I'm sleeping with the husband of my best friend

AlexAP

AlexAP

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I never would have thought that such a big feeling could make me so small. I'm very successful in my career, drive an expensive car, and take vacations three times a year. I am in control of my life. Not my love life. George visits me once a week, never for more than an hour. We have great sex, then he jumps in the shower so his wife Anne doesn't get suspicious. He kisses me goodbye and says: "See you next week, text me only in case of an emergency." I try to pull myself together as much as I can, but when he's gone, I have to cry like a baby every time. The bad thing is not that he is married, but that I know his wife very well. She is my best friend.

I can still remember exactly how she introduced him to me. "This is the man I'm going to marry, so: hands off!" She laughed and when I shook his hand and said: "I'm George, Anne's best friend", the touch of his warm hand hit me like an electric shock throughout the body. Immediately there was a pull that I couldn't escape. I'm a very down-to-earth person, not one to be torn apart by feelings. Until I met George and knew: This is the man of my life! Sounds pathetic, unfortunately it is. Of course I fought my feelings. Stealing your girlfriend's man was always the biggest taboo for me. So I tried to endure it, Anne's new happiness. I smiled tightly when she raved about her crazy nights. I got through the wedding preparations, in which I played an important role as maid of honor.

During this time I lied, suppressed and suffered so much that I developed gastritis. "God, tear this terrible love from my heart," I often thought. The wedding was a nightmare, their honeymoon a nightmare. Anne mailed and texted me every detail from Thailand - the double bed on the beach, the bar, the hotel room. I cried my heart out. And at the same time I was ashamed to the core. The worst thing was that I couldn't talk about it with the person I would have confided in everything else. The pressure mounted inside me - and then, two years ago, on Anne's 30th birthday, it exploded. A garden party, way too much alcohol and at some point just George and me alone on the terrace. We kissed and it was just as mad and wild as in all of my dreams.

That's how it began, our secret love that makes me as happy as it tears me apart. A week ago Anne told me, beaming, that she is finally pregnant. She asked me if I wanted to be the godmother. Of course I said yes.
 
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In other news: women are whores
 
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