I had been with my fiancé for just over three years. He was an electrical engineer and I was a humble receptionist. Ian was simply an amazing person, so sweet, kind and giving. My best friend, really. I trusted him and he was my confidant. I shared everything with him, all my secrets, my dreams, and my feelings; there was nothing about me that I didn’t openly share with him… except one thing.
Through some friends I had met this other man and, boy, did he blow me away. Oliver had dark skin, honey-coloured puppy eyes, and a smile to melt for. He was a musician and was so beautifully expressive. I swooned instantly. Apparently, so did he. One night he approached me and told me that I was his fantasy. Being the timid girl I am, I sheepishly grinned and turned away. But by the end of the night we had swapped numbers and emails and decided to keep in touch.
Now Oliver knew about Ian and I never stopped telling him about my fiancé and our wedding plans. Oliver listened to all of my romantic ‘nonsense’ about Ian and dismissed it all, insisting that I was much more exciting and ferociously passionate than all that.
One conversation led to another and I was head over heels in lust. He persuaded me to believe that I deserved much more than the white picket fence and the simple life Ian could offer me. He was sure he was passionate enough to satisfy me and to make me happier than Ian ever could, and I was determined to find out.
Oliver lived 45 minutes away and going by public transport to see him and get back to Ian in time so as to not be suspicious was going to be impossible. So I managed to convince my fiancé that I had a communication skills course on once a week for six weeks in the afternoon, out where Oliver was. Ian, being the ever-so-giving and doting fiancé, obliged to give me a ride to and from the course venue.
I still remember the first afternoon Ian took me to see Oliver. My stomach churned and ached with guilt and I was perspiring like a waterfall. Normally I’m nervous on a first date, but I never would’ve imagined my chauffer to my first date would be my fiancé.
Ian dropped me off a street away from where Oliver lived. I called Oliver’s mobile and asked him to meet me downstairs when the coast was clear, as planned. We had dinner at a local restaurant; I was wined and dined and treated like I was a princess. There was something so sensual about Oliver but I knew it wasn’t love. He just made me feel good about myself. I felt attractive and sexy with all the attention he gave me.
The night ended and Oliver swept in for an unforgettable kiss. He literally took my breath away, he was so passionate and it just drove me wild. I went around the block and there was my fiancé, waiting in his car for me. His face lit up when he saw me and my stomach began to churn again.
This continued for about four weeks. On the fifth week, I called Oliver’s mobile and told him to meet me downstairs as was routine, but this time, Oliver asked me to come upstairs. I paused and stuttered, but he assured me everything was alright.
I went up to his apartment and knocked. He opened the door in nothing but a towel, took my hand and pulled me into the living room, where he immediately began to kiss me and run his fingers through my hair. My senses swam and I was so confused, I lost my mind. Then my mobile rang — I recognised Ian’s ringtone and as I took my phone out of my bag, Oliver snatched it from me, threw it across the room and continued to kiss me.
His hands began to drift from my hair to begin exploring and I woke up to myself — my lust for Oliver wasn’t worth losing Ian. I pushed Oliver away from me and broke down into tears. I couldn’t go through with it. Oliver didn’t understand why and I could not explain. But I picked up my mobile and ran out of his apartment as quickly as I had entered it and rang for a taxi to take me straight back to Ian’s and my place.
Ian was surprised to find I had come back home so early. I told him that I was feeling sick and threw up in class, a story which was only reinforced by the terrible fever I had from the amount of crying and stressing I did in the back of the cab.
Now Ian and I have been married for a year and he has no idea about his role in bringing Oliver and I close, too close. But Oliver is long gone and I am (always was and always will be) very much in love with Ian. No amount of foolish lust will ever change that.
Names in this story have been changed. Picture: Getty Images, posed by models.
Your say: Should the writer tell Ian what happened? Have your say about this true confession below…
Newsletter conversion description. Get the latest in your inbox.
.png?resize=380%2C285)
