Ennui

Ennui, curiosity, and a yearning for inspiration to write compelled me to investigate a dark web site for cheating spouses. There, I stumbled upon private messages from user redchevelle71. In Franklin, Tennessee, redchevelle71 seemed safely distant enough from Mobile for correspondence via email.

My husband, Dylan, was opening a barbecue restaurant with a friend as a partner, and the two worked long hours for months. Dylan did all this for our family, but the kids and I learned it was best to give him plenty of space and time to rest when he did happen make it home in those days. His anxiety and stress levels did not mesh with our ADHD son and our young daughter, full of cartwheels and questions.

I tried to keep my mind occupied with occasional editing work or by working part-time for Dylan at the restaurant while Cade and Cassie were in school. I needed to be available for the children because Dylan could not be, and this made it difficult for me to find steady work on my own. Too many jobs I came across demanded flexible hours, but somebody had to be a constant for the kids. We didn't have any family in Alabama, and I was not comfortable leaving Cade and Cassie with strangers.

My husband knew what I was up to on the cheating site. He found it amusing that his introverted wife was curious about how such a website could exist. "I could go for you posing as a Hot Wife," he said, "just keep me apprised of any developments. Especially if, when I get home tonight, you want me more thanks to the attention showered on you by men on that site." He suggested I upload naughty bedroom pictures he'd taken. "They're in a file in my personal email account," he reminded me, and he offered to shoot new ones that night. It all started as a game.

Of all the responses I received on the cheating site, one member stood out. He seemed interesting and intellectual. He must have put a great deal of thought into his initial outreach to me. His first private message seemed polished and catered to my own profile. In retrospect, I suspect he may have paid for a level of membership that included professionally written emails to new female members. At any rate, after his unique PM impressed me, I messaged him back a little about myself and that I was looking for an exciting story or a muse, not an affair. He was okay with that and agreed to anonymously share his reasons for having a premium membership on a shady website for cheating spouses.

He said, "You've expressed more love of life in one message to me than I've seen from my wife in years. I will share my story if you promise to stick around a while." I agreed not to disappear overnight, so he wrote back the following: "I married a beautiful woman who happens to have a doctorate degree. She's an amazing, nurturing mother. I do love her and intend to stay married. My son is a special needs child, and that adds plenty of stressors to any relationship. My wife is more conservative than I am and a little older. At this point in our marriage, she has little interest in sex with me. I feel no shame in admitting to you that I am indeed in the market for a lover."

His honesty about his marriage piqued my curiosity. I expected one of those foot-out-the-door responses or an inaccurate portrait of a nightmare spouse. I immediately felt empathy for this lonely man just south of Music City, USA. The arrival of a timed self-photograph of redchevelle71 from scruffy chin down to clean bare feet piqued my interest in him even more and was followed by a photo of only mesmerizing blue eyes. He wore an unbuttoned, light blue oxford paired with stonewashed designer jeans. He said he ran almost daily. He was very handsome--from dimpled chin down, anyway, and we began emailing daily. I found myself looking forward to having time alone so I could write, but I was writing emails, not stories. And not novels.

Redchevelle71 was well-read and well-spoken via emails that he signed, "Luke," though I doubted that was his real name. He held a master's degree in project management. I didn't really understand what he did for a living, but he claimed he worked for a defense contractor, often on projects with NASA in Huntsville.

Over several weeks, I poured my heart out to Luke about my marriage and our growing financial problems. He and I wrote about our kids and my son's ADHD struggles.

Meanwhile, the overhead costs of the barbecue restaurant were draining Dylan and me. We were behind on our mortgage; if things didn't get better soon, we would be forced to short sell our home. And Dylan's blood pressure and anxiety levels were through the roof.

Curious about my new friend's past, I asked whether he had ever met anyone in person from Cheaters. He said that he had not but that he had a years-long affair with a woman in Huntsville. His secret lover had been the accounting manager at NASA. Luke said they met when his employer contracted with the government to prepare NASA for Y2K. When the affair began, Luke and his wife were expecting her first child—a daughter. The other woman, the accountant, was thirteen years Luke's senior. By my math, Luke must have been about twenty-seven and the accountant forty when they met in 1998. "I found her both attractive and sophisticated," he wrote.

The accountant had married a man who was fifteen years older. So, Luke must have seemed handsome and virile when compared to a man twenty-eight years his senior. Luke and the accountant spent long hours working together and grew close over several months until one day after a late lunch complete with wine, he moved in and kissed her before getting out of her car. Things got much more heated the next evening when they worked late and found themselves alone in a conference room. Allegedly, the affair ended amicably several years later when the accountant lover retired to Florida with her husband.

When I first met Luke, it never occurred to me to fact check anything he wrote. He never offered names, not even his own beyond a first name, which may not have been real. Searching for a retired former NASA accounting manager would not have been easy. Further, I didn't know which defense contractor had employed Luke. He did mention he was employee of the year for 1998 and 1999 at his company thanks to his Y2K successes.

Eventually, Luke told me the accountant introduced him to handcuffs and tethering. Being a boss all day during the workweek created a need in her to have someone else making decisions in the bedroom. Luke was on Cheaters when I met him because he wanted to start a new affair with a submissive woman. By and by, he would ask me to become his submissive lover, and, ultimately, I would search for the accounting manager and wonder, when I could not find her, whether she had been murdered.

Early on, it so happened that Luke and I shared common interests. Well, that is, if he wrote the truth. I'll never know. I still don't even know his name, which is unfair because he knew my real name from day one. We seemed to be kindred spirits and shared similar political views.

One day, after sharing some artsy photos he had taken with his Nokia, Luke requested I get a post office box. He said he wanted to send some things to me, and I thought he meant art. I complied with his wish because I wanted a post office box, anyway, for my online writing posts. I had started a progressive political blog and wanted to keep my physical address away from internet trolls to protect the children.

Right away, Luke sent $500 cash and a phone. Unsure what to do with the phone, I hid it in a crockpot in the kitchen. I didn't even think to check whether the ringer was off. I didn't realize the phone arrived charged, and I wasn't expecting any calls. I had emailed Luke to insist he not call unless or until I was comfortable receiving a ring from him. I was new at this game of phones.

On his Saturday morning conference call the next day, Dylan heard music coming from the kitchen. The melody led him to a crockpot on the counter, where he located my stashed burner phone. He answered the call; it was a wrong number. After ending his conference call, he found me folding laundry. The kids were outside playing with neighbor children. I could see them through our bedroom window. "What is this?" Dylan asked, confused, holding up the phone.

"You said you didn't care if I visited that cheating site. One of those men sent me a phone I didn't ask for, and I didn't know what to do with it. Did someone call?" I didn't tell him about the money because we needed it. With his stress levels so high, I avoided discussing our dwindling joint-checking account and the bills and bank draft fees.

"You want to feel like a whore?" my husband asked, pulling my hair. He wanted me to say I liked being a whore. And then the sex got rough and rougher. After nearly ten years of marriage, I discovered my husband enjoyed causing me pain. Sure, there had been subtle, overlooked hints.

Those all came flooding back over the following days when combing my hair was painful because my scalp hurt or when I felt the deep bruises on the inside of my thighs and around my neck. I had told myself the previous occasions had been coincidences. It just seemed like the timing matched the moment he spanked me a little too hard or yanked my hair that one last time. But we crossed a line after I met Luke, and that we could not undo.

"Get rid of that phone," Dylan warned. "That guy can probably track you with it." I tacitly agreed but kept the phone.

The next time I checked email, Luke had sent an mp3 file of "Falling into You" by Kasey Chambers. From that day forward, we would often communicate through the lyrics of songs we sent. But then Luke issued an ultimatum to meet in person. When I refused, we dissolved our correspondence. He deleted his email account. And I knew of no other way to reach Luke.