Why I Slept With A Pregnant Woman’s Husband

I was a sheltered child.

I wasn’t allowed to have friends or go to parties or do anything that wasn’t “mom approved.”

My mother was abusive so there wasn’t much on her approved list.

My father, who had no idea about the emotional trauma that occurred daily at home, convinced my mother to let me get a job.

I was 17, had my working papers, and was hired by the first store I applied to.

There was an older manager, Fred, whose pregnant wife also worked at the store as a supervisor.

She was nice enough but frumpy to my teenage mind.

Fred though, he was tall, dark, and quite charming.

When his wife wasn’t around—and that became more frequent as the pregnancy progressed—he would flirt with me.

“Hey, Red.” He’d call me.

I had (and still do, to a degree) auburn red hair, the kind older ladies stop you for in the street to tell you they pay hundreds of dollars to have what you have.

I hated my hair; I was often bullied because of it. My nickname growing up was “Red Pubic Hair,” because children are mean.

The fact that Fred made something I hated about myself into a cute little private nickname turned me on.

To be fair, he didn’t have to do much.

I yearned for love that I never received at home, that I never received from the boys at my school, and that I didn’t receive from anyone, really.

But Fred made me feel special.

However, I was 17 and Fred was 30. The age difference didn’t bother me but the fact that he had a wife did, I never wanted to be the other woman.

The day I turned 18, Fred called me into his office after the store had closed and kissed me.

“It’s not working out between us.” He told me of his marriage. “We’re getting a divorce.”

Shocked and relieved, I allowed him to kiss me.

He blew on my neck, sending chills down my spine and goosebumps on my arms.

We continued our very new love affair privately.

Because I hadn’t gotten my driver’s license yet, I took a $50 cab to his house; he lived on the very opposite side from where I did on a very long island.

I walked up the steps to his apartment and was greeted by his daughter.

“Oh … uh, hello.” I remember distinctly being so scared. What if she told her mother? But they were getting divorced so it’s OK, right?

After a few minutes, Fred put his daughter down for a nap and took me into his bedroom … their bedroom.

I remember asking him what kind of bed he had because I had never felt such comfort.

“Oh, it’s for Lisa (his wife). She has a bad back because of the pregnancy so we had to buy a pillow top to go over our mattress.”

I should have stopped there.

I was lying on a bed specifically designed to comfort his pregnant wife and yet, I was stuck. He was already naked and so was I.

“I bought you a condom.” I told him as I handed him the Magnum XL.

Laughing, he said, “Oh Red, XL, huh?”

“Well, I heard black guys have big … you know.”

The fact that I couldn’t even say the word penis or cock should have been a red flag for me.

Actually, his daughter greeting me at the door and the whole mattress thing also should have been flagged but I was naive.

Here’s the tricky part.

I don’t remember what happened.

I’ve spoken to my friends who told me that as soon as I got home from his house, I explained to them that he had entered me, with and without a condom, and that it hurt.

If you ask me now, I see nothing. It’s like my memory was completely wiped from that day.

Why?

I don’t know.

After that, things started to break down for Fred and me.

I found his wallet, then his license which stated he was actually 38 years-old.

He had lied.

I also found out that when he was a Marine, he had slept with hundreds of women without using protection.

My world, or the one I thought I was slowly building for myself, was slowly imploding.

I went to the doctor and got checked, of course.

Thankfully, I didn’t contract anything and I was not pregnant, as I thought I may have been since my period had been late more than likely from stress.

The worst part of this: I saw Lisa come into work, kiss Fred, and tell him she was making his favorite dinner that night.

What happened to the divorce?

What happened to the first adult relationship I thought I had?

I can’t say that I was in love with him. Because at the time, it was lust and naivety of an 18-year-old girl who knew nothing outside of her Little House on the Prairie home.

But I will not deny my involvement in this.

I made a mistake.

I may have ruined a marriage (Later I found out that years after our affair, they did in fact divorce.)

If I had one thing to say to Lisa now, it would be that I’m so sorry.

I never intended for my coming of age story to include another woman’s man.

I never wanted that.

I only wanted love but what I got were lies wrapped in deceit.

I wish this story had a different ending but it doesn’t.

He was the first (but not the last) man to break my heart.

I only hope that Lisa is happy and at peace and that Fred is wearing a condom somewhere, wherever he may be.