Author’s note:
People that don’t cheat will never understand the impulse; the burrowing, creeping compulsion that drives otherwise content people to stray from their partner. This may partly stem from the common misconception that people cheat because they’re unhappy, or missing something in their relationships.
I don’t think that’s it. Or at least, it never was for me. The thing is: sometimes you just want to fuck someone else.
This is a story about fucking someone else. This is also my story, which means that names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent.
And before I begin let me also say that I love my husband. Madly. Truly.
That’s not what this is about.
###
It started with a work trip, as I suppose these things often do. I had gotten a text from my boss on Wednesday asking me if I could cover a conference in Toronto the following week.
Normally I declined these events because they involved a lot of mindless standing around a booth answering the same 3 or 4 questions for hours on end. Plus the schedule at these things was usually such that I didn’t have time to get out and see the city except from the back seat of the cab to and from the airport.