Alibis

Though my therapist is sceptical, I believe that just about all the thrill of being a liar, cheat, and adulterer derives from the sex itself. The lying and cheating are means, not ends, and not themselves the source of any pleasure. But like any craft, lying and cheating can be done well or poorly, and there is a satisfaction in doing them well.

Lying and cheating in the service of adultery is mainly a matter of coming up with alibis and sticking to them. Alibis are of critical importance for me, for I am practising adultery from home, rather than on the road. MJ, a man who A fucked once (and chose not to go back again) is in a totally different position, as he lives in a state far away - the one that looks like a flaccid cock dangling off the right coast of the US - and travels to NYC on business once a week or so, staying in an apartment he owns here. So he has evenings and nights with no marital supervision of any kind; he can, if he chooses, talk to his wife while a woman is sucking his cock. I, on the other hand, must return home each evening; unless my family is away, I cannot bring women to the place where I live. I must find time to be away from home, and in order to do that I must have alibis. Work provides some of these ready-made, and not much of interest can be said about those, as the details anyway would vary from one job to another. The non-work alibi, on the other hand, is a fascinating topic, of general interest.

An alibi must, above all else, be plausible. But plausibility is itself malleable. My career as a liar, cheat, and adulterer has lasted a little over a year-and-a-half, and in the course of that time I have slowly altered my habits. I now swim regularly, using the pool at work. I go to yoga. I have joined a small instrumental group that gives occasional concerts. In other words, I have been improving myself in ways that my wife could not fail to approve, and these alibis have a special strength because that is so. Three years ago I was depressed, lethargic, took no exercise, had no interests, was miserable, but I was truthful, honest, and faithful. Now I have more energy, am busy at work and with my other activities, exercise and extend my body in healthy ways - these are all changes that my wife supports. Unbeknownst to her, they accompany my becoming a liar, cheat, and adulterer.

Swimming is, in many ways, the perfect alibi. It is a solitary activity, so there are no issues about your wife wanting to meet your swimming buddies. It takes place in the sort of venues where cellphone reception is crappy, and anyway your cellphone bleats harmlessly in the locker while you do your laps, so being incommunicado is neatly explained. Pools are slippery places - that weird scratch must have happened when you fell getting out of the pool. And swimming is followed by a shower, just like sex, so it is hardly surprising that you come home smelling of strange soap and shampoo. On top of all of this, because of the moralism surrounding physical fitness, swimming is a virtuous activity, not one to which a wife can easily object, and so not like, say, shooting little birds.

Yoga is another excellent alibi, and sprains or contusions from complex sexual positions or over-energetic pounding can easily be attributed to some new pose. I know almost nothing about yoga, but I believe that Iyengar is probably the style of yoga that functions best as an alibi, as it involves the use of odd equipment, and so has the potential to explain even such incriminating marks as rope burns. At my yoga studio - well, the one I went to just a few times in reality, but have gone to very many times in LCA-land - the Iyengar studio has a rope wall, and straps are often used around the arms, or the legs. Iyengar is also relatively strenuous, so showering is neatly explained.

A good alibi is a fine thing, but only because of what it enables. Two hours at the Liberty Inn with L and her delightful, grabby cunt is the end; the alibi of yoga is the means. Perhaps there are men for whom the lying and cheating are what gives adultery its zest; if so, they are, to my mind, confusing the means with the end. But they might retort that I am the one who is confused, thinking that sexual delight is the goal, rather than the pleasure of putting one over on the wife or girlfriend. Well, I think I have the better view, and I suspect I am having better sex too.