Twice a week I have the best sex of my life with a hot 19-year-old who called me his boss less than four months ago.
Jake, the man I've been happily married to for the past 10 years, has no idea, and I don't plan on telling him.
Jake and I never had much sex. Even when we met at 19 he was a once-a-week kind of guy. I've always been a twice-a-day kind of girl. We had a long-distance relationship while I finished college, so the sex was never as often as I liked, but I was able to convince myself that if we lived closer, we'd have more sex.
By the time we got married, we were having sex once every two or three months and only when I begged for it. We got along great and most of our arguments were about the lack of sex. I cried every time I asked him what I could do differently. Was the sex not kinky enough? Too kinky? Did he have a secret fetish he was too afraid to tell me about?
Sex seems like such a silly thing to complain about when everything else in your relationship is going well, but a girl has needs, and eventually I reached my breaking point.
All I could think about was sex. Sex with Jake (rough sex, to punish him for all these months without), sex with the guy in front of me in line at the store (wonder if his chest is as hairy as his arms? What about his happy trail?), sex with the guy in front of me in traffic (are guys in trucks always compensating? Maybe I should go for the guy in the Civic instead?)
After spending the better part of a decade with a man who wasn't interested in sex, I had no shortage of sex toys and I didn't hesitate to use them, but somehow I couldn't seem to satisfy my primal urges.
I limited my nagging to once a week. Once a week I would cry my eyes out and bare my soul to him. One week I begged him to help satisfy me. One week I told him I wasn't sure I could stay in a sexless marriage. One week I asked him to let me have a fuck buddy. He told me he'd think about it and changed the subject. I felt like he wasn't taking my needs seriously.
One last time, in tears, I told Jake everything, even the part about how I was constantly imagining having sex with other men. He felt bad. He promised to try harder. Nothing changed. A month later I finally convinced him to get checked out by a doctor.
That was seven months ago. We finally have a diagnosis: low testosterone. It shouldn't have taken so long, but Jake has been dragging his feet every step of the way. Two weeks for him to go get blood drawn because he “hates needles.” Three weeks for him to follow up with the doctor about test results because “they would have called by now if there was a problem.” (Spoiler: There was a problem. They never called.)
Every time I think we're nearing the end of the process, we hit another road block and Jake drags his feet some more. This time it's the insurance company. They denied his prescription. The decision can be appealed, but Jake has to start that process himself; I can't do it for him. He's been “too busy” to call them for two weeks now.
Somewhere along the way, I decided I simply couldn't do it anymore. I decided I was getting laid one way or another; I just wasn't sure how. I didn't want a relationship; I didn't want a one-night stand. I wanted a fuck buddy, someone I could consistently go to for sex just until this whole thing got sorted out with Jake. I spent a few days contemplating Tinder and dating websites and thinking about men I already knew who might be up for this sort of relationship.
During that time, one of my employees texted to ask if he could use me as a reference for a new job. He was 19 and unattached. His new job would have him working evenings. He'd be free during the day when my husband was at work. He was perfect. The first day we had sex was the day he put in his two weeks notice at work.
I am cheating on my husband. Plain and simple. I felt awful about it for awhile. The first two weeks I was too upset to eat most days. I kept seeing him anyhow.
Sex with an inexperienced 19-year-old was awkward at first, but it got exponentially better. In bed, Dean is everything Jake is not. He’s enthusiastic. He reciprocates. He wants to try new things. He wants to talk about how to make it even better next time. Best of all, I DON’T HAVE TO BEG HIM TO HAVE SEX WITH ME.
At this point, I barely feel guilty. I’ve exhausted every option with Jake. We’ve had more serious discussions about sex than I can count. Tears don’t work, yelling doesn’t work, stepping back and letting him handle it himself doesn’t work. Begging for sex isn’t something I’m willing to do anymore. And when there’s someone else who wants it just as badly as I do . . . the choice is easy. For the first time in years, my needs are being met, and that’s a pretty powerful feeling.
I know this is only temporary. Dean has always been quick to remind me that we can stop whenever I want. I’m not ready yet, but I know when I am he’ll be okay with that.
We’re not in love. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a relationship with him at all. We’re fuck buddies. That’s the arrangement. That’s always been the arrangement. Just mind-blowing sex with a man who cares if it’s good for me too.
I’ve been asked how I see this all ending. The truth is, I don’t know just yet. The best case scenario? Jake gets the drugs he needs to fix his low testosterone and all his symptoms disappear. Fatigue, depression, weight gain, and low sex drive are among the most common symptoms of low T. Jake has them all. Getting proper treatment could be life-changing for him and for us as a couple.
It’s also possible that Jake gets his T levels within the normal range and still has a low sex drive. That’s a bridge I’ll cross when and if we get to it. As for now, cheating feels less like a mortal sin and more like a Band-Aid that’s holding my marriage together while we look for a more permanent solution.
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