Boyfriend

That weekend with May was really uplifting for me. It was as if a light went on, illuminating my new future as a single man. After years of a fairly celibate marriage, sex was coming back into my life. I couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead.

My next available weekend happened to be May’s birthday. I eagerly accepted her invitation to visit her—she lives about five hours away—and to meet her friends for a brunch party.

Most of the weekend was spent alone with May and her nonstop libido. On Sunday, we went to meet her friends for brunch. She told me what to wear.

We are seated at a large table. I’m next to May. She introduces me to everyone, always referring to me as “my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Everyone seems to know everything about our previous weekend together. There are leering jokes, and I am pressed for details.

At this time, I had been out of my marriage for only a few weeks. I didn’t know these people at all, and while they seemed fun, I felt pretty exposed.

I later told her, nothing personal, but I am not comfortable being referred to as anyone’s boyfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, and besides, my divorce proceedings have not even begun. I'm married.

If word got back to ex that I had a girlfriend so quickly . . . well, who knew how that might affect my divorce? My ex was very mercurial and unreasonable, and while she had initiated the separation, I was certain she would use anything she could find against me.

Lighten up, May said. Have fun with it.

May’s life was about to change dramatically. She was leaving town for a new job on the West Coast. She liked the idea that we were going to have a fling before she left. So did I. She wanted to see me as much as possible before she left, and I was fine with that. This could be an intense ride.

I liked that I could tell May about all my various sexual adventures. I would call to report on the bottom boy I had tied up the previous night, and she would offer tips on spanking. I told her about the lesbian who had taken a shine to me, and May commended my tongue as being “lesbian approved.”

Then her new job fell through, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Soon, she told me she no longer wanted to hear about my time with other women. She continued to ask me about sex with guys, and then she gradually wanted to know less about that too. If I was too effusive about a friend, even one with whom I wasn’t having sex, she asked me to refrain from talking about that person.

I gradually stopped talking about any of my friends. Why risk it?

It was clear that I was seeing other people, any time I wanted. So long as that was understood, I was fine with not talking about it in detail—though I would miss sharing that part of my life with her.

Although her departure was no longer a factor, May wanted to keep the intensity at full throttle, and to see each other as much as possible. She wanted entire weekends together, and began to define a “weekend” as Friday mid day to Monday morning—the time stretched to absorb every moment I would not be with the kids.

She continued to refer to me as her “boyfriend” among her cohorts. The word “girlfriend” never crossed my lips.