Band Boy

It started with him sending me an email saying he was one of the four guys in the attached photo.  Lucky for me, I guessed right.  He was the cute one with wild hair and “I’m a Player” written all over him, but I decided to overlook that one major flaw.  In turn I sent him a picture of me with two of friends and told him to guess which one I was.  He wrote back that he hoped I was the leggy brunette.  He was right.  He told me he plays guitar in a band and would be very happy should he find me waiting in the green room after a show.  I said I was too smart to be in the green room with the idiot groupies, that instead I would sneak into his dressing room and be waiting there alone for him in the dark.  He said he’d want to peel my jeans off, go down on me and make me shudder with craze.  I wrote back that although I was a band boy stalker who had snuck into his dressing room, I also happen to be a good girl and the jeans would have to stay on……..for now.

Later after we met in person, he told me that the “dressing room” was the moment I had him hooked.  Our email exchanges continued every day, sometimes all day for the next month.  The first time he called me, we talked for 5 hours and 40 minutes, until almost 5:00 a.m.  The first time we met was the day before my 21st anniversary.  He was 9 years younger than me but looked maybe 30, had the most beautiful perfect white teeth, muscular arms, tousled hair, and a smile that melted me.  In most of our email communication we talked in third person referring to ourselves as BB (band boy) and GG (good girl), something like this:  “BB wants GG here right now, in the deep end of the pool with her legs wrapped around me, I tease her by poking her……down there.”

Embracing the Aftermath

Any pain that comes my way as a result of my behavior, I truly try to embrace it by telling myself I deserve it, and I asked for it by choosing to visit the dark side.  My first full-blown affair ended recently and left me in a state of grieving, missing him, missing the adrenaline rushes, missing the nightly emails, missing pretty much everything except for the agonizing waits in between our times together.  I did not fall in love, but I loved things about him and about the affair.  I’m working on a story about him, but have also gone back to school for my Master’s, so time is a major issue right now. If I weren’t so busy, the grieving would be so much worse.

While I’m here, let me throw another WHY out there.  Turning 40 awhile back made me feel like I had finally grown up.  It’s fun being a grownup and finally being in charge of your own life and making your own decisions- unless you’re married and then it’s like you’re a little kid all over again, having to ask Daddy- oops, I mean Hubby for permission.  I truly never felt that way until just the past few years.  I can only liken my experience to the same rebellion that teenagers go through. Is this Midlife Spouse Rebellion?  Is there such a phenomena?  Maybe I’m the first to experience it.  This also ties in with that issue that no one wants to discuss- the Familial issue of marriage.  I’ll save it for another post.