This is the world of a man. This is the world of a man. But it would be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl. Brown --James

     For the success of puberty, I realized that the world belonged to men and that I was just an actor in a drama patriarchal centuries old. Everywhere, that 12 years meant that the media --- TV, books, movies --- men took care of and take steps to conduct a breathless intrigue and adventure life secret agents, police, security guards and athletes professionals. Some women were too, but in these early years of the feminist movement were clearly in the background, in the weakness of the hanger with the same status as women made the favorite targets of the wicked and girls of male heroes were forced to rescue distress. These girls bother me. Same sex, even if we were, I just could not relate to them. Instead, I idolized guys and it was easy to pretend I'm one of the boys to the intrusion of my period. In the first blood sample, I understand what it meant to really be a woman: the cruel limitations of my physical freedom; stay instead of transcendence; being chained to all the boring, tedious and unpleasant duties of women's work is never done.

     Even now, as I have installed in my role or female, I struggle with penis envy that characterizes my teens live vicariously through male heroes of cinema, literature and life really sometimes. Not much of an option for a fan of the pop culture of life. White men run the media and therefore the heroes represented by accounting viewpoint white man and all the fantasies and desires that accompany them. Fortunately, over the decades, the stories that spread across the landscape of pop culture began to change. Women have begun to share their stories and more interesting roles, but not much and even less for women of color.

      As a teenager charged with the media created primarily by and for men, I strongly identified with men. I ogled the girls with them, I decided to sporting events, and I identified with its idiosyncrasies revilement women and plaintive hell that women want to challenge? Good question. At least some of us would have wanted to be men, but only when the line to the ladies' room is too long.

      What it would be like to openly and freely enjoy their sexual appetite without having to worry about his reputation, being damn shame, or having to endure the terrible fear of pregnancy?

     How do you feel to be able to age with dignity? To experience the whole process before the eyes of all let his hair turn a silver medal in dignity and wrinkles leaving (admired as character lines men) accumulate, mapping your route experience? So many women are expelled from leading media functions, once they reach a certain age and are replaced by young sweet eyes in an attempt must be supposed to attract a male audience.

      How wonderful it would be still considered attractive to the opposite sex, if not more, than they were in their nubile youth? Would it not be wonderful to be appreciated by your spirit and accomplishments rather than your outer self? These are the gifts of men in a world dominated by them, a world that no matter what social victories of women can achieve biology dictates that we remain faithful companion of man, his co-star, Robin to his Batman . I think Freud was half right. Not that we girls penis envy, but the freedoms that come with having one.

        A married woman anonymously takes us through, step by step, her daily double life. Cindy Hawkins (not her real name) is a cheater. Take a look into the real life of a married woman with a devoted husband, and her shameless cheating.

        Over the coming weeks, we will be publishing the spin tingling results of the completed surveys from members of our online dating site. Respondents include singles and married people who have made choices to turn their fantasies into realities.
It's Monday morning, the time is 730am, and at last the long and mundane weekend is over. Cindy lies awake gazing at the ceiling for about 10 minutes before impatiently sliding out from under her husbands embrace.

       Yes, I cheat on my husband in a calculating and deceptive way and will say or do anything to avoid suspicion. Go ahead, judge me if you will, I know you've thought about cheating too. Flirting with men was about as far as I would take things, I thought I would always be strong enough to know when not to cross the line, and return home like a good little wife, until I was introduced to someone at work and realized an instant chemical connection...

       The affair started in the office kitchen when we would both go to make coffee each morning. Things intensified with a few naughty emails, followed by cocktails after work on several occasions.
      Twice a week - Monday and Wednesday at 630pm after work, we meet at a cheap motel on the highway just outside of town, my skin quivers as I drive to the motel. As I collect the room key, my heart pounds through my chest. There is something so pleasurably unproblematic about simmering life's procedures down to pure physicality. Our sex is nasty and frantic, and I am happy to risk being found out. His torso is alien to me, so different, so strong. The name of his wife tattooed on his chest is even more exhilarating knowing it's not just me completely throwing caution to the wind.

       My husband is pretty out of touch with reality and would never suspect me of acting in such a trampish manner. Simple excuses like, going out with the girls, or working back late is all it takes to secure a couple of hours of betrayal. As I arrive home, my husband is often hoping to make love, but I don't feel ashamed, perhaps when it's all over I will.

       Apart from our twice a week hotel meets, sex at work is the only other feasible option. This is very convenient for me as I can easily make it home from work on time without tripping any suspicion detectors.    The last thing anyone would suspect is for me to be doing it on my hands and knees on the grey commercial carpet tiles at 1130am in a locked office. It's like a ritual, the first thing he does is bends me over his desk, (my underwear already removed when driving to work) I have become his office whore, but keeping my full body orgasms quiet is the biggest challenge.

      Everything has become too erotic, I am smart enough to know when to call it a day, a secret of such proportion is too large to sweep under the carpet. I am becoming too focused on him and the sex, it occurs to me the grand scheme of damage this could have ( and probably already has) on my other life. The secret hot emails, the dangerous stares and groping must stop...
    
     I decide to quit my job without any notice, and cancel my secret email account.