There is a certain anonymous dating website that
caters to people already in relationships who are looking for something on the
side. No names, no pictures. Just people who are bored and require a
change.
Bill, who had been married 10 years, had started
to resent the predictability of his wife Nancy.
She never surprised him anymore.
And worse, he never seemed able to surprise her. Even if he did the most insanely idiotic and
damaging thing, like the time he got into a barroom brawl defending the honor
of a woman that was not her—even then Nancy forgave him and found something
positive to look at.
“If you were willing to stand up for a total
stranger, I can only imagine what you’d do for me,” she told him later that
night.
It made him sick.
Show a little anger, he wanted to say. I was attracted to her! That’s why I defended her! But he didn’t say that. Instead the two of them made love and then
Nancy went to sleep. Bill stayed up a
while thinking about the what ifs of life.
A month later he joined the dating website. Just to see what else is out there, he told
himself. To prove to myself that I have
it better than I think I do.
And for a week or so, the site did exactly
that. The profiles all fit into one of
two categories. Half of them were overly
shallow, obvious advertisements for sex with no strings attached. No relationship desired. The other half of them were involved,
detailed profiles that described all of the women’s hobbies, desires, wants,
needs, aspirations, and shortcomings.
These women were openly unhappy in their current relationships and were
just dying to find a reason to leave, but they also seemed cautious about
actually agreeing to meet up with anyone from the site. Bill found himself despising them all. All the women in both categories. Sure, he messaged a few of them. But it didn’t even feel like communicating with
real people. It felt like a chat room
from the 1990s where people could say whatever they wanted because it wasn’t
the real world and there were no repercussions.
Then Bill found himself despising himself for considering cheating on
Nancy for these chat room women.
But his wife just kept bothering him, killing him
with her kindness. What happened to the
naughty girl that used to manipulate her roommates into all being out of house
at the same time so he could come over?
What happened to the girl who used to go out to the balcony and throw
water balloons at pedestrians? What
happened to the girl with the big brown eyes with that mysterious glint and the
untamable spirit? What happened to the
girl he married, and who is this woman that lives in his house and does
anything he asks without ever needing recompense? Of course, he never asked her any of these
questions. Nancy seemed so willing to
please him. How could he tell her that
despite all her efforts he was dissatisfied?
How could he tell her that he wanted more?
So Bill gave the website one last try. He was up half the night. He drank a six-pack
and sent women message after message with no replies. He walked to the corner store and bought
another six-pack. Then something
happened. When he was halfway through
his 9th beer, he found someone real.
Her profile read like this:
I love
my husband, but lately something just seems to be missing. There is no spark anymore. We go out, but mostly for the change of
scenery, not because we really care for the night’s activity. Neither of us is trying to impress the other
anymore. It’s like we succeeded. We got married. Now what?
It’s like we don’t know what the next step is. And we haven’t known for years. I just feel stuck, but I try to be as loving
a wife as I can. My husband seems
perfectly fine. He never complains. He tells me I’m beautiful. But he really doesn’t say much beyond
that. What happened to the boy who used
to stay up all night making inquiries with me about what made people tick,
about what made the world turn? What
happened to the boy who was not afraid to criticize me for selfishness, who inspired
me to care more about the people around me?
Who is this man that comes home and eats the food that I make then
stoically heads to bedroom to perform his husbandly duties? When did our relationship become a duty? What happened to the fire? I miss the fire. I’m burning for a change. If you think you’ve got the heat, then
message me.
Bill spent the next week messaging this
woman. Sometimes they’d exchange several
messages in the same day. They really
seemed to hit it off. They shared almost
all of their interests. They liked the
same music. They’d been to many of the
same places. They had the same pet
peeves. And most importantly, they both
craved a steamy romantic encounter that would make them feel alive again. The things this woman wanted to do behind
closed doors… Bill hadn’t been this turned on in years. He particularly loved this one idea involving
ropes, ice cubes, and an entire bed covered in feathers. He almost couldn’t wait to try it—he even
thought about asking Nancy, but couldn’t figure out how to begin. In the end he decided against it. He cared about her too much, and what if she
took the suggestion as a sign that the sex they’d been having wasn’t good
enough?
No, instead Bill set up a date with the online
woman. She agreed to meet him at a café
in the next town so they wouldn’t chance running into their respective
spouses. He told her he’d be the
mustachioed man reading a newspaper and drinking espresso. She said she was a brunette and she’d be
wearing a purple dress and heels.
Bill spent the better part of the day trying to
decide whether or no to wear cologne, then which type of cologne to wear. Once deciding, he experienced a brief surge
of confidence before the question of whether or not to bring a condom popped
into his head. He didn’t know how these
online dates worked. Is the person
looking for sex right away? Does she
just want to talk first and make sure I’m not a serial killer? What if she doesn’t want sex right away but
she sees the condom in my wallet when I go to pay and then she thinks that I’m
shallow and too assuming, then ends it right there?
In the end, he decided that based on their
messaging, sex was likely. So he brought
a few condoms, but left them in the car on the off chance that he was
wrong. He showed up to the café early,
probably a little too early for his own good.
He downed a few espressos in short time and was getting jittery. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the
positives, on the potential of this woman.
She seemed perfect after all. She
was having the same problems. She had
the same interests. He loved
brunettes. She had a wild imagination. And all of the things that had been bothering
him—he felt comfortable talking about them with her. She gave him hope. Hope that even well intro adulthood there
could still be some magic, some fire in life.
One could still, after 35 years of living still have interesting
conversation, still be excited for the future, still find novel outlooks on
life in people that haven’t been entirely jaded and ruined. Bill had just about made up his mind that if
this woman was even remotely good-looking, his life was about to get a whole
lot better. It would be more
complicated, sure, and laced with guilt, but at least he’d feel alive. He and this woman would save each other from
their failing marriages and increasingly dreary lives.
“We will save each other, I swear it,” he
whispered to himself.
Then the little bell rang on the front door of the
café, and in walked Nancy in a purple dress.
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