I’m sleeping with a married man.  There.  I had to get that off my chest.

 

You’ll understand, I’m sure, if I don’t tell you his name.  After all, he could be someone you know.  Or you may know his wife or his kids.  I wouldn’t want word to get back to them.  And just because he’s cheating doesn’t mean he’s a bad man.  He isn’t bad, he simply has needs.  We all do.

 

So, what’s it like?  Well, last Saturday was a perfect example.  At 5:30 in the morning, I heard his key in my door.  That smooth metallic noise wakes me every time.  It’s better than an alarm clock.  I’d been looking forward to seeing him all week.  I look forward to it every week.

 

He tells his wife he likes to jog early in the morning, before pollution envelops the city.  He tells her he enjoys his run better when there are fewer people on the sidewalks, and when the sun hasn’t yet risen.  These are only half-truths, because he actually does jog all the way from his house to mine.  I doubt if his wife even notices anymore when he rolls out of bed before dawn.  I doubt if she ever notices him at all.  That’s fine.  I’ve taken it upon myself to notice him.  In fact, I could notice him all day and all night, if I ever had the opportunity.

 

I emerged from the depths of slumber as he kicked off his shoes in my front hall.  I scrambled out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom.  When you only get to see your lover once a week, you always want to look and smell and taste perfect.  And morning breath is a major turn-off.  When I switched off the bathroom light, my eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough to the darkness of my bedroom.

 

I asked, “Where are you?” as I walked straight into him.  Ouch. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

 

He concurred with his standard stand-by, “Likewise.”

 

“All week I’ve been waking up and asking myself, ‘Is it Saturday yet…?’”  That’s all I managed to say before he kissed me.  An entire week’s worth of kisses in less than one minute.