I thought I could really like the next guy. He was in the military, super tall, Boston accent – all the fun things that make me happy. He had a French sounding last name, so we’ll call him Pierre.
The weirdest thing about him (at first) was that he called me his beautiful princess. As in “I want to take you out this weekend so everyone will be jealous of my beautiful princess.” It was a little weird, but everyone has their thing, you know?
He was a good kisser, was big and strong, and the uniform didn’t hurt. But the more we chatted the weirder things got. Like he didn’t have a Facebook he said, which I suppose COULD be true. Then he didn’t want to give me his number. He took mine, and he would email or message me, but no calling. I started to think he was probably married. So I asked. Of course he said he wasn’t. He claimed he was divorced and his ex-wife and kids lived in Boston.
So we hung out, and watched movies and had food and went to the park and made out and I could barely contain myself around him because I just KNEW he was going to be magnificent when we got to the sex part. And we were definitely getting to that part.
I wasn’t wrong. He was good, and proportional, which is always nice. I could deal with the beautiful princess nonsense, but I didn’t really want to be fucking someone’s husband. Sadly, because I am a horrible human being, when we were together I didn’t care one bit if he was married. He was denying it, after all, so I was blameless. I’m not a fucking wizard; I can’t look into a crystal ball and know that shit.
So we saw each other a couple of times and then he was MIA for like two weeks. Then he popped back up, said he had been training in the Midwest somewhere. As an active military dude that was certainly believable. So was vacation with his wife. Still didn’t care. It was hard to care when I was bent over or contorted in some way every time I saw him.
We did fun things together too, but I wasn’t kidding myself – and I doubt he was either – this was a sexual relationship, really. I mean, we had fun together, but it was always with the end goal being of getting through the niceties to get home and get it in.
During this time we would talk filthy to one another online. Which was all fine and good. Apparently my ex-husband liked it too, because I got a text one night saying that “as hot as it is for me to imagine some dude bending you over the couch, maybe you should change your password.J” That’s another tale for another time, but suffice to say my ex had added a program to my computer that allowed him to see everything I did and record my passwords to things, and he’d been getting off on the idea of me having rough sex with some random dude. Sexy. And I mean that in the most insincere way possible.
Eventually the random trysts began to get boring. The sex was still good, but I was waiting for some scorned New England housewife to show up and start beating my ass with hockey stick. I’ve read too many Dennis Lehane books to not have an idea of what his wife might want to do to my southern ass if she found out I was the one satisfying her hubby.
Thankfully, it was easy enough to end it. I stopped messaging him, and since he had never given me his number, I didn’t even have to text an excuse. He asked to go out a few more times and I put him off. Eventually he stopped and deleted his profile altogether. That should have been an indication that things were going south. I mean, why would a good-looking military dude with a big cock and aggressive tendencies have a problem finding another chick to hook up with? And if he could do that, then why take down your profile? Unless you got straight BUSTED, which I was thinking was probably the case.
And I was right, because he WAS fucking married. A little while after we stopped seeing one another I got a text from a person saying she was his wife. I was a whore and a home wrecker, apparently. My text back telling her that he said he was divorced didn’t seem to matter. I think she may have been out of state – that part may have been true – because otherwise she probably would have tortured my address out of him.
All of my instincts made me want to fuck with her – taunting her because I had been with her man because she must suck at taking care of him. But fear of a northern fishwife wielding a cleaver kept me proper. That time…