[Continued from "What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 2)."]

I flew into the Oakland Airport and took BART home.  Then, I went right away to a couple of friends’ house for Easter brunch.  The Ex was already there.  I was still wearing the clothes from the night before, was definitely hung over, and felt like shit about what I’d done in the guy’s hotel room.

I recall sitting on the friends’ couch with my sunglasses still on and feeling horrible.  Apparently I looked cool because one of the hosts told me I looked like a rock star.  Nice.  I didn’t feel anything like an actual cool rock star.

I had the Omaha guy’s phone number.  I called him from work to ask him the question I should have asked before we fucked bareback, whether he had any sexually transmitted infections.  He assured me he did not; I assured him of the same.  I also told him that I was on the Pill.

We got along pretty well.  We talked about things other than us fucking.  The next weekend the Ex was out of town so I called the Omaha guy and we had some good phone sex.  (Don’t EVER expect me to be monogamous in any way.)

The Omaha guy worked in a junk yard so he could talk on the phone pretty much whenever he wanted.  I was working in an office at the time and could easily shut my door so my secretary didn’t hear the dirty content of my half of the conversation.  Consequently, the Omaha guy and I talked a lot.  Omaha was two hours ahead of me in San Francisco so we’d have to take a break when he got off work.

I began going for a lot more walks.  At the time the Ex and I had Otter, our old, incontinent dachshund that was unable to go on walks of any length past the corner.  (She died in February 2008.)  We would not get Isis from my mother for three more years, when she was kicked out of her house after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and dementia at age 58.

But I digress ….  So I went for walks under the guise of getting more exercise, but not walking Otter.  I had been doing the usual lame thing of gaining weight since we got married, so the Ex didn’t begrudge me my time “exercising.”  Which I was doing, because I walked while the Omaha guy and I talked on the phone.

Sometimes I talked on the phone in our place, a loft with absolutely no privacy.  I guess I thought I was being sneaky enough that the Ex wouldn’t know I was talking lovey-dovey to someone, not him.  He and I hadn’t talked like that pretty much since we were married, five years before.

One night I woke up but the Ex wasn’t in bed.  Somehow I knew there was something awry.  The Ex was in the downstairs bathroom with my phone, I assumed checking the phone’s call history.  After that I changed the name of the Omaha guy in my phone to something cryptic.

The Ex never said anything to me about this.  He still hasn’t, and there’s no reason to bring up now.  [Yes, he knows about Random Rim Jobs, but he chooses not to read it.]  He doesn’t know about all the times I cheated on him, and letting him know would only serve to hurt him.  As I like the guy (and live with him), there’s no reason to hurt him.

The Omaha guy last talked when he happened to be hosting a party.  He told me how much he was into a certain chick and I could tell he didn’t want to be distracted by me any longer.  It ended without hard feelings.  I suspect he’s fallen for the stereotypical Midwestern thing: married with a  kid or kids and be absolutely miserable.

I swear.  True story.

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