I Fantasize About a Secret Lover When Making Love to My Spouse

That’s new. Yes, we see stories of sexual fantasies and, yes, some talk about making it with a stranger. We’ll even read headlines like: “Things My Spouse Does That Turn Me Off Sex” but what about this one: Marital Sex Doesn’t Do It For Me, So I Have To Imagine Having Wild Sex With Another Person To Reach Orgasm!’ 

Now that’s a doozy of a story (and an awfully long title too).

It’s not because fantasies like these don’t happen, it’s just that the stories about them rarely reach the surface of public consciousness. No one dissects this issue as they do many others. Besides, the first obstacle is finding someone willing to admit to doing it. There’s no law against dreaming of a private affair. As long as it stays inside one’s head, it doesn’t exist. No harm is done. Everyone is safe.

For nine years of my own ten-year marriage, I had to imagine I was doing it to someone else. I’d heard the word ‘No’ so many times that I wasn’t sexually attracted to my spouse anymore. I hated it. In order to get turned on, I had to pretend I was making out with someone else to get “in the mood”. I imagined a different face on my spouse’s so I could enjoy myself. It kept me relatively sane during a tough time.

Hatred is not a strong enough word. When I said I hated “No” and having sex with her, I meant to say that I seethed with silent fury. She would help herself to my body whenever she liked. She’d pick the one day of the year she wanted sex, get herself sorted out within two minutes, push me away, and then disappear for the day. She was cold, insensitive and sexually selfish, yet butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth to everyone else. On the outside of the bedroom, she was a compassionate, empathic and gracious person. When it came to sex and romance, she was evil. “No” was the only word she used in the bedroom. Two loveless minutes a year was all she afforded me.

This bizarre dichotomy between the officiant woman and the cold spouse did my head in. After our first year anniversary, I knew the deal. Our sex was so infrequent and short, I came to crave sex more — but then hated doing it with her when it finally happened. The fantasy faces I made to replace hers got me by. As my seething grew, I became vengeful with my choice of lovers. I asked myself: “If she were to catch me in bed with another woman, which one would crush her the most?” This woman would be the one I’d come to use every time. More love was made to her than my wife.

And then there was the real affair I had with a flesh-and-blood woman during our seventh year.

As you’d expect, all that domestic coldness left me wanting, so I decided to take a real lover to fill in what was missing. I won’t lie about this next part. It was the best decision I ever made. It was nothing short of an exquisite time. Every bit of stifled emotion and repressed sexual thought was set free.

It was lust at first sight. She’d been alone and lonely for years and I was alone ever since uttering the words “I Do”. I did awful things to that woman. I used her body and didn’t care about her feelings. She was pushed, yanked, poked, thrown and made to do my bidding. She had no choice. None at all. The irony was she lapped it up. She wasn’t fearful or disapproving. She loved it. My imposing presence was appreciated. She mistook my aggression for passion. Little did she know that I was walking an extremely thin psychological line. It took all of my inner strength to keep the Beast from rising. He was there inside me, watching everything from behind my eyes.


Why was I so brutal to Nina? She did nothing wrong. If fact, she did everything right. She was exactly what I needed. It was me. I’d been given nothing for so long that when the opportunity to get some, I took it all — but so much anger was released along with it. I took my long-held fury out on Nina’s body and expected her to yield when it got too much. I wanted her to scream: “No more! Please! No more! No!” but it never happened. Too much wasn’t enough. Nina didn’t have an end.

Why did I need her “No” so much?

I soon figured it out. I wanted the effects of a “No” to wash over me so I could work on defying it. I wanted Nina to play the role of my wife and take sex on my terms. Unfortunately, two to three hours of non-stop, push-and-shove, clitoris slapping, sheet-biting, toe-curling sex, couldn’t break that woman. I couldn’t get the “No!” I needed. I was back to feeling frustrated and angry.

It’s funny how tumultuous relationships can get our minds into such tangles. For reasons beyond our control, we’re at the mercy of external influences. This careless, brutal lover I found inside me wasn’t the real me. I’m not a violent man. I’ve respected my sexual partners — perhaps to a fault. This might explain my wife’s behaviour toward me and our bedroom. She expected me to give her space because that’s what I did for her. I knew what “No” meant. I paid attention to that word but she took advantage of it. I tolerated “No” but never liked hearing it. There are consequences to this action. Forcing our partners to not have sex is just as bad as its opposite — rape.

Rape is pure evil but the other doesn’t even get a socially recognisable word to use to pin the evil tag on. If it’s as despicable, then it sure doesn’t feel right to say so. It means the abuse isn’t as bad, victims don’t exist and the Law doesn’t need to protect people from what isn’t illegal. You suffer on your own and then figure out ways to cope with it, alone. The emptiness felt from it must be as profound as rape.

Nina’s body was found.

Before you ask, no, it wasn’t me. I left her long before the thunderstorm started. I had work in the morning and needed to get up early. I suspect her ex-husband was watching her movements. She did some nasty things to him when she left their marital home. She took their daughter and quite a bit of his money. She laughed when she told me she grabbed his new golf clubs and barbecue on the way out. She came out as the victor and I think he’d had enough of her nonsense. Like me, there’s only so much pushing we can take before we push back.

What’s that noise? Oh, there’s a knock on my door. Sorry, I have to go.

If it’s who I think I is, then I have a lot of explaining to do. That ex-husband would’ve seen my car parked outside her home. This isn’t going to be easy. I’m not sure how this will play out. Wish me luck.


Five women’s bodies are discovered after the nights of thunderstorms. Their spouses are suspected of the crimes, but it becomes clear that someone else is responsible. There’s no blood and few clues. A storm photographer specialising in taking lightning pictures may be the only witness.


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