Since I was a child, it's been my lifelong dream to be an adulterer. I always found affairs to be more exciting and romantic than marriage and my marriage will be a means to that end.
I want my affair to last at least 6 years without getting caught and I would expect myself to get remarried to one of my affair partners.
The advice I'm looking for is:
"what's the best way to keep it hidden?" "if I happen to marry a lawyer what can I do to prevent them from taking legal action against me or my AP?"
>inb4 don't do it I won't accept anything like that so you might as well save it for somebody who cares.
>inb4 adultery is evil and you're a bad person for wanting to do it. Adultery is a valid form of love and there's nothing evil about it. Society has collectively gaslit each other to rationalize their own violence against people
>inb4 be an "ethical" polyamorist That's incredibly boring and unappealing to me. Sneaking around is more fun and exciting and romantic.
>inb4 I got cheated on/one of my parents had an affair and it turned me into a neurotic crybaby you're not a victim, stfu and stop pretending that you are.
>>34615372(OP) >my marriage will be a means to that end. What unsettles me is not the affair. It is not even the deception. It is the realization that, if these words are sincere, then there was never meant to be a marriage in the first place. Not really. A marriage is supposed to be two people meeting each other as they are, discovering each other, choosing each other, building something neither could have built alone. But when someone says their lifelong dream is adultery, the relationship itself ceases to have any meaning. The vows do not matter. The trust does not matter. The person standing beside them does not matter. The marriage is not being entered for its own sake. It exists only as a necessary condition for something else. Like a stage erected for a performance that has already been written.
I cannot stop thinking about what that means for the other person. Imagine spending years believing you are sharing a life with someone. Imagine telling them your fears, introducing them to your family, making plans for the future, carrying them through difficult moments, believing that every memory is becoming part of a story you are writing together. Then learning that, from the very beginning, the story was never yours.
Perhaps that is the part I find hardest to bear. There is something chilling about looking at another person and seeing not a world to discover, but a function to fulfill. A life that could have belonged to anyone. A face that could have been another face. A voice that could have been another voice. The individual disappears. Their uniqueness disappears. Everything that makes them irreplaceable is stripped away because none of it was ever the point. And when I think about that, I find myself hoping this is fiction, because the alternative means that somewhere out there may be someone who offers their whole heart to a relationship that, in the eyes of the person receiving it, never truly existed.