Are you ready to get your affair on? According to a study by the married dating site Gleeden, the second Monday in January sees huge enrolment on their app. One year, it was 320% over their normal daily subscription rate.
Why? The party’s over, New Year’s resolutions begin to wane, and people take stock of their lives. A new year reminds us that the clock is ticking as the end looms larger with each passing year.
One woman’s story stuck with me as I started my adulterous journey. She’d become an empty nester the Fall before when her youngest went off to college. She talked about being lonely and sitting on her laptop in the middle of the day in early January when she opened an Ashley Madison account out of curiosity.
If I were to map out my journey on this year’s timetable, this is what it would look like and how it would feel as I went.
9 Jan — Opening your first married dating account
I can picture her sitting there, knowing what Ashley Madison was but not knowing. She’d lie to herself, saying she’d have a peak, and then shut it down. But in her heart of hearts, she knew she wouldn’t.
I remember opening my first account in August 2018, well. I was scared, excited, curious, and horny. My heart was pounding as I hit enter, and my profile went live.
9–11 Jan — Those first messages
I don’t remember what I wrote but I’m sure she wrote something short and clever like:
Hi, checking things out.
I can’t count the number of women’s profiles I’ve read where that’s all they write. I smile every time. I know she doesn’t need more than that to attract attention.
Within seconds of my account going live, I started to receive messages and other notifications. It was like putting a nickel in a slot machine and having all the lights and bells go off because you hit the jackpot.
It was bewildering as much as it was thrilling.
When I read that woman’s story, I knew exactly what she thought — All these men are interested in me! It’s empowering.
Walking on air for five days
I walked on air for the rest of the week. I checked my messages every chance I got, responded to the good ones, and chatted with more than a few guys.
Those first five days were magical. I felt alive, sexy, and wanted.
And that’s what she felt. Sitting alone at her dining room table in the middle of a cold winter’s day after the holidays, her pulse raced as she browsed all the men on offer. She felt euphoric, young, and sexy again.
Feeling sexy
It was the first time in years that I’d felt attractive. I hadn’t even put a picture up, yet men wanted me. I was so horny my vibrators were doing overtime. Every time I was alone, I couldn’t help but touch myself.
The chats quickly turned suggestive and sexy. I was beside myself with lust. It was something I’d never experienced. The sheer sexual energy was intense.
I sent my first nude that summer, violating everything I’d told my kids about internet safety. And the response was out of this world. I couldn’t believe what the men were saying about my body. I didn’t believe them.
I was in heaven.
14 Jan — The euphoria fades
As with everything, no good feeling lasts. As my senses returned, I no longer sought out frivolous chat. Men who couldn’t put a sentence together were shuffled to the side, and anyone with a dic pic was blocked.
It’s like your third day at an all-inclusive resort. You know where the food you like is, and you no longer need to walk past the dessert section to see what they have. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the wide selection, but just that you know better what you want.
For her, checking messages day after day, she’ll settle too. She’ll be no less horny and excited, but she’ll no longer be overwhelmed. With a clearer head, she’ll take the next step.
16 Jan — Empowerment & the shortlist
Some men can’t help but stand out. They can say whatever they like in their profiles, but their true nature begins to show in their chat. I looked for clues of intelligence and sophistication. I didn’t expect to find a genius, but I didn’t want an idiot, either. I also need chemistry and attraction.
In evaluating them, I winnowed my list down to a couple of contenders. It was like I was running a hiring process.
I no longer felt guilt not responding to messages or blocking rude men as I had a week earlier. As a bred people pleaser, ignoring the guilt of not pleasing a man is hard, but doing it was exhilarating. For once in my life, I had absolute control over men’s futures when it came to my body, and I relished it.
It was empowering to control the process and be fueled by the power to choose the man I’d have sex with. It was like walking down a supermarket aisle and picking the best product for me. This one, not that one.
For some women, this is the first time they’ll experience complete control over men. Some will enjoy abusing their power, and others might never fully embrace it, but it is there nonetheless.
As you can imagine, I absolutely loved torturing the rude and entitled. The lady at the table never mentioned this aspect, but she felt it.
19 Jan — Coffee date
You don’t know what you don’t know, but it’s hard to maintain the heat with endless chatter for more than a week. After that, it gets boring. Meeting the shortlist is best done when the fever is taking you.
The first meeting is nerve-racking. The thought stream runs unabated day and night. The realism of the impending moment shocks you like a cold shower.
Is he a serial killer? Is he going to extort me? Will he rape me? What if he’s ugly? What if he hates me? Am I going to ruin my life? Can I do this? Am I overdressed? Am I underdressed? How much makeup should I wear? Should I wear makeup? God, I look fat. Does this hide my tummy? Is my ass too big? How does this make my ass look? Am I really doing this? Oh my god, what am I doing?
As I think of her getting ready for her first coffee date, I can hear my own looping tape of self-doubt, fear, and loathing running through her head.
It goes on until the final moments. Then it resolves at long last — fuck it; I’m doing it, it’s only a coffee date. It’s not like I’m going to have sex with him.
19 Jan — After the meet
We sat in the car after our first meet, and I let his hands roam as we kissed passionately. Having a man’s hands on me after so long is a feeling I cannot describe. I wanted him then. I wanted him to take me in the car right there in the coffee shop parking lot. I needed him. It was hard to let him go.
Thoughts of him never left my mind from my first waking moment until late at night. I sent him videos of me using my toys and telling him what I would do to him. I told him how much I wanted him.
My soul was on fire as we planned our first sex date. I lusted for him.
27 Jan — “Drinks with a friend”
This is what I came for. As she sat down on January 9th, she had a vague idea of what she wanted. Sex. A friend. Something to call her own. It all led to this moment, no matter what she told herself.
She denied it, wrestled with it, and let the pangs of guilt wash over her. She let lust win by surrendering herself to it. She let her ideals and expectations be replaced with the busy work of arranging dates around schedules that had been fixed a month in advance.
The doubt and negative thoughts returned as she parked in the hotel’s lot, as mine did.
Will he like my body? Do I smell? Will I taste good if he goes down on me? Will he want to keep the lights on? Can I get naked in front of him? What will he think of my tummy rolls? My stretch marks? Can I even be sexy anymore? Do I remember how to have sex?
They intensify as she steps into the elevator and presses the button. She’ll check and recheck her phone for the room number. Anything to distract from the nervous energy that’s been building for more than 24 hours.
Standing at the door, she’ll pause before knocking. She’ll draw a deep breath before committing herself to him. Let’s do this, she’ll tell herself as she knocks, there’s no turning back now.
I absolutely melted into him that night. I have never been so well treated by a man. From the second I walked into his suite to when he joined me in the shower, got down on his knees, and worshipped me as I washed the evidence of our crime off.
I didn’t want to leave.
28 Jan — The morning after
Waking up beside hub, she’ll know if she made a mistake or not. Shades of guilt will come even if there are no regrets. The seal is broken, and there is no undoing.
I acknowledged those thoughts, but they didn’t haunt me. I was unbelievably happy. My lust only grew as the oxytocin of new love flowed through me. It took over my brain, and all I wanted was more.
I was addicted.
I won’t rationalize my affair. I know why I do it and know it is morally wrong. I would never encourage someone to have an affair. If I had to explain why I keep cheating, I’d say you’re an adulterer, no matter what you do after the first time, so what’s it matter if you keep going after that?
Is a man who kills once better than one who kills twice? He isn’t, but he isn’t worse, either. They are equally bad. One is no more or less bad than the other.
Once you cheat, you’re a cheater. The stats might stack up differently, but they don’t change anything.
Takeaway
Not all women who sit down at their computer and open a profile on Adultery Day 2023 will go all the way.
Some will delete their accounts that day. Others will shock themselves into the reality of what they are doing and walk away. Some will live with intense guilt at the thought of meeting another man for coffee. Yet others will live in shame following their first illicit kiss, never to repeat it.
But not all of them.
The ones like me will slide into their bed happy and go to sleep with the memory of his lips on hers, his taste still in her mouth. She will sleep well and wake to a sense of the renewed energy that comes from her new relationship.
For me, it brought balance back into my life. The loneliness wasn’t so daunting. I wasn’t distracted and sad for want of human touch. The empty depression of endless masturbation sessions to porn was gone. I could once again look forward to my days as the anticipation of my next date grew.
I felt awake for the first time in a decade, and there was no way I would ever let myself go back to sleep.
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© Teresa J. Conway, 2023