The Adulterer's Handbook

by Sam Anthony

  Is it cheating to send flirty text messages? 59 percent of men and 76 percent of women said yes. Utter tosh! What’s the matter with these people? There must be some serious prudes out there who do nothing all day but take part in sex surveys to offset the misery of their failed relationships.

  Do online relationships count as infidelity? 68 percent of men and 87 percent of women said yes. Again, I strongly disagree.

  It’s apparent from my research that women have a significantly lower threshold than men for what infidelity entails. I’m not sure where the cut-off is for Tamsin. Perhaps I should ask her. In my head, the conversation doesn’t go well. I try out a few opening gambits:

  “So, Tam, in your opinion, what constitutes infidelity?”

  “Why are you asking? You’re having an affair aren’t you?”

  She slaps my face and knees me in the testicles.

  “Well, that’s ridiculous,” I chuckle, pretending to read an article on my phone. “It says here, 43 percent of women think flirting is infidelity.”

  “Have you loaded the dishwasher?”

  “Yes, darling.” She’s not interested. “How can flirting be infidelity?” I persist, shaking my head and talking to myself.

  “Well it depends, doesn’t it, Lee? If you’re flirting with someone you’ve fallen in love with, that would be infidelity; but a bit of shared sexual innuendo with a handsome guy you’ve just met at a party is fairly harmless. It’s all about context.”

  “So, if I say, ‘Your legs look amazing in that dress,’ to a stranger at a party, then it’s harmless flirting, but if I say it to someone I have romantic feelings for, it’s infidelity?”

  “No,” she sighs, exasperated. “If you say that to a stranger, you’re a sex pest.”

  She knees me in the testicles.

  “A guy at work reckons flirty text messages count as infidelity. What do you think, Tam?”

  “Dishwasher?”

  “Done.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Erm, what about, ‘I had a dream about you last night!’”

  “How many exclamation marks?”

  “One.”

  “Well, that’s not too bad, but you just know the follow up text message is going to be really pervy.”

  “Three exclamation marks?”

  “That’s already too pervy.”

  “How about ‘Let’s have drinks after work’?”

  “That’s fine. Actually, it’s a bit too bland. It could genuinely mean just drinks.”

  “Fancy a shag?”

  “If you send that message to anyone who’s not your spouse, then that’s definitely infidelity and you deserve this.”

  She knees me in the testicles.

  “No. I was asking you if you fancy a shag,” I gasp.

  “Erm. Yeah, all right.” She nods enthusiastically.

  “I can’t now. My balls…”

  I collapse in agony.

  ◆◆◆

  “Lee, what were you doing at a Spa hotel on Saturday night?”

  Alarm bells ring.

  “Hmm?”

  Luckily, my mouth is full of food, so if I chew slowly, I’ve got some thinking time.

  The four of us are eating dinner around the dining room table, and Tamsin has caught me completely by surprise.

  I hold up one finger, palm towards her, and continue to chew, using the universally acknowledged sign for: I have a perfectly valid reason for being at a hotel last Saturday evening, when I was actually supposed to be at home looking after the kids, and I’ll give you the aforementioned reason just as soon as I’ve finished chewing this particularly gristly piece of beef.

  I really need more information before I can answer the question.

  I swallow.

  “Pardon?”

  “A teaching assistant from school saw you leaving a hotel at about ten o’clock last Saturday night.”

  That helps a bit. I try out some explanations in my head:

  My muscles have been really tight since I went to the gym, so I thought I’d get a massage.

  “Twenty miles away, at ten o’clock at night?”

  I felt like getting my chest waxed.

  “But it’s still hairy …”

  I wasn’t there. It must be a case of mistaken identity.

  “She recognised you and your car.”

  Which teaching assistant?

  “Does it matter?”

  I was buying you a surprise pampering weekend.

  “Another surprise? Why didn’t you book it online or phone them?”

  Tick Tock.

  I panic and break rule one.

  “Jake was staying there for a conference and he invited me to join him for a drink.”

  I load my fork with a large portion of chewy looking beef.

  “You were with Jake last Saturday?” From the tone of Tamsin’s voice, I get the impression she doesn’t believe me.

  “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to catch up.”

  I fill my mouth with food.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen him?”

  I’m chewing again.

  I shrug.

  “You’re really enjoying this meal, aren’t you? I’ll have to cook it more often,” Tamsin says.

  I’m still chewing.

  I nod.

  I chew.

  I swallow.

  “Sorry, Tam. It completely slipped my mind. Jake says ‘hi’ by the way.”

  ◆◆◆

  We were exceptionally careful the first time.

  We’d parked our cars in different car parks that morning, left the office five minutes apart, and driven to Sophia’s house using different routes. She parked on her drive, while I parked two streets away and walked to Sophia’s back gate. She was right; that method of access wasn’t overlooked by any of the neighbouring houses. I checked to make sure that her upstairs bathroom light was on, which was the sign I’d insisted upon to confirm that everything was fine. My heart was beating like a bass drum in a disco song as I let myself in through the gate, crossed the back garden and entered the house through the unlocked door.

  And there she was.

  For a while, we simply gazed at each other.

  “There’s still time to change your mind,” I said. “Up to this point, we haven’t done anything wrong except kiss. We haven’t committed adultery. We aren’t having an affair. If I turn around now and leave, we’re still the good, faithful people we’ve always been. But if I stay …”

  Sophia moved very close to me, pressed her lips against mine to stop me speaking, wrapped her arms around my neck, and held me tight while we kissed. Then she stood back, took hold of my hand and, without saying another word, led me up the stairs.

  ◆◆◆

  I’m not going to lie. It was everything I’d dreamed it would be. Hot, sweaty, passionate sex with plenty of variety and bucket-loads of enthusiasm. I could no longer say that I wasn’t sexually satisfied. My only regret at the time was that I was fulfilling my desires with Sophia and not with Tamsin.

  According to research, when trying to justify their affairs, 23 percent of men blamed lack of sexual satisfaction, 14 percent said they wanted more attention, and another 14 percent wanted to experience a new sensation. Well, I’d certainly assuaged those top three issues.

  It’s different for women. 28 percent cited a lack of emotional satisfaction and 22 percent committed adultery purely for revenge. Now that’s a scary statistic.

  Other reasons both genders give for their infidelity include emotional validation, feeling unappreciated, loneliness, communication barriers, growing apart, their partner letting themselves go, and simply because it was just easy to do. I don’t believe any of these reasons apply to me. Tamsin is a wonderful, supportive, communicative wife who has succeeded in staying in great physical shape. I’m the one who has the problem.

  ◆◆◆

  “Jake, it’s Lee. Can you talk?”

  “Just a minute, mate. I’ll
find a quieter room.”

  I’ve locked myself in the bathroom, while Tamsin and John clear away the dirty plates and load the dishwasher.

  I really don’t know how this is going to go. Jake and Tamsin have been friends since before I met either of them. I’m about to ask Jake to lie to Tamsin in order to save my marriage. Where does his allegiance lie?

  “That’s better. What can I do for you?” he says.

  “Jake, I’ve done something really stupid.”

  I’ve never said it out loud before and the words are sticking in my throat. “I’ve … been having an affair with someone from work.”

  “Oh my God! Why would you do that to Tamsin?” He sounds shocked and disappointed in me.

  “Because I’m an idiot.” I feel wretched.

  “Does she know?” he says.

  “No. That’s why I’m ringing. I just told her that I met you for a drink at a hotel last Saturday night. I was hoping you’d back me up.”

  There’s a long pause.

  A very long pause.

  I can hear Jake breathing; then the sound of a discreet beep.

  “I’ve got another call coming in, Lee. It’s Tamsin. I’ve got to take this.”

  Jake hangs up on me.

  Chapter Seven

  The Condom

  It’s Friday evening. Neither Tamsin nor Jake have mentioned the hotel incident two weeks ago, so I’m starting to relax. My assumption is that Jake has backed me up and lied on my behalf. He’s a good friend, to me if not to Tamsin, and I’m very grateful, although it hasn’t passed me by that the man who had been my moral compass, I’m now utilising as a firewall to conceal my adultery.

  Tamsin has just arrived home and gone upstairs to our bedroom to change out of her smart work-clothes into something more comfortable.

  Tamsin always looks glamorous and gorgeous when she goes out. She makes a real effort with her outfit, her hair, make-up and jewellery. However, she’s begun to wear increasingly functional clothes when she’s around the house. Comfortable sweatpants, faded T-shirts, shapeless jumpers and fluffy slippers make up most of her apparel soon after she steps through the front door. She’s also started going to bed in old, mismatched, cotton pyjamas … and socks. There’s nothing sexy about socks in bed. It’s no wonder she rarely feels desirable when she dresses in such a dowdy manner at home.

  “Lee, can you come up here a minute?” Tamsin calls down the stairs.

  It’s the sing-song voice she uses in front of the kids when she’s trying to appear calm, while in reality she’s fuming inside.

  I jog up the stairs.

  Is this it? Has Jake told Tamsin I wasn’t with him at the hotel? Has he gone even further and told her about my affair? I can’t believe he’d do that to me. To us.

  I’m racking my brains, trying to think if there’s anything else I could have done wrong lately.

  Five hours ago I was enjoying some loud, uninhibited, kinky sex with Sophia, but apart from that, I can’t come up with anything.

  I’m anxious, to put it mildly.

  Tamsin is standing in the doorway of our en-suite bathroom, still in her work-clothes, her foot tapping.

  She beckons me into the room and points down at the toilet bowl.

  “Do you know what that is?”

  This must be a rhetorical question because it’s quite obvious that there’s a condom wrapper suspended in the water at the bottom of our loo.

  ◆◆◆

  The afternoon after I became an adulterer, I was on cloud nine.

  Back at the office, at the staff meeting, I deliberately sat opposite Sophia, so I could gaze at her without being too obvious about it. She was thoroughly professional and businesslike, rarely glancing in my direction, but when she did, and our eyes met, we exchanged a look that spoke volumes. My internal dialogue went something like this:

  “I’ve had sex with you.”

  “You have indeed.”

  “I made you climax with my tongue.”

  “Yes.”

  “Twice.”

  “It was three times, actually.”

  “And I’ve seen you completely naked.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “From every angle.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve got a smoking hot bod.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir.”

  “I’ve seen your boobs too.”

  “You sound like an adolescent schoolboy.”

  “Yes, but on the other hand … boobs!”

  “Good grief!”

  “I’ve been inside you.”

  “Correct.”

  “Deep inside.”

  “Deeper than anyone has ever been, you well-endowed stud.”

  “What do you think, Lee?”

  “I’m sorry, Claire, I was miles away. Can you repeat the question?” I said.

  ◆◆◆

  Is it too much to expect Tamsin to be my best friend, soulmate, co-parent, intellectual sounding board and, at the same time, my red hot lover who can be instantaneously in the mood to satisfy my basest carnal desires? Yes, it is. Tamsin is amazing when it comes to multi-tasking, but I realise that this is expecting too much of her. The minute both kids are out of the house, I pounce on her and request lovemaking. I expect her to be delighted to have a break from whatever banal task she’s midway through: marking, planning, ironing, gardening, vacuuming, cooking. Surely a pleasurable, naked interlude is always welcome.

  To be fair, she doesn’t always turn me down. When I suggest sex, Tamsin is occasionally amenable, if somewhat unenthusiastic. If I propose something mildly kinky, like bondage or role-play, she’ll sometimes agree – maybe once every six months – although not without communicating her reluctance. Even if I suggest anal sex she ... okay, she always turns me down flat with that one, but I can’t exactly blame her. When pornography turns to anal, it makes me squirm with discomfort. How do they do that? Surely they’re faking it. If my sensitive rear-end received that sort of pounding, I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.

  ◆◆◆

  “Isn’t that a condom wrapper?” I say, acting surprised for all I’m worth.

  I know it’s a condom wrapper and I know how it got there: an hour ago, I found it in my trouser pocket and flushed it down the loo. At least I thought I’d flushed it. I should have checked more carefully.

  “I can see that!” Tamsin says, through gritted teeth. “Perhaps now you can enlighten me as to why it’s there.”

  I know why it’s there too: I wanted to remove from our house any evidence that I’d recently had sex with another woman. What I don’t know is how it got into my trouser pocket in the first place. I have no memory of putting it there, but I’m notorious in our house for leaving things anywhere. My family tell me I don’t associate things with places, so my car keys are more likely to be almost anywhere other than on the car-key-hook in the hallway.

  Sophia and I have tried to develop good habits after our rendezvous. She tidies away the sex toys and lube, then changes the sheets on the bed and puts the old ones straight into the washing machine, so they’re clean by the time she gets home from work. I double bag the condoms and wrappers, and have a shower, ensuring I don’t use any scented products. Then I dispose of the trash in a litter bin on the way back to my car. Sophia leaves her house ten minutes after me to make certain we don’t arrive back at the office at the same time.

  Unfortunately, today something has gone wrong.

  ◆◆◆

  The night after I became an adulterer, as I listened to Tamsin gently snoring beside me, I felt all right. I was fully expecting to be overwhelmed with guilt and remorse, but I wasn’t. Sophia and I had had a wonderful time and nobody had been hurt. Tamsin was none the wiser. I’d planned it, carried it out and got away with it. It was easy.

  When Tamsin arrived home that evening, I was nervous. I thought she’d take one glance at my guilty face and know what I’d done. I thought she’d be able to smell it
on me; the stink of sex, guilt, shame, stress, regret. She was oblivious to it all.

  I forced myself to look her in the eye and maintain an ordinary conversation about routine things, and I tried to act as normal as possible.

  I wanted to send a message to Sophia to tell her again what a wonderful time I’d had, but there was no way I was going to break rule eight, so I had to contain myself for sixty hours until I could see her again in the flesh.

  ◆◆◆

  Tamsin isn’t enjoying getting older, but I reckon she’s becoming better looking as she ages. I’m a huge admirer of Tamsin’s physique. She hates it. Perhaps she’s a bit too skinny and has a few stretch marks, but I can’t even glimpse her naked body without becoming aroused. She’s a beautiful, classy woman and I could happily admire her disrobed form all day long. Disappointingly, over the last few years, Tamsin has begun to get dressed and undressed away from my view, either by relocating to the bathroom or by waiting until I’m no longer around, so my opportunities for admiring her lovely figure are increasingly limited. On the rare occasions when I do get to see her in all her glory, I try to express my adoration:

  “Wow, you’ve got a gorgeous body!”

  “I know you’re just trying to be nice, Lee. I’m really fat at the moment.”

  She isn’t.

  “You’ve got amazing legs: toned, shapely and they go on forever. All that work at the gym and on the tennis court is definitely paying dividends.”

  “What about all my cellulite and these horrible veins?”

  I can’t see what she’s pointing at.

  “Your breasts are magnificent. They look better and better as time passes.”

  “How can you say that? They’ve never been the same since I breastfed the kids.”