Book on dating a married man

I’d be by his side regardless of how many friends’ couches he had to crash on, and through a shitty first apartment in a crappy neighborhood with no furniture and bare walls.Warmth spread out from my heart and across my chest and I knew; I was going to make this work, and we were going to be able to have a legitimate relationship.So having a married boyfriend was perfect for me—it was passionate and exciting, and there was built-in distance so I didn’t feel suffocated, trapped, and in danger of actual intimacy.I thought I’d hang in this extramarital limbo until it got too painful, and then I could just opt out.Consumed with thoughts of him, when we weren’t together I was either lost in memories, reliving every detail of every second with him, or longing for him, trying to figure out the next time we could see each other.On a cold, gray November day, we spent the afternoon in bed together at my apartment. Move out, get an apartment…” In that moment, lying next to him in the post-orgasmic glow of the most incredible, tender, sensual experience we’d ever had together, something shifted inside of me.“The balance is off,” I said, swirling a French fry in ketchup. Lunch lasted for three hours and turned into coffee at a café a few blocks away, and then a lingering walk through the Manhattan streets as the sun warmed us on that bright fall day.

“Just so you know,” he wrote to me that night, “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you for long.” A few days later we met for seltzers on a rooftop bar, and I curled up into him. I could hear the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices, desk drawers opening and closing and phones ringing as he slowly traced his fingertips across me and looked at me like he never wanted to stop.

We were both in the literary industry and connected on social media, but I’d never met him in person. Sitting in my therapist’s office, I told her about David’s invitation.

And based on what I could tell from his online persona, he was married. I’ve caused the demise of many,” I wrote, declining his offer, and clicked Send. “The last thing you need is another literary married man,” she said, referring to my ex, a successful writer whom I hadn’t been able to get over for years. I told myself I’d go just to get more information, but if it turned out that he was in fact married, I wasn’t interested.

It’s going to be hard to get over you, I thought, closing my eyes trying to freeze this moment at the very beginning that I already knew was catapulting towards an end.

Then I leaned in and kissed him, pulling him towards me.

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“I think I could get divorced,” he said, his hand resting on my hip. Up until that point, I was pretty much OK with the way things were.

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