That night of July 7, I took my AP to my home again, and had sex with her again, again with no physical climax for me. We wondered together what to do with Sunday, July 8. She suggested showing me some nearby site that was supposedly important to her personally. We went to that site and spent the day, stopping at a swimming pool on the way back. It was all quite tedious and uninteresting to me. Again, I was overconfident that we would not run into someone I know. By the time we got back, it was late and I needed to re-focus on work again.
All this foolish, illicit cavorting around was not getting me sex, was not for any sort of emotional connection, and was entirely a waste of time. Why did I continue to pursue it? I was not an addict, but I was increasingly behaving like one. I kept telling myself, “Next time will be better. Next time there will be more and better sex. Next time there will be less time spent listening to this mentally-ill woman’s meaningless, inane, and tedious conversation.”
It must have been earlier in the day on July 8 when we started talking about what to do with the following weekend. I thought, and perhaps said, something about getting out of town, telling myself we would be more covert that way, less likely to run into people I know. I saw getting out of town as a way to hide, to go deep into my double-life and hide from reality, the reality of my self-doubt and insatiable desire for external validation. I suggested we go out of town. She ate up that idea. I was trying desperately to think of a place that was really not far away, but far enough where we could hide. In my haste and desperation, all I could come up with is a resort town that was too far away and that should have been emotionally reserved only for TL in my heart. It was also too far away because my boss was on travel and I had told my boss I would stay nearby. In further haste and desperation, I booked a hotel, suggested by the AP, that was too nice — it should have been a place for a man to take his loving friend and wife, not a place to take someone I viewed as essentially an unpaid whore.
In the week leading up to July 14, I mostly focused on my work and fitness. But, some nights — something more than one, but less than five, I can’t recall what — I stopped by the AP’s apartment on the way home. I took her to dinner in her neighborhood. I was too physically exhausted to even examine the fact that I wasn’t getting sex out of the deal and I was getting sick of that woman’s stupid, childish, repetitive conversation.
The day of my oldest child’s birthday rolled around. I should have spent that day either alone or gone to a work-related event alone. Instead, I picked up the AP and drove her to the resort.