Let Me Add My Voice

Let Me Add My Voice

The hack of Ashely Madison has changed so many lives...

Since the release of the hacked names and addresses from the Ashely Madison website, I have heard numerous stories of careers upended, marriages destroyed, and lives forever changed. I've read several accounts from both men and women about how this violation of trust -- trust in Ashely Madison, that is -- has caused immeasurable damage to their lives, and some have even threatened to sue. The great irony is that the whole premise of the website is infidelity and the violation of the trust of their spouses. "Life is short -- have an affair" was more than just a catchy marketing phrase; it was the entire genesis for the website and the calling for the roughly thirty-seven million subscribers that signed up.

It is understandable that most of the incensed users are male, as depending on whose statistics you believe, eighty-five percent -- more than four out of every five -- are male. And that certainly fits the stereotype of the standard cheater. However, even at fifteen percent of their subscribers being female, that is an estimated five and a half million women, and I admit I'm one of them. So, now that the truth (so to speak) is out, I feel that it is a good time to share my story.

My husband, I'll call him Bob, and I were both journalism majors in college. Though we went to different universities and never met until after graduation, we did meet shortly thereafter. We both received jobs at the same media company and got to know each other at a happy hour shortly after that. It just seemed like destiny -- a cute, perky, up-and-coming on-air celebrity and a young, driven producer and video editor. We seemed like such a perfect couple. Both of us were young, full of energy, and equally convinced that our careers had nowhere to go but up.

We moved in together after only dating for about six months. It was the usual thing -- why pay rent on two places when we slept together almost every night anyway, and besides, we could save the money for the 'big white wedding' I had always dreamed of. The actual wedding didn't happen for another two years. However, we were still madly in love, and we saw nothing ahead of us but hugely successful careers, children, grandchildren, and eternal happiness. Oh, I'm sure we both knew that was a little optimistic, but we were young, hopelessly naive, and thoroughly convinced that we could overcome the inevitable bumps in the road as they came.

Six years later, the reality of life in the real world slowly began to sink in. We had two children by then. Our daughter was a constant source of great joy, but our son had social and learning disabilities, so finding a school that could handle him was always a challenge. And to add to the challenge, our careers didn't exactly take off as we had expected.

I was still on-air, but advancement was slow as there were always a dozen seasoned reporters ahead of me and just as many cute and perky personalities coming up behind me. Unfortunately, Bob's career didn't progress much better. Then at age thirty-one, Bob informs me that he has decided to buy a motorcycle. I didn't like the whole concept, he'd never owned a motorcycle in his life, and at thirty-one, it seemed a little early for a mid-life crisis. But his mind was made-up, and soon we had another vehicle in the garage and another monthly payment we couldn't afford.

I'll save you the suspense -- less than six months later, Bob had an accident so severe it cracked his helmet almost in two. He spent two weeks in the hospital, and when he finally came home, I had to take another two weeks off from work to care for him. Bob did physically recover, but emotionally he was never the same. And to add insult to injury, he never went back to work, which was devastating to our budget.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going back to work, he did agree to become the 'stay at home dad,' which was helpful to my career and saved us the cost of daycare. However, after several months it was clear he wasn't even capable of that. He could drive; he just didn't want to. My daughter, who was only six by then, took on more of the household chores than Bob did. And as far as shopping and running errands -- well, for some reason, that was still up to me. Then as for our son, though Bob kept promising to help, he proved to be nearly helpless. I basically had two emotionally challenged males on my hands.

And then there was our sex life -- or should I say, lack thereof. Before Bob's accident, we still fucked like rabbits. And I was very pleased about that. Despite all of our other financial and emotional stresses we both faced during the day -- when the lights went out, and we snuggled up together in bed, all of the stresses and strains of the day vanished. I felt totally safe and secure in his arms, and the sex that inevitably followed that first kiss always left me in a state of serene bliss. Our marital bed was our sanctuary, and when we were in bed together, all seemed right with the world.

That all ended the night of Bob's accident. I understood for the first month or so during his recovery, but once the physical injuries had healed, I did not understand. I tried everything to entice him back into our former love life. I tried sexy lingerie, candles, back rubs, and even bubble baths -- but he wouldn't have any of it. And what hurts the most was that he wouldn't even try. It was as if his libido had gone from 'hero to zero' overnight.

By the third year after the accident, I was ready to divorce him -- except, of course, for the kids. He was receiving disability payments which did help our finances, and my career had started to advance again. So, we were beginning to settle into the new reality of what our future lives would look like -- and I could have lived with that -- except for the utter absence of sexual intimacy. The only sex I was getting was from my personal BOB (Battery Operated Boyfriend), not my husband Bob, and it was driving me crazy.

At work, I was surrounded by men all day long, and I could not get my mind off of sex. I masturbated almost every day, usually in the shower before work (our shower has a built-in bench and a hand-held showerhead). But sometimes even in the toilet stall at the office. I was very nervous about getting caught, but sometimes after peeing, as I wiped myself, I'd just start rubbing and rubbing -- I couldn't stop. I knew I just had to get laid -- but how?

Of course, I considered more than one of my co-workers. But luckily, common sense prevailed. They all knew Bob and of my basic situation. And, of course, I didn't want to endanger my family (i.e., marriage), my job, or my public persona as the slut of the five o'clock news. I could see the evening lead-in now -- "local news anchor sleeps with just about anyone -- film at eleven!"

So, I silently remained sexually frustrated until, out of blind luck, the station manager sent me on an overnight assignment to Las Vegas. It was an investigative story, and usually, a cameraman would have gone with me. But to save money, the station manager decided to use a camera crew from our Vegas affiliate, leaving me with the good fortune of traveling alone.

I arrived in Vegas late in the afternoon the day before the shoot, so I had that evening to myself. Our travel department booked me into the Las Vegas Marriott, which bills itself as the only major hotel in Vegas without a casino. And that was fine with me, I'm not a gambler (not with money, that is), and I didn't have any money anyway. Besides, other than doing an awesome job on my assignment, all I wanted to do was to get laid. Now I won't say I gladly took the assignment specifically to break my sexual dry spell, but when the opportunity arose -- well, I was ready, willing, and able to take it on.

The taxi dropped me at the Marriott at around five that afternoon. After checking in, as I was walking to the elevator, I glanced in at the bar. The Vegas Marriott may not have had a casino, but it did have a bar, and it looked pretty nice. The bar was already fairly crowded and looked like a very target-rich environment, with the added advantage being that no one there knew me. I didn't want to waste any time in getting into the action. So as soon as I got to my room, I quickly got out of my traveling clothes and changed into a slinky but tasteful short black skirt, a turquoise silk blouse, and four-inch heels. It wasn't exactly the 'fuck-me-now' outfit I might have worn in college, but it was damn close, and I hoped it was enough to attract some attention. You know, let the boys know I was available. I wanted to take a shower, but I was so excited; there just wasn't enough time. So just a quick touch-up of the old lipstick, a quick couple passes of the hairbrush, one final check in the full-length mirror, and I headed downstairs.

It was five-thirty by the time I walked into the bar, and it was more crowded than when I walked by at five. I found an empty stool at the bar and ordered a white wine. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it didn't take two minutes for a nice-looking business type standing about six or seven barstools away to start making eye contact.

He smiled at me, I smiled back at him, and he almost immediately started walking my way. A flock of butterflies took flight in my stomach, but this is what I was here for, and he certainly looked -- how can I say -- acceptable, promising, maybe even alluring if you can say that about a guy? He was wearing a sport coat with an open collar, he was pretty tall, had salt and pepper hair, and he had very nice eyes.

"Hi," he said as he approached me. "Do we know each other?"

"Not yet," I responded with a smile. I knew that was rather auspicious of me, but he asked, and I only had one night. Besides, he was cute!

"Well, I apologize," he said, a little startled by my frankness. "My name is Pete, and you are...?"

I had to laugh as I realized how ridiculous my response must have sounded. I set my wine down on the bar and offered him my hand. "Hi, I'm Stacy -- I didn't really mean it that way."

Taking my hand and gently hugging it, "Stacy, it's a pleasure to meet you, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I only wish I'd made it sooner," he said with a sincere smile.

"Why thank you -- Pete, did you say?" I asked as I was now beginning to settle down, and I wanted to make sure I had his name right.

"Yes, it's Pete," he said with an even bigger smile and a second light squeeze of my hand before releasing it.

As he let go of my hand, I realized I still had my wedding ring on. I glanced quickly to see if he was wearing one, which he was, and unfortunately, he saw me glancing.

"Are you expecting someone?" he asked.

"No -- no, I'm not," I responded.

"Well then, may I join you," he asked with flashing eyes?

I wanted to say, 'hell yes,' but I didn't want to appear desperate, so I toned it down to just a friendly smile and an affirmative nod of my head.

After settling in on the adjacent barstool, he asked in a flirtatious tone, "So are you here for the gambling?"

"No," I said with a flirtatious tone of my own, recognizing that he was joking.

"That's good because there's no casino at this hotel," he said.

"I know; I'm sure that's why my travel department booked me here," I answered, keeping up the flirt.

"So, you're here on business -- what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a reporter -- I'm here on a story." I knew that sounded a lot like 'I'm with the CIA,' and keeping with the tenor of the conversation, it was intentional.

"So, what's the story," he asked, taking a sip of his whiskey?

I looked him straight in the eyes and just smiled.

"Oh, I see. You could tell me, but you'd have to kill me -- right?" Pete said, after it became apparent that I wasn't going to tell him.

"Yeah, something like that," I said with a coy smile. And then I added a question of my own after a sip of wine, "So what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a consulting engineer -- our firm does contract work for the Nevada Highway Department. I'm here a couple of times a year, usually for a week or two each time. And of course, the state of Nevada would rather pay for the Marriott than the Bellagio." He took another sip of his drink before asking, "So how long are you here for?"

"Just one night," I said as I slowly uncrossed my legs and re-crossed them in front of him. He noticed as I knew he would. And just as he was thinking of his next line, an apparent buddy of his appeared out of nowhere and approached so close that he almost stood between us.

"Hey Pete, looks like 'Lady Luck' is on your side tonight," he said, waving a drink around, which didn't appear to be his first for the evening. Pete looked him straight in the eyes and just glared.

Sensing the obvious tension and not appreciating the interruption any more than Pete, I jumped in with, "Hi, I'm Stacy -- and you must be...."

"Ralph," he said, moving his drink to his left hand and extending his right to shake mine.

"Ralph and I work together," Pete explained as he shot visual daggers at the interloper.

There was an awkward pause for several seconds before Ralph said, "Well buddy, looks like you've got everything under control here." Then with a tip of his imaginary hat to me, he said, "Nice to meet you, Stacy." And then, turning to Pete, said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," before pivoting on his heels and stumbling away laughing out loud.

Pete just fumed. "Let's get out of here," he said. Then remembering that we had just met, he added, "I'm sorry for that -- I mean, may I buy you dinner?"

Realizing that he was embarrassed and me not willing to let this fish off the hook, I quickly responded, "Yes, I'd love to."

"Great," he said as he stood up. "What are you hungry for?"

"French," I said with an alluring smile. Whether he caught the double entendre are not, I'm not sure. But he might have.

"Great," he exclaimed. "The Paris is only a short cab ride away -- what do you bet they have French cuisine." He then set his half-empty drink on the bar for the last time, and holding out his arm for me, said, "Let's go."

I popped open my purse to get my room keycard out to pay for my drink. But before I could get it all the way out of my wallet, Pete said, "Oh no -- Ralph is buying this." And with a quick wave to the bartender to get his attention, he pointed to our drinks and then to Ralph (who had his back to us). The bartender nodded his understanding, and off we went -- arm in arm.

Pete was right, it was a short cab ride, and Lady Luck really must have been sitting with us that night, for even though we didn't have reservations, we scored an intimate table for two, right on the window at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant. It really is 'dinner and a show' as from the window you get a breathtaking view of the Strip and the Bellagio fountain -- which is directly across the street. The entire meal was absolutely amazing, as were the dancing waters of the Bellagio fountain. I almost felt sorry for whoever lost their reservation for this table, but hey, it is Vegas, and their loss was our gain.

After a truly 'ooh-la-la' dinner, with amazing wine, of course, Pete walked me through the casino and asked me again if I wanted to gamble. I had no money and really no interest. I was much more interested in getting Pete behind closed doors for what I hoped would be a 'sure thing.'

And just to make sure there was no misunderstanding, on the short cab ride back to the Marriott, first I sat right next to him, then I held his hand, then as he was probably still contemplating his next move, I leaned over and planted a huge wet kiss right on his lips. He got the message that time, and as we stood in front of the elevators in the Marriott lobby, he didn't even ask me what floor I was on. Once inside the elevator, he pressed twelve, and as the doors closed, he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me like I hadn't been kissed in years.

Once inside his room, I realized he had a lot nicer place than me. As I just had maybe room enough for one king bed and a bathroom, he had an entire suite. I guess there is more money in consulting engineering than journalism. He walked me into the bedroom, and standing at the foot of the bed, swept me up in his arms for another long passionate kiss.

Wow -- when he finally broke the kiss, I was breathless. He motioned to the bed, but I paused and smiled. I'd been traveling all day, and I wasn't really sure about my level of personal hygiene. "How about we start with a shower," I asked with a smile?

"Certainly," he said as he stepped backward toward the bathroom, slowly allowing his fingertips to slide off mine. As soon as our physical connection was broken, he raced to the bathroom to turn on the shower. When he returned to the bedroom, I was already sitting on the bed halfway undressed. I'd already dropped my skirt to the floor and tossed my blouse to the side chair. Sitting on the bed in my bra and panties, I removed my shoes and neatly arranged them under the bed. My mother used to have a saying when she saw a good-looking man, "I wouldn't mind my shoes under his bed," and somehow, that phrase had always stuck with me. And at the moment, it seemed perfectly appropriate.

Realizing that he was suddenly overdressed, Pete quickly started ripping his clothes off, and I just sat there patiently waiting for him to catch up. When he was down to his boxers, he reached for my hand and pulled me to a standing position in front of him. He kissed me softly on the lips, and then before I could wrap my arms around him, he gently turned me about-face and wrapped his arms around me first, cupping my breasts in his hands.

He then placed a series of wet traveling kisses on my neck and shoulders before unsnapping my bra and letting it fall to the floor. Continuing his trail of sloppy wet kisses down my back to my pantie line, he paused his kisses, and looping his fingers under the elastic waistband of my panties, pushed my only remaining garment to the floor. Gently massaging both of my legs, he finally placed a big lingering slurpy-wet kiss on each naked butt cheek.

I didn't really want him to do that just in case my derriere wasn't up to expectations, but it was too late to stop him now, and he didn't seem to complain. In fact, it must have aroused him more than he was already aroused, for when he turned me back around and stood in front of me, his dick was so hard it could no longer be restrained by his boxers, as the tip was sticking out from under the waistband.

I reached down and ran my hands across his shorts several times, gently stroking him through the stretched taut fabric. "I think he likes me," I purred.

"I think he's in lust for you, Stacy," he whispered.

Keeping my smile -- but just to make sure there were no misunderstandings. "You know I'm married -- right?" I asked.

"Yes, I know -- and I'm married too," he whispered back, holding two fingers to my lips to shush me. "But as they say, 'What happens in Vegas -- stays in Vegas.'"

Exactly what I wanted to hear and as I continued stroking him. He slowly removed his fingers from my lips and brought his lips back to mine for another lingering sultry kiss. As our kiss finally broke, I breathlessly whispered, "I think our shower must be ready."

He didn't say another word but dropped his shorts, and as I turned and headed towards the sound of running water, he closely followed. His room had a huge walk-in shower, and as the warm water rained down on us, we filled our hands with body wash and started lathering our respective newfound lovers.

"You know," he said as his soapy hands slipped and slid up over and around my boobs. "My dad used to always say, 'you never really know a car until you hand wash it,' do you think the same applies to a lover's body?"