Your Husband Is Cheating on Us

If you were to ask my closest friends, colleagues, and mentors to use one word to describe me, they may respond with “reserved,” “responsible,” “diligent,” and “honest.” A laundry list of characteristics any parent would be proud to boast of. And for the most part, I tend to embody those traits in my everyday life. However, there is a less noble dimension to my personality and life that I tend to keep under wraps.

In 2014, I found myself to be a freshman college student with no friends. I had just relocated to a new city and as much as I was excited about my new academic endeavors, my social life was less impressive. I’m the quintessential introvert so the idea of venturing into the area and intentionally seeking friends was out of the question. So I did what any young woman in my circumstances would do: I browsed Craigslist.

Before its recent demise, Craigslist was a cesspool for the hopeful romantics and lonely souls like myself. Others may have used the platform to search for a new car, job, or community event. But I visited the site in search of something more personal.

I created an ad displaying my photo and explaining my desire to meet someone (preferably male) for companionship, conversation, and an occasional night out. Seems harmless enough but the responses I received FLOORED me. Prior to that experience, I had not been exposed to so many variations of the male genitalia. My email inbox was flooded and admittedly, a small part of me appreciated the sudden acute attention.

Amongst the many responses I received, I was mostly struck by the number of men interested in a "casual encounter." White men, that is. I had been very upfront in my ad regarding my Black identity and predicted that the bulk of my responses would be from eligible, Black suitors. There were, of course, a few but they were certainly outnumbered by the number of White men. I found it interesting because until that point I had not imagined that I would be found attractive by a White male. I’m brown, yes, but I’m DARK brown. My lips are naturally full, my hair is kinky, and I undoubtedly inherited my mother’s wide hips. It’s not exactly an image I expected White men to be drawn to. Nevertheless, I responded to their emails and continued the conversations.

I met a gentleman whose name shall be Mike for the sake of this essay. Mike was in his early 40s and serving in the US Army. He was tall, well-dressed, and had incredibly soft hands. He reminded me of the fathers of my closest White friends from childhood but I pushed that odd thought to the back of my mind.

I savored the flirty banter and as time passed, the age difference didn’t bother me as much. However, I was subconsciously still struggling to surpass the difference in race, particularly while we were together in public.

It was not until our third outing that Mike revealed to me that he was married. Ironically, I slightly felt betrayed. And stupid as well. He had been careful not to disclose any information regarding his home life by ensuring I was speaking 85 percent of the time. He also didn’t sport a wedding band.

My moral upbringing unnerved me and I felt encouraged to quickly end our relationship. However, there was a hint of amorality about the situation that enticed me. I enjoyed being the Other. I reveled in the thought of being a sexual deviant for someone who did not belong to me. The secrecy and taboo of our relationship was enchanting and was far from what I had expected. So I agreed to keep our affair private.

Doing so seemed to relax Mike. He more comfortably shared details about his marriage, adult children, and even his lackluster sex life with the Mrs. I was shown pictures of her and was instantly enthused that she could never provide to Mike what I could: the Other—the seduction of a world aside from his norm, the allure of a presence unfamiliar, and the sex of an "ebony" goddess. I was slightly ashamed of the pleasure I reared from this idea. But Mike compensated for my abashment with frequent gifts, regular dinners, and constant admiration. It fits the standard of a popularized "sugar baby" arrangement but I was unconcerned about labels. I simply enjoyed the experience for what it was.

However, it was not long before the reality of Mike’s affinity for young women truly sank in. There were other girls. And I had blindly convinced myself that only I could entice and keep his attention. But the truth of the matter was that Mike was searching for something I, nor his wife, could ever begin to offer: his youth. Years lost. He was internally distraught about the state of his marriage and stagnant career and it made him long for the time he felt he had lost. Therefore, he compensated by parading with young women like myself who he felt could offer what he was missing: youthfulness and thrills.

I recognized the internal conflict Mike was experiencing but I chose not to change. I decided to ride the wave, and him, for much longer. I exploited what it meant to be the Other and avoided discussion of his extra affairs. I used the relationship as a means to learn how I could navigate newer connections. And before I knew it, I had unearthed a strange, new dimension of my personality and personal life.