This summer, I almost cheated on my husband. Wait, scratch that. This summer I cheated on my husband.
Maybe it depends on how you define “cheating.” Is sex the line not to cross? Or is it simply doing anything you wouldn’t do in front of your man? In case of the latter, I cheated.
They were “only” kisses, but any intimacy not with the hubs isn’t an “only.” And, what’s worse, I enjoyed those kisses – not really just the physical, though that was there too. I enjoyed the intimate act of kissing this man, because he allowed me to contemplate and experience if the grass was greener.
It felt greener, and smoother, and softer, and lusher. I came “this” close to moving beyond the kisses. That was the day in the hotel room. I purposely met him when I was between appointments – I knew giving myself an unlimited amount of time with him would not lend itself to providing an excuse for me to leave.
So I guess even then, I knew what I wasn’t going to do, that I wouldn’t sleep with him.
Hubs and I talked – way back when – about the what-ifs of fidelity. His answer: if it’s once, don’t tell me. You take that secret to the grave and let it eat you alive. At the time, I think I expressed the opposite answer – tell me, so I know what’s happening when I’m not around. Now, I don’t know if I agree with his answer because it allows me to keep from confessing to this dirty, little secret, or if I agree because it’s a mistake that doesn’t bear being shared and potentially bringing down a house – especially if it happened once, especially if it’s “just” a kiss.
Does “almost” count?
Did I cheat? Do I couch this in it being a mistake and not one I should dwell on? I have to say, I don’t feel guilty unless I think really hard and long about it. Like, I know it was wrong. And I’m SO glad I snatched myself back from that abyss (thank you, Jesus – that would have been a one-way to hell on earth). But how much do I beat myself up about it? Is it bad that I’ve already let it go, or that I try not to dwell on it? Should I feel worse? Or is it okay that I tell myself a few stolen kisses don’t matter in the grand scheme of me figuring out it’s my husband, and my husband only, that has my heart?
Welcome to my unanswerable question.