And so it began
It was a tale told a hundred times.
They all wanted to know how we did it— strangers piqued by the strange life that H and I lived. Openness wasn’t as common as we thought. Among the people we spoke to, less than five lived an open relationship life, and no one else had a partner in crime, the wingman camaraderie Husband H and I had.
“We started last year. We wanted to yolo. Been together for more than twenty years. Always loyal, married with kids. This is our chance to try new people and experience a new life.” My keywords.
“What do you mean open?” Some would ask.
“H dates other girls, and I play with guys,” I replied. This was the truth because most girls liked to be taken out for meals and chit-chatted before the plunge, and apparently, there was a secret code — “Do you like massages?” which was equivalent to ramyeon meoguellae 라면 먹을래 (Do you want to have ramyeon aka sex?)
I never had to use that. My needs were apparent, and I was always on to the next step. H complained about my get-to-the-point methods.
Honestly, I do regret that I didn’t get the wine-and-dine treatment. I’m a woman, and which girl didn’t like dressing up for a date, being picked up in a car, and driven to a fancy restaurant? As his wife, I didn’t get that much treatment until we decided to leave our kids at home and go out for date nights and staycations in our Dayuse hotels.
For all the guys I met, I could count less than one hand the number of times I got a meal from my meeting. And the meals I got were not fancy compared to the money H spent on his girls. But my time was scarce, and I’m not complaining. This was the path I chose, and I was too horny to wait. My meal consisted of muscle and a different kind of meat.
Lately, I’d thought maybe I should have held out longer and found the right guy, a better match, and the FWB I’d been hoping for.
I tried. I really did.
I got close twice locally, but I was mistaken. Ghosted gain. And, very disappointed.
Those guys didn’t want Fwbs, and I thought we were going somewhere. Wanting to experience brief moments of lust-filled fun and intellectual fuck fest maybe was too much to ask.
“So, guess what I heard? This is more crazy than yours,” said H.
“My Viet friend…,” he said, slipping into our bed. I was texting my Korean friends and spicing up their day with my newest semi-nude pics. It was best to throw those pics at them when they walked into the office or were still on the bus or train.
“Yes, your fwb,” I said. I won’t deny I was jealous that H had a pal, and I’d yet to find a sexy, horny guy whom I could vibe, chat, joke, and also go for a meal and have sex with.
Maybe it was too much to ask. H said my standards were too high. Plus, it didn’t help that my blood boiled at the Gen Zs, and I always seemed to gravitate toward them.
Their lure was as powerful as mine was to them. Testing norms and playing with fire, the scent of lust was strong, permeating through the electronic waves, fingers pressing keys and eyes roaming on naked bodies and vids of our sex undulating with ecstasy, imagining that it was us making lust instead of those partners.
“Come to Korea. When are you coming to Korea?” They often asked. And for the lucky ones who lived in my locale. “When can we meet? How about next week?”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“She went for a date with an Asian guy she met on an app…nice, decent-looking guy. He started dating three days ago…” H grinned.
“And…?” I raised my brow. I knew this was the start. No way he’d tell me such a boring story.
“His wife came out. Lesbian. Told him she was going to bring her girlfriend home.”
“Holy crap. Damn…” I said. “No way…that was three days ago?”
Years of relationship and a child, marriage gone in one swoop. Three days to process. To get a divorce.
“He got his wife from Taiwan. She probably was always a lesbian. Hid it to marry and stay here.”
One thing I learned from stepping into the world of cheats. Marriage wasn’t as perfect as what we liked to dream. Families were not safe from fights. Everyone had dark secrets behind those perfect homes and clean white shades.
Right from the start, after the flickering of romance turned into embers of dust, sex kept the couples going. No sex, and the couples were left with loyalty to children and strings of commitment, waiting for the rope of matrimony to fray. Was the divorce rate higher once those kids went to college?
H suggested it first— the open relationship after I confessed to an online affair when he was in Asia. A way out to explore and spice up our stale, boring lives. He was right. Being open should be given to all couples. Better to try this than to cheat. It is better to have an open relationship and keep the family happy than divorce.
Ashley Madison (AM) — the site where all cheaters went. “Life was short,” said its slogan. Having an affair seemed to be the spark everyone needed. Years ago, we heard about Ashley Madison on the news. The site was smart enough to use a catchy name to go with adultery.
“Did you hear? Our neighbor Pete met Ashley. Ashley who? Not who. What.”
When the site got exposed to the public, H and I joked about those people caught cheating on AM, but never ever did we think we’d be on it.
He told me to create an account after he did. It was our first time on a dating app. I was his test bait to see if his profile showed up how he wanted. The profile was similar enough. A tagline, some pics, choose a few hobbies and search criteria, and, unlike other dating sites, what sex preferences you like.
He wanted the real thing — a housewife — a milf, an older woman, and not a young simp girl.
Yes, the irony.
Unlike my Ometv vid chats and sexy fun, this was a first for me, too. I tossed some scandalous pics into my AM album to see what type of fish I’d catch. I wanted to know whether sharks lived in the cold waters or cute horny fishes in the form of East Asian boys liked my bait.
AM became a cheating game. Jokes were on the desperados. The tagline and profiles the guys posted out there were our playing field.
It was fun. Hilarious. Sexy and naughty. I found some guys in my type bucket, and lost others.
Ashley — this was where H and I roasted men and the lucky few had a chance meeting, and more from me.
This was H’s and I’s first foray as wingers supporting each other and separately hunting, each seeking a taste of new flesh.
And so, for those who wanted to know, this was where we started.