We all know that cheating on your partner is wrong. That it wrecks lives, let alone relationships. But there’s one thing most people ignore about infidelity when they’re writing about it: cheating on your partner is sexy. It’s hot. It can be a massive turn on.
The illicit, the forbidden, the naughty, bad and wrong. Sneaking off behind your partner’s back to be with somebody else, somebody you want and need so badly that you can’t stop yourself. That level of desire is hard to ignore.
So now I’m talking about years ago. Maybe 15 years ago, or something like that. A female friend and I went to a nightclub together. The place wasn’t new, but neither of us had been before, and we were curious. It sounded like just our sort of place, musically. We hadn’t known each other long, but were building a good friendship. This would be fun. My girlfriend at the time worked away a lot. She was often out of town for half of each week and I filled the nights socialising, rather than sitting at home alone. My new friend knew this. We were very definitely ‘just friends’.
We met for a couple of drinks, then headed to the club. It was exactly what we had both been looking for. Relaxed, but grown-up. Not full of 18 year olds falling over their own drinks, but of a mid-twenties and older ex-indie crowd. Laid back, with a seamless transition between dancefloor, seating and bar – you could dance where you stood, stop for a chat, grab another round. We liked it a lot.
She was tall, I suppose. My height, rather than shorter. Bright blue eyes, very long blonde hair and a filthy laugh. She was in good shape, which I could tell even beneath the almost floor-length black skirt she was wearing. We drank, we sang along to old festival anthems and we danced all night long. We made friends amongst the regulars, and she danced atop the bar, her long hair flying wildly as she span around and jumped down into my arms.
We lived a lot in that night, talking in circles, learning one another’s secrets and sharing old stories. We danced while we talked and we broke into song when favourite choruses came over the sound system. Then there was one particular song. My memory’s hazy on what it was. It stopped us both laughing and made us both horny. We were singing along, dancing closely and looking into each other’s eyes. Then we were so close that we began to touch. My eyes had not left hers, nor hers mine. The song ended and I pushed her against the wall, held her by the wrists and kissed her. She kissed me back, hungrily, quickly, desperately. She pushed her knee between mine, and her thigh. I let go of her wrists and she wrapped both arms around me, still held flat against the wall by my body.
The music stopped. The lights came on. End of the night.
That shocked us into clarity, for a moment. Neither of us said a word, just looked into one another’s eyes and both nodded, ever so slightly. We collected our coats, hailed a taxi, and I took her home.
I made love to her in the bed I usually shared with my girlfriend, without a moment’s hesitation. And it was not the kind of sex I enjoyed with my girl. This was frantic, passionate, full of need. Kisses were rushed and missed in the heat of the moment. Hands were everywhere. We stumbled, we fell. We were clumsy. We panted and moaned, we sweated and we scratched each other. I bent her over and pulled her long blonde hair, stretching her neck back hard while I pushed into her from behind. I fucked her roughly, and she did the same to me.
We woke in the morning wrapped in each other’s limbs with the bedsheets thrown in a heap on the floor and clothes marking a trail back to the front door. I had to leave for work, so I gave her my keys and told her to meet me for lunch.
What had I done? I had never been unfaithful before. I didn’t know how to deal with this, either practically or emotionally. I knew it had felt right at the time though. I hadn’t paused, even for a second.
I met my tall, blonde, dirty angel for lunch. And over the course of the next couple of years, we would see a lot of each other. Despite every attack of conscience and every conversation about how wrong it was to do this, we carried on an affair. She would stop at my house, early in the morning, on her way to work – just to wake me up with a blow job. I would go to her place late at night to share a bottle of wine before fucking each other senseless on the living room floor. And out in public, with our mutual friends, we would pretend nothing was happening. Aside from the occasional knowing glance across a crowded dancefloor, we kept it a complete secret.
And that was what made it so good. Sharing that secret. The flame of desire burned so bright and so hot precisely because it was behind closed doors. Not being able to touch her skin in public, not being able to kiss her when she looked at me and smiled … just made me want her more.
Cheating is hot. It’s wrong, of course. Don’t do it. It wrecks lives. But once you start, it’s so very, very, hard to stop. |
