The Runaway Wife

For the previous installments of the series please refer to:

So it begins… again

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I was looking at the picture of an average looking Filipina on Bumble. It had all the warning signs. All the photo angles indicated one thing – she was chubby and she was trying to hide it. Or whatever. I set my standards pretty low so I am never disappointed, I said to myself while swiping right like I did on fifty profiles before. Who cares? The best way to get over the break up, as all PUAs know, is to GFTOW (go fuck ten other women, for those uninitiated).

She almost immediately shot me the most creative opener women use on Bumble. Hi. Well, hello. So it begins…

I was using this opener on the apps for quite a while. It was my twist on overused “hey, trouble”. They either don’t reply at all or get curious on what actually about to begin which opens a variety of ways you can steer the conversation.

Some would reply without even acknowledging what is about to begin. That’s how you know you are dealing with the bore or worse, the timewaster.

She wasn’t a timewaster for sure. The conversation was flowing. I acknowledged her saying she had kids on her profile and that I also have a kid. That got us on the same wavelength.

Then she followed with this.

That’s a stupid way to chat on the app. I never in my career on dating apps sexualised a conversation in the app and rarely after I got a number. I know some guys have a great success with sexualising conversations with online leads but that’s not how I roll. Also, heavy sexualisation on the apps will get many women pissed enough to report you and this is how you get banned. And I never wanted to lose my most profitable source of leads by being stupid and horny.

I painted myself as a “normal guy”

After a few more message exchanges she dropped a bomb. She was still married. She left Philippines six months ago and dropped her kids with her estranged husband there to start a new life of adventure in Australia.

The light bulb came on. She was here for six months, getting settled, having all these mixed feelings about abandoning her family and now finally ready to let it all go. She was desperately looking for a guy to enable her new behaviours as a “single” woman without pushing for quick sex or shaming her for her questionable choices in life. She couldn’t have found a better guy. And I never fucked a married woman before. I quickly moved the conversation to WhatsApp and set up a date.

She wasn’t chubby in person. Just a curvy huge tits Filipina with a plain face. She was wearing baggy jeans and awkward jacket. Similar to my Hong Kong ONS. Some chicks just don’t dress to kill. They dress to hide whatever goodies they have to offer. Which is kinda puzzling to me but whatever.

I bought two cocktails at the bar next to the train station where she lived. Yeah, I know, never meet on her turf, but I knew it’s wasn’t going to be a first date lay. Plus I arrived on my motorbike, in my brown leather jacked, smoking a cigarette, looking like a cool rebel without a cause that sweeps pussy off their feet and takes no prisoners.

She didn’t drink at all so I had so consume both cocktails which certainly drowned all my moral and ethical considerations about seducing a married woman who abandoned her children.

The conversation was as void of a sexual vibe as it gets. She spent half an hour justifying her leaving her family and promising (to whom, me?) to support her children in Philippines whatever happens but never go back to them or her husband.

I told her my story about my failed marriage dressed in a crooked metaphor of how what she’s doing is totally fine with a pinch of fake emotional drama of losing something you loved to follow the path of discovering who you really are. Or some other bullshit like that.

The date lasted for an hour and then I rode my motorbike back home making sure she heard the roars of the engine and saw me speeding down the road like a madman.

She texted me next morning and said that she called her husband that evening and “officially” broke up with him. I felt a bit of guilt. Like I was some sort of enabler. The family wrecker. And what about her kids? Should have I told her to cut the crap and go back home and be a good mother and faithful wife instead? Did I just brainwashed her with my masterful metaphorical story powered by NLP learned from one of the top training companies in the world. What about “ecology” they teach in NLP trainings? I always knew it can be used for evil. And evil man I was. Or was I?

She pinged me a few days later. She was downtown with her friend. Walking the streets and listening to city baskers music. I invited myself to join them. I felt it was an invite anyway. Covert invite.

I met her and her female friend on a busy pedestrian only street in the heart of Sydney. They were sitting on a bench listening to the city baskers singing broken love songs. That’s reminded me of my same night CMB hookup girl. I sat on a bench between her and her friend. My expectations were low. Who the fuck brings a friend to a meet with a guy you are supposedly attracted to and want to bang?

Then things got strange. Her friend was sitting on one side of a wide bench and she was sitting on another. I positioned myself closer to her and further away from her friend. Her friend was ambivalent. She barely talked to me and was looking the other way while the runaway wife pulled me closer and wrapped her arms around my torso. I suddenly felt warm and fussy in her embrace and strangely sexually aroused. She had that non verbal sexual vibe emanating towards me. I felt my dick hardening in my pants. She paid zero attention and spoke nothing to her female friend.

It was too close and intimate. Her face was too close to my face and I felt a pull to kiss her right there and then which I resisted with all the willpower I could summon. No. Not here. Not in front of her friend. I am stronger than that. My dick strongly disagreed. It was getting harder and about to pop through my pants. The situation was getting weirder and weirder. And then her friend suddenly excused herself and left the scene. It was my moment to shine.

“Hey,” I said, “I live close by. Wanna see my record collection I was taking about?” I am an amateur DJ (the topic for another story) and I have vast vinyl collection at my place and she knew that. She immediately agreed and we walked to my apartment.

She wasn’t interested in my hand picked collection of the best house and techno records from early 80s to late 00s at all. We sat on the couch and shortly thereafter started to make out.

There was something familiar about the kiss. It was dirty and heavily sexual. Not unlike the kisses of the most promiscuous women I had a pleasure to fuck. Certainly not how the faithful wife and mother of two would kiss a stranger.

When the kit came off, I released she was borderline. Not like in borderline personality disorder. Borderline chubby. There is that invisible line every guy has. When you are below it, you fucked a cute girl. But if you go above, you fucked a fatty and you better make sure no one knows about it as the scorn of judgement will ruin your self-esteem and forever damn you of being a fatty fucking loser. She was neither. The borderline. Cruising on top of that invisible imaginary line that no man should cross. But my dick was enthusiastically interested so I proceeded to remove her bra.

Her enormous tits plopped out and hanged down almost reaching her belly button. With stretch lines marking that weight of her femininity she had to carry around supported by XXL size bras and hidden behind a baggy jackets she wore.

I am more of a mid size breasts guy. Hers were way above what I could handle. She had probably the biggest breasts I’ve ever seen of a woman who had a privilege to strip naked in front of me.

I took her by the hand, led her to my bedroom, pushed her on my bed and stuck my dick in her. The question of a condom never came up.

It wasn’t a pornstar level of fucking but there was something dirty and sexual about it. She whispered some dirty talk to my ear and kept saying my name and that I should fuck her. That was rare. Less than a handful of women who I fucked even whispered my name during sex. It was hot. Really hot.

We went for two rounds before she left. That was the last time I saw her. She didn’t reply to my feelers and, as we kept connected on Instagram, I learned that withing the next month she got herself a boyfriend (incidentally also an amateur DJ) and they moved together to live in a small town in Central Coast.

In retrospective, I knew what happened. I was a breakaway guy, after all. The enabler. Someone who helped her to let go of her previous life and move on. I served my purpose and after that she didn’t need me anymore. She went off to live her new life that she dreamt of.

I wasn’t fussed though. I still had a DV. And she did really care about me. Maybe even too much.

To be continued…