Posted on 01/23/2006 7:05:27 AM PST by Millee
MARRIAGE is the death of hope," Woody Allen once said. But not for everyone. In New York, where eligible men are few and far between, single women who endure long stretches of unwilled celibacy may resort to cheating with someone else's husband because it seems like the only hope - consequences be damned.
In December, I slept with a married man - late 50s, attractive, smart and successful. He's been with his wife forever, a lifestyle to which he is completely wedded, one that I had no intention of jeopardizing. Any guilt I might have felt was further assuaged by the fact that the man already had a roguish reputation. Since it had been two months that I'd gone without any skin-to-skin contact and I was too impatient to go through another round of dating rigmarole - the dinners, the chitchat, the sizing each other up - I reached out to him.
It was mid-afternoon when we met for a late lunch at a forgettable sushi place near 42nd Street. Since we weren't on a traditional "date," there was no need to conceal our vulnerabilities in order to make a good first impression. I was relaxed, and enjoyed being open with and appreciated by a man without even having to try.
Afterward, he put his arm around me and steered me to West 45th Street to Hotel QT, a sense of furtiveness lending a sexy dangerousness to our imminent entwinement. Entering the room, we anxiously pulled off our clothes, tearing back the bedcovers.
Last spring, a Time-CNN poll determined that while 90 percent of Americans say adultery is wrong, some type of infidelity occurs within half of all marriages. The reasons why seem obvious enough: boredom, loneliness, anger and, in cases when bedroom activities have simply died out,
(Excerpt) Read more at nypost.com ...
Thank you.
They're very multi-purpose.
Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky
Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky
Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky
Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky Squeaky
Looks like Tanya Tucker's diet is finally working! :)
Recap:
"I'm just so grateful," he replied. ...
"See ya," were his parting words.
The "married man" might just be a Duracell...
(raises hand meekly)
If she was a pleasant person, she'd probably be delightful to spend some time with. Unfortunately, she's proved that she isn't with the content of her column.
I cant remember the name of the show...but she looks like a hostess from one of those home shows on HGTV.
At least hookers have enough self-respect to demand payment.
LOLOLOL!! Nothing more attractive than a guy with a good sense of humor!!
LOL...you are really TOO desperate, Laz. But we love you (in a platonic way, of course) anyway.
Um, right....yeah.
You'd grab him off in a New York minute if you could, loser.
Plus, he's wedded to his wife, not a "lifestyle".
Mmmmm, how I love to parse the turgid droppings of liberal floozy writers.
Leni
Moral absolutes ping. FReepmail me or MillerCreek if you want on or off the Moral Absolutes ping list.
I think what I find so offensive about this is not that this slut slept with a married man (she is a leftist mediacrat who probably thinks only homosexuals should be married in the first place), what bothers me is that she FEELS NO GUILT because she doesn't plan to ruin his marriage.
It's an act intended to be humorous. I'm actually getting some very nice attention from two very pretty young ladies lately. :o) Losing 75 lbs and working out with weights daily (alternating the muscle groups) ..... and becoming much more spiritually-fit.... makes a man much more attractive. :o)
But we love you (in a platonic way, of course)
DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN
DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN
DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN DARN
In reality,they were both sluts.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1539167/posts
WEAK IN THE NEEDS
By ELIZABETH HAYT
December 12, 2005 -- LAST spring was an unbearably dry season - and I don¹t mean weather-wise. Without a steady man in my life, I hadn¹t had sex in several months. Now in my 40s, an age when a woman realizes that her youthful ability to turn male heads was something she once took (wrongly) for granted, I worried whether my celibacy was less a matter of circumstance than the start of something more permanent.
Online dating offered a short-term fix. Browsing the nerve.com personals, I found "Word Guy," a 38-year-old poet who, according to his ad, was looking for "fun." In his photo, he appeared clean-cut: fair hair, wire-rimmed glasses, white oxford shirt with rolled-up cuffs, an athletic build and healthy-looking teeth.
Had I been looking for true love, I might have ignored him since, to me, being a poet is synonymous with being penniless, and my romantic radar is permanently set on guys with secure day jobs. But given that my immediate needs were otherwise, I was not about to discriminate against a charity case.
Contrary to Darwinian theory - or common sense - studs are not the only ones who score. Schlubs do all right, too. But it isn't desire that drives women into their arms. Pity does.
I "winked at" (Nerve speak for "contacted") Word Guy and he replied, sparking a session of e-foreplay. By the third night of feverish tap-tapping, it was clearly time to go live. When Word Guy IM-ed me to say he'd been fantasizing about having me in his bed, my response was, "What's your address?"
Dashing from my apartment in black lingerie, black peep-toe pumps and a black Gucci trench, along with a black tote into which I'd stuffed my little, black dachshund, adding a final touch to my Upper East Side look, I stood on Park Avenue - an overage chick-lit cliché - madly flagging a taxi.
(snip)
Is this person attempting to submit public resumes for a hopeful career as an semi-intellectual soft-core porn scriptwriter? Sheesh!
We'll have to ask Robert Novak for further clarification on that.
Somebody call me?
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