I May Be Dumb . . .

He went on, "When I know what I need to do, I go and do it. I don't give a damn what someone else may think or another may fear. I get it done, and I succeed where others fail."

I couldn't help but relate what he'd said to my experience with Robert. I'd made that awful trip back to Durham because I'd been afraid that others would think I was a failure. I'd known Robert was wrong for me, yet I'd felt compelled to give it another try. I decided I wouldn't make that same mistake in the future.

The more I worked with Allen, the more my admiration and respect for him grew. Over time, I found myself comparing him to Mark, and the comparisons weren't very favorable to my husband. When Allen spoke, everything he said sounded ready to print in a textbook or be inscribed in federal policy. All Mark talked about were mundane matters; he was scarcely familiar with some of the concepts we worked with in the office. When Allen solved a technical problem for us, his work was flawless. When I asked Mark to take on some small chore around the house, I had to check up on him to be sure he had done it the way I wanted. Sure, those weren't big issues, but they kept reminding me of the differences between the two of them.

Working with someone as brilliant as Allen was a constant challenge to me: I wanted to do my very best, to prove to him that he had done the right thing in hiring me. As I settled into the job, I found I wanted to do better than any of my colleagues so Allen would respect me.

One characteristic of Allen I didn't like was that he never praised anyone. If you screwed up, he let you know about it no uncertain terms, but when you did well, he seldom said a word. As a result, I found myself trying harder than ever to please him -- I wanted to wring a "good job" out of his mouth. I wanted him to take special note of me.

Of course he took note of me in other ways. His eyes often followed me as I walked by his office or came in the doorway for a meeting. One day I wore a skirt with a slit a little higher than usual, and I saw him shift in his chair to get a better view. Women learn from an early age when they're being observed by a man.

But he never gave any other indication of his interest, and that began to nag at me. "What's wrong with me," I wondered. "Other men respond; why can't I get his attention?" It became almost a competition. I began to do everything I could think of to make him notice me. When I was to meet with him, I'd stop in the ladies' room and roll my skirt up a little higher. I wore blouses that would gape open, and I would bend over his desk to point out figures so that he'd get a good look. Whenever possible, I'd find the opportunity to brush up against him. He had to notice, but he didn't react in any way.

It was driving me crazy. I'd always been able to impress men, either with my looks or my brains, usually both. So why didn't it work with Allen?

I was surprised to find myself becoming depressed at his lack of attention. I felt as though I failed to measure up; I just wasn't good enough for this towering figure whom I so greatly respected. As he continued to ignore me, my doubt turned to determination. I wanted this man to pay attention, and I wasn't going to fail.

We had another trip scheduled for Washington, and I decided to make my move then. After a day of meetings with FCC officials, we had dinner at the hotel, one of the nicest in the city. I had changed into a new dress that I bought especially for the occasion. It was black silk and sleeveless. The silk fit as though it had been tailored to my body, the neckline plunged deep enough to show I wasn't wearing a bra, and there was a slit that came up my thigh, enabling me to take long strides while revealing an alluring length of my leg.

I arrived at the dining room after Allen, so I was able to make my grand entrance. I walked up to the table and paused, turning slightly so as to show off my dress most favorably. Allen merely glanced up at me briefly, then returned to studying the wine list. I was crushed.

Damn it, I knew I looked good. As I'd ridden down the elevator, the wife of the man standing next to me had had to jerk his arm to get him to stop staring. When I walked through the lobby, I heard a noticeable drop in the volume of conversation, and saw numerous male heads turn to follow me. So why wasn't Allen interested?

We spent the dinner reviewing the agenda for tomorrow's session. Except for a discussion of issues we might expect, he hardly acknowledged my existence. I felt so defeated: I had brought out the big guns and had still lost the battle.

We finished the dinner, rode up the elevator together in silence and returned to our separate rooms. I turned on the light and then went to the mirror to look at myself. I couldn't see anything wrong, and there's no one more critical of me than I am about myself. Tears of frustration came to my eyes.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I walked over to the hotel phone and rang Allen's room. "Can I come over for a minute? There's something I need to show you." When he agreed, I hung up, went to the mirror to check myself one more time, took a deep breath and walked down the hall to his room.

He'd left the door ajar, so I was able to walk straight in. I stood there with my arms crossed and my hands on my shoulders, staring at him. He looked up from his papers and said, "Yes?" I took another deep breath, then lifted my hands off my shoulders. In the hallway outside his door, I'd carefully unzipped my dress down the back before entering. Now, as I lifted my hands, I released the straps of my dress, and the black silk slid down my body like a kiss, pooling at my feet. The only thing I was left wearing was a black thong and black thigh-high stockings.

In a flash he was standing in front of me, his hands holding my shoulders and his eyes staring intently into mine. "Tell me what you want," he demanded. "Say the words."

I'm not sure I even knew the answer to his question, but what came out of my mouth was, "Fuck me."

Without a word, he lifted me off the floor and carried me over to his king-size bed.

I don't know whether it was the months of frustration or the magic of the evening or my delight that this incredibly powerful man wanted me, but I had the best sex of my life. I came over and over again, completely out of control. Allen didn't make love to me, he fucked me repeatedly in a frenzy of lust, and I loved every second of it.

He was already awake the next morning. When I rolled over to face him, he said, "I wondered how long you could hold out." I realized at that moment that he'd been playing me, stringing me along until I threw myself at him. Rather than being resentful at his manipulation, however, I felt positively triumphal. "He wanted me all along. All this time he's been lusting after me, and I didn't even know it."

At that instant, I thought I knew how an Olympic champion must feel the morning after she's won the gold medal. Then my next thought was, "I've got to have him again."

And so began our affair. We agreed above all that we had to keep it secret. Allen warned me that if his wife were to find out she could make his life a living hell. He didn't want her to take his children away from him. I could understand that, and I didn't want Mark to find out either.

So we agreed to be extremely careful not to display any unusual familiarity or affection in the office or anywhere out in public. Likewise, there were to be no conversations that could be overheard, no emails or texts that could be recovered, no suspicious phone calls to each other's home or cellphones.

All this secrecy did was amplify our passion ten-fold whenever we could get together. He became an absolute aphrodisiac to me: whenever I was near him, my panties began to dampen. When we got behind closed doors, I was half-way to an orgasm before he'd even touched me.

Over time, it's common for passion to subside, grow a bit routine and predictable. That didn't happen with us. I never knew what to expect from Allen. We tried positions I didn't even know existed. He taught me to love blowjobs so much that I could cum just from having his cock in my mouth. The first time he took me anally, I was sure he would tear me apart. The next time we did it, I couldn't wait to do it again, and I cursed myself for not trying it years ago.

Not surprisingly, as my feelings toward Allen grew, so did my discontent with my marriage. I began to entertain dreams of leaving Mark and marrying Allen. I was terribly afraid to admit this to Allen, but when I finally did, he said he felt the same way. I was ecstatic -- I couldn't wait. But with his logical mind, Allen was quick to point out that Mark was the issue. Once Mark was out of the picture, then he'd feel free to confront his wife and we could be together without having to hide.

I'd never been happier, and I began to think about how to accomplish my goal. Georgia is a no-fault state, so I could sue for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. But, I realized, if Mark found out about my relationship with Allen, he might countersue for adultery, and that could create big problems for Allen. What I needed was a way to convince Mark to leave, preferably while diverting his attention away from Allen.

It was Allen, of course, who figured it out. "Confess adultery to Mark," he said, "but tell him it was with someone you met in Washington. He'll be so pissed that he'll be want to divorce you, but he'll be looking for your lover in the wrong town."

I wasn't very happy at having to admit adultery; it might cause problems with some of my friends, and my parents were going to be badly disappointed in me. But then I thought, "They'd be even more upset if they found out about Allen. And the reason for the divorce makes no difference in the settlement." Remembering Allen's speech on amorality, I decided to go for it. "Who cares what others think?"

I wasn't looking forward to my little discussion with Mark, but my desire to be with Allen overcame my hesitation. So one evening I sat down with him and told him, "We need to talk."

When I confessed my fictional infidelity with the FCC staffer, I could tell that Mark was stunned. But then he surprised me. Rather than demanding a divorce, he wanted to go to counseling! I hadn't anticipated that, and when I couldn't think of a good alternative, I reluctantly agreed. "Maybe this will be a good thing," I thought. "At least it will show people I tried to work things out."

Our first session with Harris Willard, the counselor, was a real waste of time. Willard had each of us talk about our situation and relate what we hoped to get out of our sessions with him; I made up something vague, since I couldn't say what I really wanted.

But the second session was one-on-one with me, and I decided to go for broke.

"Harris," I said, as he'd insisted on first names, "I've heard that counselors are bound by the same rules as doctors and attorneys when it comes to confidentiality. Is that true?"

He hastened to assure me that it was: anything I said to him would be held in confidence, even from Mark.

"Very well," I said, "then let me talk and you just listen." I proceeded to tell Harris that I had absolutely no interest in reconciliation. I went on to explain that I had found another, better choice for a partner and that I planned to marry him just as soon as my divorce from Mark was final.

"So you see, I don't need your help. But if you want to help Mark, I suggest you spend your time with him preparing him for the inevitable. The more you talk about reconciliation and working on our marriage, the harder it's going to be on him. Do you understand?"

He looked at me carefully. "Yes, Julia, I think I understand completely now. I'm sorry you feel that way, but under the circumstances, I have little choice but to follow your suggestion."

"Well since we're in agreement, there's no need for me to take up any more of your time," I concluded, and left his office.

I have no idea what Harris talked about with Mark during their one-on-one session. I hope he was preparing Mark for the end, but who cares? What I do know is that by the fourth session I was ready for this little charade to be over. And, to his credit, Harris moved us clearly and directly to the point I'd been headed all along: divorce. I felt a little badly to see how hard it hit Mark, but I reminded myself that it had to be done to get what I wanted. He'd get over it.

The next week or two were very tense. Mark was totally depressed, and I just tried to avoid him. At the same time, neither he nor I wanted to alarm Josh and Jake about our situation. I knew I would have to be the one to tell them; Mark had already made clear that he would not do so. I thought that was just his childish attempt to make me the bad guy, but there was nothing I could do to force him to have that discussion with them.

Instead, I began house-hunting. Since Allen's timetable wasn't clear, it didn't make sense to buy a place, but I still wanted somewhere nice to live. After a couple of days, I found the ideal compromise: the opportunity to rent a charming old place in a good neighborhood with an option to buy later if I wished. It was perfect; everything was coming together according to plan.

But one thing still bothered me: the possibility that Mark would grow angry and try to divorce me on the grounds of adultery. It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I wanted a no-fault divorce with no stigma attached.

I had already contacted an attorney to handle my side of the divorce. I was meeting with her one afternoon when she casually mentioned what turned out to be the solution to my problem. It would be easy; all I had to do was pull a few things together.

Our old friends the Andersons didn't know the terminal status of our marriage. I called Ginna up and suggested we all go out for dinner and a movie. I wanted to remain friends with them, and I felt that this would provide the perfect setting for my little scheme.

The next piece of the puzzle was the premier of a new movie at the local cinema. It wasn't X-rated, but it was a hard R with lots of steamy sex, according to the reviews. I hoped that it would provide the proper stimulus.

When I told Mark that the Andersons had invited us to dinner and a movie, he was caught off guard. He probably interpreted my desire to go as a sign of a change of heart on my part. I was glad to have him think so. Once he had agreed, I suggested to Ginna that we meet at a favorite restaurant for dinner before the show. That was easy: she had read the reviews and was eager to see the movie everyone was talking about.

The night of our outing, I purposely wore one of my more becoming outfits, and I kept the conversation flowing as we all drove to the restaurant. Once at dinner, I undertook to order wine for everyone, and I kept it coming until everyone was happy. The restaurant I'd suggested was very close to the cinema, so the four of us walked over when it was time for the show. Driving at that point would not have been wise for any of us.

The movie lived up to its billing and then some. Even though this was all part of my design, I could still feel my panties getting damp at the sex scenes on the big screen. By the time the show had ended, the effects of the wine we had drunk had worn off enough to drive home safely, but the effects of the movie had not. When Tom and Ginna got into their car, she was all over her husband.

Mark and I drove home in silence, thinking, I hoped, about the film we had just watched. I made sure to put on a nightie I knew Mark really liked when we headed for bed. And once the lights were out, all I had to do was reach my hand over to rub his cock to get him to attack me. I knew that unless he had masturbated, he had gone without sex ever since I'd confessed my infidelity. Between the wine, the movie and my friendlier attitude, he was as horny as he'd ever been in his life. Sex was inevitable and unstoppable.

Of course I faked my orgasm; every woman knows how to do that, and any woman who tells you she never has is either lying or a nymphomaniac. But there was no way Mark could know that, as horny and desperate as he must have been that night. Fortunately, he finished pretty quickly, and I could get some sleep. Before I dozed, I congratulated myself on pulling off my little stratagem.

The next morning he arose from bed, sexually satisfied and newly optimistic about our marriage. I knew it was time to set him straight. "I think I've found a place to rent, Mark. I'm going to sign the lease today." I was watching him carefully in my makeup mirror. He deflated like a child's balloon.

"But after last night, I thought . . ." The words tailed off as he looked uncomprehendingly at me.

"Oh, that didn't change anything," I said lightly.

I could see anger rise in his face.

"Well if you still want a divorce, why don't I just file on the grounds of adultery?" he said bitterly.

I guess I'd been hoping this would happen. I'd prepared, and the words flowed out of my mouth like a trap springing closed on a helpless animal: "You can't do that. In the State of Georgia, if one spouse has sex with the other after knowing about adultery, he or she is presumed to have forgiven the infidelity by a court of law."

He'd taken the bait and was now trapped: there'd be no charges of adultery from him. I had done what I had to do, and now I was safe. "Allen would be proud of me," I thought.

I glanced again at Mark in the mirror. At that moment, he looked as though I had taken a baseball bat to him. He slumped on the bed and began to weep like a child. I was a little surprised that I felt a bit guilty for being so cruel -- amoralists aren't supposed to feel guilt.

But I knew I didn't have to worry about Mark; he'd get it together. After all, it was his turn to take the kids to daycare, and I knew he wouldn't fail to take care of them. I finished getting dressed and left for work.

After that, everything went pretty much according to plan. I signed the lease and moved in to my new place a few days later. I told the boys what was going on and took them with me the first week. They were a little shook up, but that's to be expected. Kids are resilient; I knew they'd adapt.

I filed suit for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences, and Mark didn't contest it. He also didn't counter-file, the thing I had really wanted to avoid.

We had our first Christmas in my new place. The boys were still a bit uncertain in their new surroundings, but when it came time for them to open presents on Christmas morning, their excitement lifted them out of their funk.

My Mom and Dad came down to spend Christmas with me. I was glad to see them, but they were hurt and confused about my break-up with Mark, so that cast a bit of a pall over the season. Thankfully, they didn't ask too many questions, so I was able to stick to the "irreconcilable differences" script and they didn't make a big issue of it. I'm not really sure why they were so taken with Mark; they hadn't felt that way about Robert. Maybe it was just because he was the father of their grandchildren.

The end of the holiday season meant more opportunities for Allen and me to get together. Now he could spend time at my place without fear of detection. Usually he would come over on the weeks that Josh and Jake were with their dad, and several times he was able to spend the night. Things got pretty wild in the bedroom when that happened. But I also managed to bring him around when Josh and Jake were with me because I wanted them to become familiar with him. The sooner they got used to him, the easier it would be when we got married.

Despite the new freedom that living on my own gave me, there were still frustrations. My divorce had been granted, and I was now in the waiting period. Allen and I agreed that he would not talk with his wife until after my divorce was final, so he and I still had to be discrete. We wanted to make sure nothing could interrupt us before we were ready.