Life as a Histress
A few weeks ago I made the trek to Adelaide to catch up with the married lass. Adelaide is the capital city of South Australia and is like any other city, except it has all the good parts removed. South Australians, or Crow Eaters as they are known here, are quite proud that their state did not receive any convicts. Instead it was colonised by free settlers, many of whom were of germanic descent. So imagine a city planned and populated by the likes of Steve and his ilk and you’ll have a fair idea of why most sane Australians avoid the joint like they avoid an honest days work!
I was booked on the Red Eye out of Sydney, I’d tethered the chariot in the long term car park and jumped aboard the bus to whatever terminal I was departing from. But in an instance of particularly bad timing, between the car park and the terminal, a car slammed into the side of the bus throwing me across the aisle and into the opposite window. Not a great start to a few days of romance. The bus obviously wasn’t going anywhere now and time was a wasting. It was only 1.5 km to the terminal, so I tossed my bag over my shoulder and began to jog. Unfortunately I couldn’t run as fast as the bus and I missed my flight. I then proceeded to the counter to buy another ticket. They refused to sell me one on the dubious grounds that my head was split open and I was in no state to fly. This fact had thus far escaped me. But, sure enough there was blood down the side of my face and all over my shirt.
So I rang Simon, a mate of mine who worked not that far from the airport and asked if he’d stitch me up. He said sure and then I went to the bathroom and chundered a couple of times. I cleaned myself up a little and jumped in a cab. Sadly Simon works in the maternity wing of the hospital so I was staggering around with no idea where he was, no child and no plausible reason for being there. All these happy little nativity scenes were going on as this oaf staggered around with blood everywhere. The nurses tried to get me to go to A&E but thankfully Simon found me and took me into a room and stitched me up while laughing at my predicament. He did say that perhaps it was a sign to not sleep with married women. I told him to “get fucked”, thanked him for the stitches and then comandeered his computer to book a flight. I then went back to the airport.
The delay had thrown a bit of a spanner in the works as K (married chick) had told her husband and her boss that she was going to be down in the Barossa for a few nights for work. But now she had to delay her departure so that she could pick me up in the arvo instead of the morning. Which she did and which resulted in us driving outbound in the arvo as her husband was driving inbound - he didn’t see us, but it was a close call.
Almost as close as being at a restaurant that night when one of her friends rocked in and did see us. I pretended to be a work colleague - not untrue - and quickly excused myself from the dinner table so that I didn’t put my foot any further in it. Just bad timing I suppose, but it wasn’t really an ideal way to roll. And it summed up the way the couple of days went.
In a similar vein, on the day I was leaving she wanted to show me her dog, so she’d rung her husband to make sure that he wasn’t anywhere near home and we went back to their place. Which was rather stupid considering that the place has security cameras. Which she didn’t remember until we were already in there. So then we had to go and delete all the footage. By this stage, I’d more or less had a gutful of having an affair. Too many complications!
And there is also the pride thing. It is difficult to be the third cog in a marriage, but thankfully I don’t have any! I jest, I really didn’t like the sneaking around thing. It felt off putting.
Finally she said that her husband had realised that something was wrong between them and had organised a European holiday so that they could fall back in love. She said that she’d declined as she wanted to do Europe together, in April. Gradually it was beginning to dawn on me that she was very close to leaving her husband because of our affair.
I didn’t really have a problem with her separating from her husband, as her marriage seems pretty fucked anyway, but she seemed to think that she’d move out of there and in with me. That was not going to happen! We had, after all, only met four times.
She seemed surprised by this. Anyway, I fucked off to the airport and flew home. I sent her a message when I got home saying basically that her marriage decisions should be independent of me as there was no certainty that her and I would work. And that it was probably a good idea if we didn’t have any further contact. About an hour later I got a message back saying “I got that message just after I told my husband that I don’t love him anymore”.
I replied that my timing had been a little out the last couple of days and that I had the stitches to prove it. What can you do?



