Was adultery a force multiplier for the incredible passion we felt whenever we stole moments to be with each other?
It was in a popular coffee shop along the river when you
kissed me in a way that left no doubt that you desired me. At the time, I was
swept fully into the moment, your lips, your tongue, your heavy breathing and
moans. Responding in kind until I remembered that we were where people might
know us, know that you were married to another guy and my wife was one of the
richest people in town. We were fortunate that kiss never went anywhere outside
the door of that coffeeshop but my question remains—was it the risk we took
that inflamed our mutual passion? Or was our love just that way with adultery a
mere bug and not a feature?
We both had good reasons to cheat, each of us in abusive
relationships that no amount of counseling would cure. What emotions we held
for our spouses was the opposite of what we felt for each other. And I don’t
think I’d be here violating lifelong-held beliefs to engage in this magical
process that will somehow bring us back together if I thought our love was just
us getting off on violating social norms.
It’s impossible for me to say how many times I’ve relived
that kiss in my mind but it’s safe to say, dozens of times, and with each
replay of that moment comes my Catholic guilt roaring into the memory
screaming, “WTF were you thinking?!?”
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Peanut butter arrived tonight, unexpectedly, and it was
awesome. Aside from planning the Boomer-rama Halloween party for next Friday,
we talked psychedelics—molly, shrooms, acid, ketamine—and what might be
ingested if we can get what need. Molly sounds about right but it could come
down to whippets.
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