I unknowingly had sex with someone else

For years, my husband would reminisce about how he had travelled and studied internationally during his summers in college. He didn’t have much money and how he would finance the trips was part of the mystique. He would find the cheapest flight to Europe, often one way, without the money for a return ticket. He would stay in hostels, or sometime just sleep outside. He would take odd jobs along the way just to have enough money for food and other necessities. He would often barter work on a farm or in a hotel in exchange for housing and food. His stories seemed to have a life of their own and were almost legendary. We had been married for 16 years and I decided I wanted to recreate some of his experiences by taking a weeklong trip in Europe and staying in hostels as our vacation. I hoped to let him relive a little bit of his past. What I didn’t expect was that I would have a life altering experience of my own. I don’t want to say where we went because of what happened.

The third day of our trip had our longest walk, over twenty-three kilometers with everything on our backs. I was glad that we had reserved our spot at the hostel because we were late in arriving. Staying in a hostel is different than a hotel in that you share sleeping quarters and bathrooms with the other guests. This hostel looked more like a converted workshop. It had fieldstone walls with bunk beds arranged in alcoves off of a wide main hallway. In general, the alcoves were divided by sex. Anyway, my husband and I were in different alcoves. We showered and ate dinner at a quaint little café nearby. A typical European dinner of fish, pasta, and wine. I was exhausted and went to bed shortly after the sun set. I awoke a little after three in the morning because another woman was snoring loudly near me, a not uncommon problem that I had discovered while staying in hostels. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t.

One of the other problems with staying in hostels is that you don’t get much alone time with the person you are with. I don’t know why but I felt that I was overdue for some personal attention. This was our vacation and although the trip was emotionally stimulating, my husband and I had not been intimate since we left home. I tried to take care of the issue in the bathroom, but someone else got up and interrupted. I felt ashamed of myself for even trying in a public bathroom. After things quieted back down, I snuck over to the alcove where my husband was sleeping. I climbed into the lower bunk with him and covered his mouth as I woke him. I whispered in his ear to stay really quiet, and I started fondling him. His body responded right away, and I climbed on top. The person in the top bunk must have noticed as they stirred. I told my husband to finish right away as I was worried about being discovered. He obliged and I slipped back to my bunk with my panties tucked between my legs as a towel. I quietly took care of myself, feeling naughty for being so bold as to discretely have sex in a room full of other people. I was pleased that no one seemed to notice and slept soundly the rest of the night.

The next morning, the afterglow from being so adventurous lingered in my morning demeanor and I felt elated as I prepared for the day. My husband, however, said nothing about the encounter at breakfast even after I asked some very leading questions. I wanted him to at least acknowledge that we had intercourse. I continued to press for some acknowledgement as we started hiking. Then he dropped what felt like a bomb on me. He said that the guy in the bunk below him had sex with someone in the night because the bed was shaking and woke him up. He said that he was astonished that someone would be rude enough to have sex in the hostel when there was no way that other people would not notice. What…?? It was everything I could do just to keep my composure and not fall down. I casually responded that I thought that he had a lower bunk. My husband informed me that he switched with some guy from Italy because the other guy had a bad knee and couldn’t climb the ladder.

I asked if he was sure that they had sex. He said that there was absolutely no doubt. He said that he pretended to be asleep as he listened to them having intercourse right below him and it had only lasted maybe two minutes before she went scurrying back to the girl’s side. He said that having sexual relations in a hostel was a big faux pas and that they were lucky that they were not reported to the staff. He went on to state that, no matter how quiet they thought they were being, everyone heard it. Seriously…it was all the talk this morning. Everyone knew who the guy was. The discussion at breakfast was about trying to figure out who the girl was since the Italian was traveling alone. The two French women said that they knew but wouldn’t say. My husband asked me if I knew which girl it was. I was practically numb at that point with shock. I claimed ignorance to the whole affair.

We had already walked well over a mile when I was informed of my indiscretion. I unknowingly had sex with someone else and worse, my husband witnessed it. A few more questions confirmed that he wasn’t pulling my leg and that he knew details of exactly what had happened. As we walked, I replayed the incident over and over in my head trying to reconcile the feelings I had at that moment with what I felt now. At first, I was completely mortified as I had never been with anyone other than my husband. I could not feel violated because I had instigated the affair.

By lunch my thoughts transitioned to curiosity. I wondered what the Italian man was thinking when I climbed into his bed. I remember him grabbing my breasts as I started fondling him. Probably to confirm that I was a woman. I recalled climbing on top of him and reaching between my legs and guiding him inside me. I searched for any clue that I missed that would have told me that the man inside me was not my husband. I remembered asking him to orgasm inside me, which he did. Unprotected I suddenly realized. My husband had a vasectomy, and I was used to using nothing. It was a strange feeling knowing that a part of Italian was still inside me. I started counting the days since my last period. It was not likely but not impossible that I could be pregnant from my misadventure. The thought lingered and my mind imagined what I would do it I were. I wouldn’t even know the father’s first or last name.

For the remaining two days of our trip, I looked intently at every man who looked even remotely Italian or was even close to the same height and weight as my husband. I just wanted to see his face. My husband couldn’t understand my fascination with the Italian. My husband said that he was at breakfast and was sitting near us. He had asked about me and wanted to know if I was his wife. My husband was going to introduce us, but the Italian man left right away. My husband understood that the Italian man was going to take the day off and rest his knee before continuing. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never see him again. I don’t know why my husband did not put together my obsession with the Italian man, the mystery woman, and the fact that the Italian bolted as soon as he understood that I was married. It didn’t occur to my husband that I could do such a thing.

I think about that night often. I wondered what the Italian thought when he saw me with my husband at breakfast. Obviously, he knew that I was the woman who slipped into his bed. I also think that everyone else in the hostel other than my husband knew. Did the Italian know that I had chosen the wrong bed and didn’t notice, or did he think that I had done it just for the thrill of doing it with a stranger. Most would have thought I did it on purpose. I’m not sure which would have been more damning for my reputation. I still cannot fathom how I could not have noticed that I was having intercourse with someone who was not my husband. I have replayed the entire encounter over and over in my mind. I could only point to a few things that might have or should have given me clues although they could be just my imagination of me needing to have something that I should have noticed. Was he a bit deeper inside me? Was there a difference in his smell that I brushed off to us having walked all day. Or was it in the way he held my hips that I assumed that was my husband trying to minimize the sway of the bed.

I am home now and quite obsessed. That one physical encounter with a stranger has proven to be quite an aphrodisiac. I would love to be with that Italian man again, but I know I never will. Currently I am preoccupied with the quest to find out if intercourse would feel the same when I am with another man. My libido is now completely uncontrollable at times as I obsess over wanting to be the stranger in some other man’s bed.

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