This is our truth, tell us yours
No, not adultery. We’re not that euphemistic here.
In a past life I was intimately involved in the lives of lots of people in my local community. Not intimate as in the squelchy, yes please, can you cross your ankles behind my neck kind of way, but intimate as in ‘we need a bigger mortgage because we need a bigger house because we’re going to be mum and dad again’ kind of way.
It was a wonderful life while it lasted -I worked for one of the smaller banks that still had local managers, and local autonomy over some lending decisions. I had the appropriate ticket that let me make underwriting decisions, and the freedom to take local and family circumstances into account.
There were high spots and low spots. Being known as the gay friendly mortgage man was a definite advantage. Being invited to join the Freemasons by a local cowboy builder I was refusing a mortgage for wasn’t an advantage. Being offered a blowjob by a woman who was getting divorced and who didn’t have the income for the house she desired was an absolute no no, and not just because, frankly, she wasn’t my type. In my heart I’d like to believe she wanted me for my body, my killer wit and because she’d heard about my truly astonishing sexual performances, but truth to tell I’m pretty sure she wanted my signature on the paperwork and would have done the deed if I’d presented as a malodorous misanthrope who was hung like a chipmunk that always goes off at half cock.
In a small town, where your job makes you visible, shagging all and sundry means you will inevitably have conflicts of interest along the way, or, just as likely, people will assume you have conflicts of interest. I was prepared to put up with people assuming that being gay friendly meant I batted for both teams since I don’t see that as a put down, but I would never tolerate anyone assuming I was bent in terms of how I made business decisions.
I once had a very funny conversation with a doctor who had the same dilemma. She found the restrictions of private practice in small towns, and the rules about not shagging patients, restricting. As she pointed out, if you’ve got several thousand patients on your books, half of whom you never see, a random pickup in a local pub can quickly turn into an ethical minefield. In a boutique bed and breakfast in Brighton she was much freer, and very good fun. Of course, I’ve only her word for the fact that she was a doctor, but I wasn’t consulting her about my health, just collaborating in the manufacture of smiles for a few hours.
Swingers clubs can compound the problem, since they draw a crowd from further afield. Would I want to turn a corner in a club and find one of my key business contacts there? How about the employee I had to usher off the premises yesterday, after relieving her of her pass, passwords and paperwork? It’s a long while since I wen through the experience of having to sack an employee I’d previously shagged, and I’m not keen on repeating the experience.
Being a Travelodge Tart is much easier. You need to know someone pretty well before you can let your guard down and trust them with all of you – playing away from home has lots of advantages.