The World According To Me

Right, well it's now Tuesday morning, I am sitting at my desk with a bowl of gluten-free, wheat-free, taste-free museli. The only reason I am eating it at my desk is because when I got home yesterday, discovered fat and old housemate has packed up all crockery and cutlerey so cannot possibly consume food in my own home anymore. Greeeaaaaattttt.

Still having internal emotional turmoil about Sunday night and the kissing of married bloke. Can I start by saying that when we gave up our great table in the beer garden to join a table of bucks night participants, I started talking to a lovely, clearly older and clearly married Irish bloke who was not in any way physically attractive but who had a sparkling personality and a great sense of humour. Lets call him Seamus. I thought bewdy, I'll be safe here. And not safe as in otherwise I'd be staving off hoards of letchy boys (which was clearly not the case) but safe in that I can sit there all evening and have some great conversation without any pretences of putting out later. So here we are, for hours, waxing lyrical about mindless crap, I'm having a bri-yant time. Particular to note is the conversation whereby Seamus and I had a great giggle at the rest of the participants of the bucks party, all of whom were apparently married but were just not wearing their rings (hot hot hot pommy bloke excluded), chatting up my friends. This was fine, we were all having a good time, and some of us were even speaking English as a second language. Seamus was most forthcoming about his wife at home, and I thought that was great, enquiring about her and how they met, etc etc. Then it comes time for them to leave. So they all heave their drunk selves out of their chairs and go to head towards the bus. Seamus extends his arms for a hug goodbye, which of course I'm quite amenable to, seeing as though he's provided me with a wonderful evening of entertainment. And then it happens, he goes in for the snog. And we kiss. And what a great kiss it was. Shocked the fuck out of me, but by the time I overrode my instincts, stopped the kiss and said "We shouldn't be doing this", the damage was done. So some minutes later, when it appears as though the bus hadn't left yet, he came back in the pub lookig somewhat sheepish, sought me out, bought me (and himself) another champagne and he toasted to "great kisses", and we did it again. And again. And again. Until such time as the bus driver came and found Seamus to tell him they'd almost driven off without him. So then he finally leaves me, after telling me how wonderful and beautiful and sexy I am and if only 'things were different' (What the??!!) and also after detailing what would happen "if things were different". He walked out the door, taking with him my faith in the sanctity of marriage, and providing me with a terrible sense of guilt, that I had been a party to a bloke cheating on his wife. Because I am the sort of person who could never forgive my husband kissing another woman. Kissing is cheating. Talking, flirting, that's fine, but the line was crossed when he shoved his tongue down my throat. Now, I know what you're thinking, I could've stopped it. There's no excuse, I could have done exactly that. Which is why I feel so terrible, even now. So the question is, what am I going to do to absolve my guilt? Is there anything that I possibly can do?

Assistance is required, please.