The Husband hasn’t texted me in four days. He’s going out of town on business this weekend or doing something else he didn’t want to tell me about, so I imagine he’s fairly busy tying up loose ends before his trip.
Going days without a text from him isn’t out of the ordinary or cause for alarm, but knowing that doesn’t make me miss him any less. I told him awhile ago that I wouldn’t bother him unless he texted me first, and thankfully I have the self-control to stick to my word. In the meantime, to occupy my thoughts, I keep thorough mental records of our text-less streaks — for instance, 2.5 straight days sans messages is our average, and five days is the longest we’ve gone without communicating since February.
It’s sad how I can go extended periods of time without talking to my family and friends, the people who only bring happiness to my life. But a few days without a text from The Husband and I feel like a drug addict itching for her next fix.
Our conversations are primarily sexting — rehashing our past encounters, making plans for new ones, sharing fantasies, discussing how awesome my blowjobs boobs are, etc., etc. But I must say our remarks aren’t just sexually charged; they’re laced with plenty of humor, too. And since our convos usually take place over several hours, and it’s hard to ALWAYS talk about sex, he’ll randomly ask me “weird” questions like: “So how’s your day going?” or “So anything new going on with you?” — you know, stuff that makes me think he might care about me in a non-doggy-style way.
Most women my age seem to have ample opportunities to meet and flirt with attractive guys, but my ineptitude with online dating work schedule prevents from experiencing anything close to that. So my text exchanges with The Husband are my only way to fill that void.
Like most mistresses, I never expect to hear from him on Sundays, because that’s the one off-day he and his wife share. But the other days are fair game, so I’ll usually fall asleep each night, hopeful as a kid on Christmas Eve that I’ll wake up to find a new text from him waiting on my phone.
Years ago, in the earlier stages of our affair, I’d worry that his silence meant he’d lost interest in me. And on the flip side, during the times when I was trying to escape this situation, I’d embrace each Husband-less day as a small victory for my willpower. I’d actually say things like “10 days sober!” or play Jon Secada’s “Just Another Day (Without You)” — both the English and Spanish versions — or Daniel Bedingfield’s “Gotta Get Through This” or Kelly Clarkson’s “Sober” over and frickin over again on my iPod.
But now I realize that The Husband isnt going to lose interest in me. And I realize I’m a long ways off from having the self-love and faith willpower to ignore his advances. So it looks like my long-term sobriety will have to wait … just another day. (Corny ending groan)
Ms. Tress 