The Hardest Thing
Автор
Violet Bloom
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Not a Meet-Cute
LYRIC
What am I doing? That’s the only thing I can ask myself, and none of the times I’ve asked myself delivers answers any more than the first time I asked.
Before I even do it, I know it’s a mistake. I wasn’t looking for this, but now that it’s here, right in front of me, I don’t know if I can turn away from the temptation. His username is intriguing. It shouldn’t be as tempting as it is.
It was a harmless enough question, on a public message board—okay, so that’s not true. I’m constantly on these blogs, answering questions, asking questions, doing research for my job.
I almost never answer them, but still, I always get random messages from internet strangers. Guys sliding into my DMs isn’t anything new.
So why am I deciding this is the one I should answer? I answered a poll: Do you have kinks you don’t share with your spouse? Yes.
I hadn’t been expecting someone who’d also answered yes to message me. Yes, I went and checked to see if they answered.
I can’t figure it out. It’s not even like it’s a temptation. It certainly shouldn’t be with my husband sitting next to me on the couch. He’s got his face buried in his phone—some war game he plays.
Things with us are good. Is that why I’m tempted? Is it because everything else in my life is going too well that I have to self-sabotage the best thing in my life by making a horrible decision?
I close the app, deciding not to respond. That’s the smart thing to do, considering the topic thread we found each other on.
Maybe it’s because his opening remark wasn’t sending a dick pic or asking for a pic or when the last time I had sex was. It’s nothing special either: Hey. That’s it, just hey.
Why does it feel like I can’t ignore it then? I look over at my husband again, and this time, he looks back, smiling at me.
I lean across the couch, planting my lips on his. His smile is broader when I pull away. His focus goes back to the phone in his hand and I swallow.
My anxiety is getting worse again. I need to go back to my therapist, but when I get like this, it’s like adding therapy to my to-do list is just too overwhelming.
It’s not as bad as it’s been in the past, when I couldn’t leave the house without throwing up. I just feel… unsettled, like so much has changed in the last couple years that I don’t know who I am anymore.
He doesn’t know how much I’m struggling. I should tell him, open up. But the phone in my hand feels heavy, like something’s drawing me to it in a way I’ve never experienced before. Like maybe opening up to a random stranger on the internet is easier than sharing my inner turmoil with the man I’m sharing my life with.
I don’t think about my actions or the consequences. Just respond.
Lyric
Hey.
I close the app and turn my phone over, setting it down and walking away. My heart hammers in my chest. I’m not doing anything wrong, but I know the intentions behind what I’m doing aren’t innocent.
Something is missing. I can’t put my finger on what, but it is, and I’m not sure how to fix it. The kink? I’ve lived without it for years, and it’s never been a problem before.
A few minutes go by before I dare look at my phone again. When I do, there’s another message.
Ohioguy1
how are you?
Again, it’s nothing spectacular. The smart thing to do would be to delete and walk away, but I don’t.
Lyric
I’m okay, how are you?
Ohioguy1
I’m okay, too.
Ohioguy1
Where are you from?
Lyric
I live in London. I’m gonna assume Ohio for you?
Ohioguy1
Lol. You’d be correct.
Ohioguy1
London, huh? That’s far from me.
Lyric
I’m American, but my husband’s job brought us over here.
Ohioguy1
What time is it over there?
Lyric
Four in the afternoon.
Ohio
It’s 11 here.
Lyric
I know. My family all still lives there.
I glance at my husband again, and he’s still looking at his phone. I’m not even trying to hide my phone. He’s never looked at it, always trusted me.
I’ve never given him reason not to, and simply talking to another man isn’t doing anything wrong, but if he was talking to a woman, meeting someone online the way I am, I’d be upset about it—especially if he thought he needed to hide it.
Because the truth is, I’m looking for attention—attention I don’t feel like I’m getting. A space to figure out who I am now.
I fidget with my phone, trying to focus on the television, not like I’m anxiously awaiting a response from a perfect stranger.
Ohioguy1
Your username gives you away as a woman…and based on the answer to the thread, I bet you’ve got lots of messages.
My username is herquestions21. Not the most creative thing in the world, but it’s supposed to be for work. I’ve actually never answered anything personal until tonight.
Lyric
Not yet. Mostly just creeps in my inbox, sending dick pics, or asking for pictures of me.
Ohioguy1
Guys are the worst.
He’s not wrong, but I don’t know what else to say. Lol doesn’t seem like an appropriate response.
Ohioguy1
I like to get to know a woman before I send her pictures of my dick.
I laugh out loud this time, and my husband smiles at me, probably assuming I’m talking to one of my friends.
Ohioguy1
Basics? I’m married, 40, two kids, work as a graphic designer. You?
Something about him being married makes me feel better. He’s ten years older than I am, but that’s not a problem. He’s the same age as the man sitting next to me on the couch.
Lyric
30, married, work as a social media manager.
Lyric
Do you talk to other married women a lot?
I don’t know what possessed me to ask that question immediately, but I’m not sorry I did. There’s a pit in my stomach as I wait.
I’ve been lying to myself. I know exactly what I’m doing, what I’m trying to do.
I don’t know if it’s because of my anxiety, the depression, or just being bored in my stable, consistent, happy life, but I know I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be putting my energy into someone who isn’t my husband.
Yes, right now it’s innocent, but if I let it get out of hand, it won’t be anymore.
My phone beeps again.
Ohioguy1
No.
Ohioguy1
Do you message married men… or single ones?
Lyric
Never.
Ohioguy1
so…what’s your unfulfilled kink?
My heart hammers in my chest. Am I really ready to tell him? I look at my husband, see him laser-focused on the game he’s playing.
I type and delete, type and delete. He’s safe. He doesn’t know my name, who I am, where I’m from, or anything about me. If there’s one person I can tell about it, it’s someone who I’ll never meet.
Lyric
I have a daddy kink.
My heart thrums. My husband knows about the kink, but it’s not his. By the time I realized it, I was already in love with him. And the sex was amazing without it.
Truthfully, I don’t know why it’s becoming an issue now. I like when a man takes charge, is dominant, guiding, making me feel submissive while we fuck. It goes hand in hand with my praise kink, and a little with the degradation I like thrown into the mix.
I set the phone down again, sliding closer to my husband. His arm lifts, welcoming me into my happy place. I snuggle against him, but the entire time I’m itching to reach for my phone, to see if I have a message from a man whose name I don’t even know.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper, snuggling deeper into him.
That’s not the real answer, though. The real answer is that I don’t know who I am anymore, and if I don’t know who this new version of me is, how can he?
Ohio guy is safe. He’s far away. And it can just be an online friendship.
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Unable to wait any longer to see if he’s responded, I pull away from my husband and grab my phone again, taking it into the kitchen to read the message.
Ohioguy1
baby girl needs a daddy, huh?
