Cards on the table

It’s been nearly a week since I’ve heard from you.  I’m not surprised.  It’s the new normal for us, and our affair.  What’s left of it.

I saw you last week.  We had a lovely time, as always.  The sex was amazing, the conversation good.  We caught up.

It wasn’t my intention to discuss our relationship and I’m not sure how it really came up.  I think you brought it up in the context of how you can’t text me when you’re home.  The Wife questions your phone usage, even when you go to the bathroom.  It’s interesting how she thinks that controlling your phone usage at home will keep you from contacting me.  I even told you about a blog I read that is based entirely upon a woman’s concern about her husband texting another woman.

Tidbits of the conversation include me telling you that you’re going to lose me and you saying you know that, but you’re trying to hang on for as long as you can.  I tell you that if  you miss me, it’s your own damn fault.  I reiterate that you are welcome in my life.  We discuss my upcoming business trip — which you surprisingly remembered — and how you are trying to finagle a way to go with me.  I tell you again that I would like to spend Christmas with you.

I tell you that the only reason I keep seeing you is because I love you.  I point out that if I wanted a booty call, I could have one — without having to take time off work, for longer than a few hours and that other men would buy dinner or pay the bar tab.

You repeat how you can’t leave The Wife.  You describe her worsening physical condition.  The way you do it troubles me.  There’s more disdain than sympathy or empathy.  You aren’t making fun of her, but the attitude is so odd it bothers me.

While we had some semi-serious conversation, it wasn’t uncomfortable.  We enjoyed one another.

I had been home working a couple of hours when you texted.  It’s very unusual for you to text so soon after seeing me.

“Thanks for seeing me and spending time with me! You are much more than a booty call for me. I know it’s frustrating for you — and for me — but unless the situation changes I can’t (won’t) walk away and hurt people here.  Just wouldn’t be able to live with myself.  It doesn’t change the way I feel about you … Just what I am willing and able to do with the cards on the table. I love you.”

What was that about?  Guilt?  And guilt over what?  Cheating or using me?  Or both?  I do think you’ve grown some balls to finally acknowledge that it’s a choice and that you won’t leave.  No more stringing me along.  Shoving me solidly into FWB territory.

My answer:

“I love you, too.  Thank you for being honest with me.  I appreciate it very much.  I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or you felt pressure.  Didn’t mean to.  I know where I stand with you and I appreciate your candor.  You would rather lose me than your marriage and everything it means to you.  Fair trade.  I love you lots.  Always.  Have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family! I hope to see you again soon!”

Wondering what had prompted the text — why you felt a need to state your position — I picked up the phone and called you.  It was near the end of the workday but you were still at your desk.  You said you weren’t upset with me, that I hadn’t made you uncomfortable.  We had a short conversation and I reiterated that I know where I stand.  I said, “I know I will never wake up with you on Christmas morning.”  You said “Never say never.  It could happen.”  I told you that was completely unfair for you to say.

That’s the condensed version of our last day and conversation together.  I’ve not heard from you since, and I didn’t reach out.  You told me when your flights were, but I didn’t even put it in flight tracker.  You went to see your parents and I went to see mine.  I didn’t expect to hear from you while you were gone.  Although typically I would — prior to your D-Day, of course.

If your goal was to make me want to be done with you, mission accomplished.

My heart is with you.  Always.

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