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I had an affair with my straight, married neighbor. Then his wife emailed me.

The email came from out of the blue a few months ago. It was from the wife of a man I had been secretly involved with. “How long did your affair with my husband last?” she demanded to know. “I’d like the date range of the years, please.”

I always wondered what she knew, if anything. Why was she confronting me now? I hadn’t communicated with her husband — I’ll call him Mike — in more than five years. We live on separate coasts now.

“The least you can do is respond truthfully, given what you’ve done,” she wrote. Was she accusing me of turning her husband gay? Of breaking up their marriage?

That fiery email may have been written in haste. Still, it was years in the making. I now know that deception has a long life span and often returns to claim its guilt.

I never told anyone about my affair with her husband. Too much at stake. Not so much for me ― I was unattached, and my sexual orientation wasn’t a secret. Mike, on the other hand, was a devoted family man with two kids who I know loved his wife.

He was my next-door neighbor, and I did not seduce him, even though I was 20 years older than he was. I’m certain I was the first man he’d been intimate with, while I had, as they say, been around. Our affair wasn’t a sudden, passion-filled trip to the moon on gossamer wings. It was more like a long train ride. It started slowly and lasted some five years.

Mike wasn’t the only married man I’d been involved with. But the others were one-nighters or friends with benefits ― eager conspirators.

Mike was another story.

We were opposites in many ways: I was a magazine editor. He was a master carpenter. I liked the arts. He liked sports. I splurged on nice clothes and twice-monthly haircuts. He dressed in whatever was handy, usually cut-offs, T-shirts, Birkenstocks and a tool belt.

One night when his wife and kids were away, we went to see a movie about a giant meteor heading for Earth. He told me that he was 16 before he ever saw a movie. He had seen it on the sly because his parents were evangelicals and movies, TV, and pop music were all considered tools of the devil.

What we shared was a passion for the past. One night Mike took me to a fire station that was about to be demolished. We broke in. He wanted me to see what was going to disappear: a cast-iron farmer’s sink, a pulley for hauling ice to the second-floor window. He explained to me the building’s ingenious post and beam construction.

I once showed him a wood inlaid jewelry box that depicted a family playing cards around a kitchen table. My great-grandmother brought it from Germany. “It’s beautiful,” he told me, gently running his fingers over the different woods. “Don’t ever give it away.”

My Victorian flat always needed repair. I had no idea how to install ceiling fans or fix doorbells. Mike did. He once spent a week patiently refinishing the beadboard in my kitchen. He made the century-old wood glisten like new using only sandpaper and baby oil.

We were friends for several years before becoming lovers.

With his wavy black hair, cobalt eyes and droopy eyelashes, Mike had no idea how sexy he was, or could be. Yet his lack of vanity only enhanced his allure. I once stuffed him into my tuxedo when his wife insisted he accompany her to her workplace’s black-tie event. Put a martini in his hand and he could have been James Bond.

Mike would drop by my place after his wife and kids were in bed. We would watch baseball games, make popcorn. Sometimes we’d share a joint, which deepened our enjoyment of “Antiques Roadshow.”

I agreed to let Mike set up his saws and tools in my attic after he told me he couldn’t afford to rent a workshop. That meant seeing him at all hours.

There were signs, some blatant, that he was struggling with his sexuality. Like the time he told me he had gone on a porn site to see how gay men “do it.” He confided to me that when he was in college, he had been attracted to another male student but didn’t act on it.

It usually took a few beers for him to start opening up.

A mutual hug in my attic one afternoon changed everything.

by Anonymousreply 13503/14/2019

Even after our relationship became physical, it took months for Mike to feel comfortable kissing. I’ve known couples, gay and straight, who were in open relationships. Many made a pact that they could mess around with others as long as they didn’t kiss. Sex can be a purely tactile, pleasurable experience. But kissing is up close and personal.

My nights were as free as his. I was in my 50s and I had outgrown discos and late-night bars. There was no Grindr back then. Craigslist was in its infancy. I could no longer bear meeting faceless strangers from newspaper ads.

I didn’t know Mike’s wife well, despite our being neighbors. She wasn’t the social type. Books, cats and gardening were her pleasures.

“What if she finds out about us?” I asked Mike.

I’ve been cheated on in several relationships, so I know how it feels.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. She’s not a confrontational person,” he said. “The other night, she told me she was tired and suggested I go hang out with my butt buddy.”

“What did she mean by that?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied.

I was, or so I thought. I figured that on some level, she was OK with this good-neighbor policy. That helped ease my conscience.

Besides, I wasn’t out to steal her husband, even though same-sex marriage did become legal in our state in 2004.

I wasn’t being completely honest when I said I never told anyone about Mike and me. My downstairs neighbor, who I had become close friends with over the years, figured it out. She could hear Mike’s footsteps coming and going on the stairwell, the squeak of bedsprings. “Mike’s a good person,” she told me. “You’re helping him become his true self. You should feel no guilt.”

by Anonymousreply 103/13/2019

I stopped reading as soon as I realized this was the Huffington Post and not the shit brickhouse troll.

by Anonymousreply 203/13/2019

I’ve never had children or wanted them. Mike’s, however, were a joy to be with. I worked from home, so it was easy for me to babysit them on school breaks and summer vacations. I’d take them to their swim lessons. We’d go bowling, miniature golfing. They introduced me to “SpongeBob SquarePants.”

Mike was always struggling to make ends meet. Yet not having money didn’t matter when it came to his boys. He gave them something dollars can’t buy: his time and attention. He once spent a day with them riding the subway lines. He got them memberships to a science museum. He taught them to Rollerblade and play hockey. I would go with them on weekend hikes. I would bring my dog and lunch. His wife never wanted to go along.

I lent Mike and his wife a down payment to buy a house. It felt good to do something positive for his family. His wife worked out a payment plan, which she stuck to. Mike converted the basement of his new digs to a workshop. Despite living in a different neighborhood, he still came by.

My downstairs neighbor figured it out. She could hear Mike’s footsteps coming and going on the stairwell, the squeak of bedsprings. ‘Mike’s a good person,’ she told me. ‘You’re helping him become his true self. You should feel no guilt.’ I can’t give a precise date when it all came crashing down. All I know is there were no more late-night visits, trips to Home Depot or those delicious foot rubs that he voluntarily gave. Mike simply disappeared without a goodbye. My phone calls went unanswered. He blocked me on Facebook. We never argued, so it wasn’t as if he stormed off in a huff.

Desperate for an answer, I bravely — and foolishly — called his wife. “What’s going on with Mike?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she said. “He never mentions you.”

Our train ride had come to its final station.

I had to take an honest look at myself. What I needed was a real boyfriend, one who I could go to the theater with. Or to restaurants. One who wouldn’t leave me waiting for him to come by on a Saturday night, only not to show up. One who I could tell my friends and co-workers about.

One who was available.

Then one afternoon, four years later, I saw Mike. I was taking my dog for a walk, cutting through a baseball field that abuts a wooded area. He was lobbing softballs over home plate to his boys. Seeing me, he trotted over to where I was. He took off his Red Sox cap. “I’m getting a little gray,” he said. I said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking my hand. “Really sorry.”

“C’mon, dad,” his boys yelled, and with that, Mike jogged back to the pitcher’s mound.

I finally had my explanation. His boys were becoming young men, old enough to ask questions and figure things out.

I should have foreseen this scenario. During the 1990s I lived in the Deep South. The steam room and sauna at my local Y served as a kind of after-work social club for men who were gay ― and for those who had wives and kids.

I would sometimes ask these men why they got married. “I wanted a family. I wanted children” was the usual reply. I asked one devoted father why he stayed in the South when he could have moved to a blue state. “I couldn’t live more than a few miles from my mama and daddy,” he said.

I knew a gay impresario when I lived in San Francisco in the 1980s. One night he threw a dinner party for his gay circle of friends at Trader Vic’s. Over tropical cocktails, he announced that he had just gotten engaged to a divorcée with two girls. “I’m going to have a family now, “ he told the table. “I can no longer see any of you again.”

by Anonymousreply 303/13/2019

I didn’t respond to Mike’s wife’s angry email. I figured that was Mike’s job, since he’s the one who came out to her and told her about us. He knew the dates of our affair as well as I did.

But I did need to know what was up. So I nervously texted him. We hadn’t communicated since that day on the baseball field.

“We’re going through a nasty divorce,” Mike texted back. “I decided to finally be honest with myself. I needed to be who I am. I told her about us. She blames you for everything. She wanted to know how many men I’d been with. I said there was only you, and that’s the truth.”

“Every time I pass by your place, I think of you,” he wrote. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I replied.

“Do your boys know?” I asked. They would be young men now.

“I told them. They were fine with it.”

“You were a great father to them,” I told him.

“Now you’ve got me all teared up,” he replied.

Mike volunteered that he was in therapy. He said he had joined a bisexual men’s support group. He met a man there, he said, whom he found attractive and who had asked him out.

I felt a twinge of sadness. I didn’t tell Mike that. Instead, I wished him all the best in his new life, and I meant it.

I had a new life too. I had sold my place and moved to the California desert, where I knew no one. A few weeks after buying a small condo, I went to a paint store to check out color samples. A younger salesman waited on me. He looked to be in his early 40s.

I could see there was a gold band on his ring finger.

He intercepted me in the parking lot as I was heading toward my car. He handed me a piece of yellow paper that he had hastily scribbled his cellphone number on. “If you ever need anything, just call,” he said. “And I mean anything.”

“You’re married,” I said. He shrugged his shoulders.

Nights can be lonely. His invitation was tempting.

I took the piece of paper out of my pocket, wadded it up and deposited it in the nearest trash bin.

by Anonymousreply 403/13/2019

Dear Penthouse Forum,

by Anonymousreply 503/13/2019

[quote] I once stuffed him into my tuxedo

I bet.

by Anonymousreply 603/13/2019

This. Never. Happened.

by Anonymousreply 703/13/2019

0/10

by Anonymousreply 803/13/2019

Which one of you bitches did this?

by Anonymousreply 903/13/2019

btw feel free to contact the husband-stealer himself with your feedback.

"John Stark is a veteran journalist and editor who has had staff positions on the San Francisco Examiner/Chronicle, People magazine, Cooking Light magazine, Martha Stewart’s Body + Soul, Cooks Illustrated and Walking magazine. His freelance stories have appeared in such publications as The New York Times, Newsday, AARP magazine and The Boston Globe. He was a founding editor of PBS’ “Next Avenue” website for boomers, where for three years he wrote weekly blogs and features, and continues to write for the site. He holds a master’s in journalism from Boston University and is a licensed Realtor. He currently lives in Palm Springs, California, where he is retired but writes freelance stories. For more info, visit JohnRStark.net."

by Anonymousreply 1003/13/2019

1.5/10

by Anonymousreply 1103/13/2019

tl;dr

by Anonymousreply 1203/13/2019

Op have you ever had a neighbor named Joel?

by Anonymousreply 1303/13/2019

And he's proud of this?

by Anonymousreply 1403/13/2019

Don't talk to any trick's wife. Ever. Her business is with her husband.

by Anonymousreply 1503/13/2019

The wife sounds like the ultimate frau.

by Anonymousreply 1603/13/2019

R16, as does the writer. This is pure schmaltz.

by Anonymousreply 1703/13/2019

The guy is hideous. I doubt he’s been laid in forty years much less had an affair with a married straight man.

by Anonymousreply 1803/13/2019

She's trying to warn you of the venereal warts and multi-drug resistant trichomonas she's been battling for years.

by Anonymousreply 1903/13/2019

Barbara Cartland lives!!....

by Anonymousreply 2003/13/2019

The author.

This did happen like 15 years ago so I'm sure he looked different.

by Anonymousreply 2103/13/2019

...and then everyone on the bus clapped.

by Anonymousreply 2203/13/2019

Nothing odd about that story. And the author's looks do not matter much in a situation like that.

Been there, done that.

by Anonymousreply 2303/13/2019

[quote] Nights can be lonely. His invitation was tempting.

[quote] I took the piece of paper out of my pocket, wadded it up and deposited it in the nearest trash bin.

The end is the biggest "Sure Jan' moment of the whole story. Like he really threw away the young salesman's phone number away in the trashbin..

by Anonymousreply 2403/13/2019

Which one is he, r21?…

by Anonymousreply 2503/13/2019

1.5/10. DLers do a better job than this guy did.

by Anonymousreply 2603/13/2019

I thought it was his nephew....

by Anonymousreply 2703/13/2019

[quote]And he's proud of this?

R14-triggered fat frau cunt.

Why shouldn't he be? He confirmed that women are superfluous and unnecessary.

by Anonymousreply 2803/13/2019

I smell bubble dirt

by Anonymousreply 2903/13/2019

So, the article was one long humble-brag? He's so hot that he didn't even go looking to have sex with his incredibly hot, much younger straight neighbor, but he's so hot that the straight neighbor couldn't resist? Then, he moved to the desert and even a married guy found him so hot that he just HAD to run out and give him his phone number. Of course, the author is so moral and principled that he couldn't possibly keep the number.

For someone with such a long background in journalism-related fields, he doesn't seem to grasp the most basic part of an article - it has to have a point.

by Anonymousreply 3003/13/2019

OP is an insecure lonely slovenly white woman. Frau alarm!

by Anonymousreply 3103/13/2019

Frau!

by Anonymousreply 3203/13/2019

R30, I admit I skimmed over parts of this, but I assumed that the "straight" neighbor remained with his wife (the wedding ring at the end), so the author decided to out him. Not by name, of course, but I assume that anyone interested could figure out who the neighbor was.

by Anonymousreply 3303/13/2019

R33 , another frau imposter

by Anonymousreply 3403/13/2019

[quote] but I assumed that the "straight" neighbor remained with his wife

Then you assumed wholly incorrectly.

Even revenge outing would have given the article some point.

by Anonymousreply 3503/13/2019

I wish I knew the author so I could laugh in his face after reading that.

by Anonymousreply 3603/13/2019

They all live in a snowglobe held by a gay, 12-year-old, autistic boy in Boston.

by Anonymousreply 3703/13/2019

He can't write for shit

by Anonymousreply 3803/13/2019

R37 made me cackle.

Author should sell that shit to Lori Loughlin’s soon-to-be-former employer - The Hallmark Channel

by Anonymousreply 3903/13/2019

R33, the author clearly said that the husband is going through a messy divorce with the wife, has joined a bi support group (asking another guy out) and has come out to his two now grown children.

It lacked focus because he never responded to the wife’s email and had the confrontation the story needed.

by Anonymousreply 4003/13/2019

Where is that Sure Jan Gif?

by Anonymousreply 4103/13/2019

[quote]We live on separate coasts now.

How did you separate them?

by Anonymousreply 4203/13/2019

Omg!

by Anonymousreply 4303/13/2019

[quote]Then, he moved to the desert

Palm Desert?

by Anonymousreply 4403/13/2019

[quote] Omg!

Dyaltov right?

by Anonymousreply 4503/13/2019

Wow. What a load of shit. But, it’s evidence that gay men truly are the most imaginative.

by Anonymousreply 4603/13/2019

R46=triggered fat Frau

by Anonymousreply 4703/13/2019

SO many triggered fat fraus posting here.

by Anonymousreply 4803/13/2019

Aww defensive. It’s OK, we all know OP is full of shit, no need to start name calling, just accept it.

by Anonymousreply 4903/13/2019

The story is completely believable. The issue is the writing, which simply meanders and never builds to a conclusion.

by Anonymousreply 5003/13/2019

Nothing worse than aging gay men who think their sexual history — now that sex isn’t a thing for them anymore — is interesting to others.

by Anonymousreply 5103/13/2019

Sexy sluts and whores

by Anonymousreply 5203/13/2019

Am I the only one who liked it and beleived it?

by Anonymousreply 5303/13/2019

I liked and believed it, too.

by Anonymousreply 5403/13/2019

I believe it. I fucked a married guy for a few years. We were friends first, then became fuckbuddies. He got married and I didn’t see him for a couple of years until he got his wife pregnant. Then we started up again, he said fucking a pregnant woman creeped him out.

I’d do it again if I got the chance.

by Anonymousreply 5503/13/2019

I've had so many married men over the years. Nothing odd about it.

by Anonymousreply 5603/13/2019

I thought the story was OK, but personally I preferred the DLers' thread about getting fingerbanged on a lawn chair by his best friend's husband better. Much more romantic.

by Anonymousreply 5703/13/2019

After reading the title of this thread, I actually thought it would be the next chapter of that saga, R57.

(Was waiting for the 'letterman jacket', but the tool belt being described like a fashion accessory was almost as good.)

by Anonymousreply 5803/13/2019

Why would a carpenter wear open toed Birks? It's very dangerous.

The rest was okay.

Lesbo

by Anonymousreply 5903/13/2019

I was entertained. The end.

by Anonymousreply 6003/13/2019

What a cunt. The frumpy wife of my fuckbuddy better not try this shit.

by Anonymousreply 6103/13/2019

I thought being paid by the sentence died with Charles Dickens..... OMG, Moby Dick was less tedious to read

by Anonymousreply 6203/13/2019

A freelance writer AND a “licensed realtor”!

My my!!

by Anonymousreply 6303/13/2019

I give him credit for publishing that story with his real name in this day and age. I don't read HuffPo comments but I imagine it's populated by disapproving fraus wagging their finger at him.

by Anonymousreply 6403/13/2019

As a fat frumpy wife I thought this piece was overly long and hostile to fat frumpy wives. As I read it, I unwrapped several bars of delicious milk chocolate and savored the comforting mouthfeel and tasted the delicious sugary sweetness of the candy. I stroked my belly and thighs over and over again -more times than I could count- the cellulite rich and delicious underneath my skin.

by Anonymousreply 6503/13/2019

I love that the frau wife called him her husband's butt buddy.

by Anonymousreply 6603/13/2019

And then Mike, with the resolute gaze of a Horatius at the bridge, glaring down upon the Etruscan hoard, looked to his wife and said those words I'd been waiting so long to hear... "I can't be with you, Susan. I, well, I love John. We've really bonded over our love of old things and all the rest, and I'm just not happy being with you anymore." "But what about our marriage, our kids?!" "Our marriage is over and I'm taking the kids with me, to be raised by me and John. I love them and I love him" I smiled, so prouder of him in that moment then I'd ever been of any man in my life. Nothing could come between us now, except perhaps that shrill beeping. What is beeping?

And then I woke up to my alarm, and realized it was all in my head. Mike, Susan, the kids--none of it was real. I needed therapy.

by Anonymousreply 6703/13/2019

My main take away from this is that I’d like to learn more about this Dyatlov pass. What’s that all about?

by Anonymousreply 6803/13/2019

Is this one of these man-on-man stories written by and for women?

by Anonymousreply 6903/13/2019

there's no way this author is not a Datalounger. An eldergay who seduces his 30something, blue collar neighbor and then gets confronted by the frau wife.

by Anonymousreply 7003/13/2019

As an eldergay riding on top of my hot studly 30something straight married neighbor I cried out, "You must not tell your fat frumpy wife!!" Then he came, his muscular hairy body heaving with each wave of orgasmic intensity. Then I woke up and realized I had slept through half of the Golden Girls episode.

by Anonymousreply 7103/13/2019

[quote]He made the century-old wood glisten like new using only sandpaper and baby oil.

Code for "sphincter" ?

by Anonymousreply 7203/13/2019

OP, you’re a brave soul writin’ for this bishes here…Lol

by Anonymousreply 7303/13/2019

I don't believe the old lady neighbor listening to the bed springs all night would pat him on the back.

by Anonymousreply 7403/13/2019

The author sounds 1000 times more irritating and frauish than the wife. He's writing a knockoff Harlequin romance here.

by Anonymousreply 7503/13/2019

I used to work with him. Very nice guy, but his florid prose was the joke of the copy desk. He never met a show-tune reference he didn't like.

by Anonymousreply 7603/13/2019

Although when he mentioned that he now lived in 'the California desert' (obviously Palm Springs), I went through at least a dozen men I know who this could have been.

The story is absolutely believable.

by Anonymousreply 7703/13/2019

I was chatting with my next door neighbor yesterday. No, I never had an affair with him. His name is Joshua, and he's quite compact. This was only the second time I've talked with him, but he's extremely cute. When he smiles, he lights up the sky. He's a light skinned mixed race guy, with a cute little kid, and a fat, dumpy wife. I saw him working outside last year, with his shirt off. He has an impeccable, tight little body. He's very active. He just zips all over the place, full of energy. He plays drums: he was apologizing to me for that, but I don't mind at all. He wants me to meet his wife: I have no idea why. I'm old enough to be his father. I just feel protective for the little guy. I hope he and his wife are able to stay here. I was telling my ex-BF about him, and he told me to sneak a photo to jerk off to. I would never attempt to do that. I like young guys, but I'm not predatory.

by Anonymousreply 7803/13/2019

"He currently lives in Palm Springs, California, where he is retired but writes freelance stories."

I love how his bio spells out what we already know.

by Anonymousreply 7903/14/2019

Why do some DL posters continue to write "the OP" in cases like this as f they wrote the damn article?

ANSWER: Because shitheads like OP cut and past the entire article into a thread as if it's their own and as if we're too stupid to click to link it if we wanted to do that.

by Anonymousreply 8003/14/2019

R80 I think we've already established the author is a DLer. I wouldn't be surprised if he is indeed the OP and is posting it here to get hits.

by Anonymousreply 8103/14/2019

[quote] I didn’t know Mike’s wife well, despite our being neighbors. She wasn’t the social type. Books, cats and gardening were her pleasures.

Total frau.

by Anonymousreply 8203/14/2019

R81, I would not be surprised if he had been posting in the comment section, too, responding to criticism.

by Anonymousreply 8303/14/2019

The story is missing details as to how he finally seduced the neighbor. Did he lift up his caftan and entice him with his lady bits?

by Anonymousreply 8403/14/2019

[quote]Nothing could come between us now, except perhaps that shrill beeping. What is beeping?

brava!

Stark really missed dramatic possibilities by not including references to Alienation of Affection laws. in my home state the wife would really have them both by the short and curlies.

by Anonymousreply 8503/14/2019

r80 one Datalounge tradition/practice is to copy/paste the full text of articles that may be behind a paywall or may disappear from sites which don’t archive their posts properly. the Independent UK seemed to notice.

o.s. take a Valium, toots.

by Anonymousreply 8603/14/2019

Humblebragging bastard.

by Anonymousreply 8703/14/2019

Non-fiction is usually overly embellished fiction. I knew a few "writers" back in the day and they wrote so many bullshit "freelance" articles and tried to pass them off as non fiction. When one of them tried to use me as a subject, I politely declined. I don't believe this story for a second.

by Anonymousreply 8803/14/2019

The description of the supposed carpenter wearing Birkenstocks is just one of many signs that the author is full of it and out of touch.

by Anonymousreply 8903/14/2019

HP clickbait, this never happened.

by Anonymousreply 9003/14/2019

The whole thing is pure fantasy. Though even in his own fantasies he's too much of a pussy to reply to the woman's email.

by Anonymousreply 9103/14/2019

Someday I'll tell you about my love affair in Riyadh.

by Anonymousreply 9203/14/2019

You had me LOLing at, "cut-offs, T-shirts, Birkenstocks and a tool belt" and "He made the century-old wood glisten like new using only sandpaper and baby oil."

by Anonymousreply 9303/14/2019

R67, you actually made me laugh out loud! Love your post!

by Anonymousreply 9403/14/2019

This is not even an EST, it's a novel. Just plug your novel, OP. Don't be shy about it.

by Anonymousreply 9503/14/2019

So much obvious bullshit, but this sentence stood out for me:

[quote]My Victorian flat always needed repair. I had no idea how to install ceiling fans or fix doorbells.

Nobody raised in North America refers to their *apartment* as a "flat".

[quote]You had me LOLing at, "cut-offs, T-shirts, Birkenstocks and a tool belt" and "He made the century-old wood glisten like new using only sandpaper and baby oil."

LOL it's as if he's never met a carpenter before so he just imagined him as a member of the Village People!

by Anonymousreply 9603/14/2019

Lots of words in that.

by Anonymousreply 9703/14/2019

[quote]Very nice guy, but his florid prose was the joke of the copy desk.

I’ll bet. Pity someone didn’t give this a good edit.

by Anonymousreply 9803/14/2019

Hope he has big loads

by Anonymousreply 9903/14/2019

Articles like this are a pet peeve of mine.

The NYT has a section called "Modern Love" full of similar pieces.

If they were written under a pseudonym, I'd have no issue.

But clearly, the author's friends and family all know who they are talking about and the other person has no opportunity to tell their side of the story. (Modern Love stories are invariably about bad boyfriends or husbands.)

In this instance, the wife is going to see the article at some point and learn way more detail than she ever needed to know.

It may also be all fiction too--the guy is fugly as hell in his website photo (and we can assume that is a photo he thought made him look better than usual.)

But other than letting some hack writer "prove" to the other queens in Palm Springs that he can still pull in straight married cock (the bit about the guy in the lawn store following him out to his car) -- what is the point other than to embarrass the wife, the kids and ultimately, the guy.

Provided, again, that a word of this is actually true, something I'd give about 20% odds.

by Anonymousreply 10003/14/2019

^^and on the 25% chance it is true, I'd bet old "cobalt eyes" (LOL) is also ugly AF and 50 lbs overweight

by Anonymousreply 10103/14/2019

What's not mentioned are the two micro cocks.

by Anonymousreply 10203/14/2019

Frau wife called him a butt buddy. She's probably a 'phobe, so not pity for her.

by Anonymousreply 10303/14/2019

No one else bothered by how sleazy this is, and the likelihood that everyone who knew him and the carpenter is going to know exactly what happened and when, which sucks for the frau wife, but moreso for the kids.

Just seems unnecessarily cruel.

I never understand why people write these things. This is a story you might tell to one of your closest friends after you got really drunk or stoned one night. Why tell it to the whole world? Nothing compelling about it. It's not like he's writing it to support the carpenter in any way.

by Anonymousreply 10403/14/2019

[quote]r80 Shitheads like OP cut and past an entire article into a thread as if it's their own

by Anonymousreply 10503/14/2019

It could be true...it could also be...WHY THEY HATE US!!!!

by Anonymousreply 10603/14/2019

I love that he's contributed to Cooking Light. And what recipes would those be?

Husband-stealing broccoli salad?

Surprise anal clam chowder?

by Anonymousreply 10703/14/2019

There is no cock better than married cock.

by Anonymousreply 10803/14/2019

True dat.

by Anonymousreply 10903/14/2019

Someone should cross post this to the ThatHappened subreddit.

by Anonymousreply 11003/14/2019

Sounds like she just got her HIV test back- and it's not good news.

by Anonymousreply 11103/14/2019

This article/fantasy just gets funnier every time I read it.

by Anonymousreply 11203/14/2019

They watched Antique Roadshow together??

by Anonymousreply 11303/14/2019

This fictional article is a eldergay DL’ers dream, emphasis on dream.

by Anonymousreply 11403/14/2019

This is him from a few years back--looks like the website has not been updated since 2015

You be the judge.

by Anonymousreply 11503/14/2019

"College Essay Coach" See: Lori Loughlin, Felicity Huffman, et al.

by Anonymousreply 11603/14/2019

[quote] Mike would drop by my place after his wife and kids were in bed. We would watch baseball games, make popcorn. Sometimes we’d share a joint, which deepened our enjoyment of “Antiques Roadshow.”

What time did the wife go to bed, if Antiques Roadshow was still on when Mike got over to the trick's place? How late do night games run? How could the wife not notice he wasn't in bed with her for what must have been hours? And wouldn't she notice the stink of popcorn and pot whenever he eventually came to bed post-trick?

This story does not add up.

by Anonymousreply 11703/14/2019

R117, You forgot to mention that Antique Roadshow is not a favorite of many straight men.

by Anonymousreply 11803/14/2019

[quote] Antique Roadshow is not a favorite of many straight men

Pfft - artistic license. Don't piss on the authors fantasy.

by Anonymousreply 11903/14/2019

I'm surprised more DLers aren't propping this guy up, as most love this kind of dysfunctional situation. Also funny, is how people in general think just because a man is married to woman that he somehow is the epitome of masculinity and is uber macho. I used to get the married ones on Craigslist to meet up and then give them a dose of reality and made them really think about their poor choices they're making. They were all easy to clock as gay the minute I met them. I would sit them down and give them a reality check ala Chris Hanson. Always funny results. Lots of threats of violence which were hilarious coming from "men" who had way more to lose then myself. Some I could swear acted just like a really nasty drag queen.

I have zero tolerance for closet cases, especially ones that are married to women. Be a man and admit what you are. You're not allowed to fuck up other people's lives with your secrets and cowardice. I know it's a big fantasy to pull in a straight guy, but it's actually a sign of psychopathy.

This author sounds like a miserable person, even with this fantasy that he is somehow a "savior" or "mentor". His behavior (if this were to be even true) is actually quite predatory.

by Anonymousreply 12003/14/2019

Hilarious. I wonder if he is the real Mike from Palm Springs?

by Anonymousreply 12103/14/2019

Yeah I’ve encountered a few would-be “mentors” myself, older gay men who just want to teach me about the workd and give a young man a hand up. The worst ones actually believe their own bullshit, and not one of them is fit to mentor a houseplant, let alone another person.

by Anonymousreply 12203/14/2019

Of course they enjoyed antiques roadshow, it turned out that the carpenter was gay after all, just on a slower journey…

by Anonymousreply 12303/14/2019

Shameless

by Anonymousreply 12403/14/2019

This is the "Chris Hanson" you were referring to R120?

by Anonymousreply 12503/14/2019

[quote]This fictional article is a eldergay DL’ers dream, emphasis on dream.

No, hon, emphasis on eldergay.

by Anonymousreply 12603/14/2019

2.1/10

Banal, trite erotica.

by Anonymousreply 12703/14/2019

So R120... You hate closet cases and went out of your way to lure them to your pad and tell them off?

Try again, doll.

by Anonymousreply 12803/14/2019

Based on the wife’s interests in “gardening, books and cats,” I think SHE wore the Birkenstocks.

.......dare we say LESBIAN??????

by Anonymousreply 12903/14/2019

All of life’s troubles start with a single email OP.

by Anonymousreply 13003/14/2019

This story can’t be true; it’s akin to a True Confessions tale from the 1950s.

by Anonymousreply 13103/14/2019

Men's Birkenstocks are not open-toed...

by Anonymousreply 13203/14/2019

Does Joel know about this?

by Anonymousreply 13303/14/2019

"btw feel free to contact the husband-stealer himself with your feedback."

I'm gonna give that husband stealing ho a piece of my mind!

by Anonymousreply 13403/14/2019
by Anonymousreply 13503/14/2019
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