with me? Who is he? How was he as a child or teenager? It’s funny now to me that I never bothered to find out. He will always remain an enigma to me.

The last time we had actual correspondence was a year or so after I moved to San Francisco. He mentioned that he had moved to Paris with his family and had another affair with a French girl. We’ve sent each short messages on Twitter from time to time, but by and large, our story ended when I packed my bags for California. I suppose a part of me will always love the version of who I thought he was and how he made me feel. For that, I’m eternally grateful. I like to think we did more than just fuck, but that he somehow helped me on my journey to understanding myself and certainly, out of the rut that I was in.

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