Affairs

I married young, and by the time I reached my 30th birthday, I had three children and a husband whom my love grew thin. Our love was like a passing breeze, a delicate ember that flickered, then waned. We were young. Love arrived unexpectedly, caught us off guard, and swept us up in a whirlwind affair, leaving us breathless. It began with two souls destined to intertwine their lives in a dance of passion, devotion, and shared dreams. I laid my eyes upon his gaze in Paris, where cobblestone streets echoed with whispers of romance. We stood hand in hand beneath the Eiffel Tower as the city lights illuminated the night. We walked along the Seine and reached a picturesque setting filled with applause. A table for two adorned with flowers and wine, our marriage unfolded in a tapestry of love. He took my hand tenderly and began to speak about our love journey since we were 16. He expanded on his heartfelt words with all the memories we’ve shared.  But love, like a shooting star, is fleeting. It teases us with promises and dreams only to vanish into the depths of the night. My husband often travelled across the country while I looked after the kids.

Our sex life had diminished. Partly because he was always away but more so because the sex was mundane, and I grew to bear it. I first met Jake when he came to fix a broken pipe. Men had always been drawn to me, and I to them. As he fixed the pipes, I wondered if he could fix mine. I knew my husband had been having an affair, and I had grown curious. Jake’s arms were a realm of strength, an embodiment of power and unwavering pride. His body was sculpted, and his shoulders were broad, cascading down. He did regular maintenance at home. And with my kids at school and my husband away to his lover, Jake came over, but this time to fix a burning desire. I hear a knock at the door. Jake walks in, and I meet his gaze, which feels like a magnetic pull. His eyes flicker with intrigue and a spark of fascination. It’s different today. His gaze is evident, caressing me, delving deeper and seeking a connection. He walks towards me, and we explore a narrative of an unspoken and untold desire. We engage in a sacred dance of souls entwined. I find refuge in his arms as they nurture and heal what has been split. My masks begin to shed, and only rawness and vulnerability lay ahead. His lips parted slightly, allowing my tongue to slip inside. Our bodies joined against the wall as our lips pressed together and desire eclipsed. His breath is warm. With each heartbeat a delicate dance begins as we surrender to the moment’s whims. 

~ Shantey Moabelo