Trade Winds

You are free, and that is why you are lost.

The night air was warm, even hot, but the trade winds brought a breeze and the spray of the ocean waves splashing onto the walkway showering me with a mist of effervescent salt spray ensured I stayed cool. I paused for a moment and took in the scene. It was pure magic, as had been many of the moments of the trip, the lights reflecting across the dim water of Kailua Bay, the soft bustle of tourists and street vendors, the occasional car or moped passing. It was also one of the few moments I had been alone the entire trip. My companion, Brandy, had been wonderful and agreeable for the most part. Though, she had been occasionally mopey when there were setbacks. One of the setbacks was she didn’t do well with walking, which is something I personally relish. Still, she was the opposite of my ex in many ways. When my ex-wife faced a setback, regardless of the cause, I was to blame and all of her frustration had to be taken out on me. Brandy turns inward and takes personal responsibility for any negative emotions she has, but she also then tends to believe that I’ll disapprove of her mopey-ness and it makes her even more mopey. She feels she comes off as a bitch for being particular and having weird pet peeves. Admittedly, I can find them irritating at times, but she is accepting if I don’t cater to her every desire. But, here we were, she didn’t feel up to making the half mile walk back from the restaurant, so I was going to get the car solo. Not a big deal in my mind, but I know it weighed on her a bit. Personally, it was nice to get a little alone time.

The night walk was full of life contemplation. I met thoughts and memories which hadn’t had opportunity to manifest with the continual vacation activities. Every young woman I saw in a bikini with a tight, lithe body brought thoughts of Sierra, and all she represented. The ironic thing, was that I was having the best sex of my life with Brandy. We made love 3-5 times each day, often in a row and had to urge each other to put on clothes or we would never get out of the hotel room. Where we really shined together was without a doubt in the bedroom. I appreciated that she is a beautiful person as well, but, let’s face it, beauty is taken more and more for granted as a relationship goes on. We had hit our six month mark this night. The energy, excitement, and momentum, the newness of our relationship was petering out. The vacation plans had been made almost a full month ago. It was a crazy, spontaneous plan when I found some cheap flights online.

I was beginning to realize that cheating has little to do with actual sex. Often, some of the most thrilling times are just being with someone new and attractive. Getting close to them, feeling the anticipation. And yes, sex is the ultimate culmination of all that, but it isn’t the ‘why’ in many ways. Because, truth is, I was having incredible, wonderful sex, and more than I could handle practically. But, still, I was tempted once more. I was tempted to get on dating apps or strike up conversations with girls at the bar. Brandy was the opposite of my ex-wife, but still I was somehow, someway wanting more. This scared me because I was realizing that I don’t see how I could ever be satisfied. It is like I am doomed to use up a relationship, sucking the life and energy out of it like a vampire then moving on to the next victim. In the game of life and relationships, how do you decide when to hold your hand, and when to fold it? Cheating is a kind of escape. Just like in cards, you think it gives you the edge. You can have your cake and eat it too. Keep the things you love about your venerable, aging relationship, and enjoy the fullness of a new, fresh one on the side. But, it isn’t right. It isn’t true or honest, and it is dangerous for you and them. You are toying with someone’s heart and life, and you find out, your own as well.

I reached the hotel parking lot and opened the door of the white convertible Mustang parked between two palm trees next to the stairs up to our room. With the top down, I rumbled into the restaurant parking lot and picked up Brandy. We kissed and took off through the empty streets, just aimlessly driving. We talked a little. Brandy took off her shoes and massaged her sore feet. We left the little seaside town and drove off into the moonlit night, hearing the chirping sounds of the island wildlife come alive as we drove down the road. We put on the radio and I opened it up and let the engine roar down the hill, Brandy laughed and put her hands up to feel the warm night air rush between her fingertips. This truly was the best vacation I’d ever been on, it was just what I needed. But, how could I be so free, but feel more lost than ever?

El Bueno, El Malo, y El Feo

“Yeah, he wouldn’t get out of my way so I could smack his bitch, so I broke the fuckin’ bottle of Hennessy on his head…” She sat across from me and animatedly told her stories while giggling at regular intervals.
The bar/restaurant was upscale, with windows overlooking the harbor and bay, it often hosted the local yacht club lunches. It was filled with finely dressed patrons and servers. The secret was they had been doing cocktail and appetizer specials in the evenings to try to liven up evening business, margaritas tonight, served in fancy crystal tumblers on the rocks with salted rims and fresh limes for garnish. The last time I’d been at this particular spot had been with my wife in December, or January was it? We’d had martinis and oysters I remember. So much had happened since then. My younger cousin, Joanne, had been in town pretty regularly for work lately and we’d kindled a bit of a relationship. She came from a radically different background from myself, growing up in the rough inner city. We looked almost nothing alike, her dark skin was of Latin descent from her mother’s side. One thing we had in common was a thin frame and overly-youthful appearance which was characteristic of my family. I regretted that I’d never spent much time with her or my uncle and aunt, so much so that a month ago she was pretty much a stranger to me. They didn’t really come to visit much until recently, and we only visited them a handful of times. Joanne always felt that she was a bit of an underprivileged black sheep within our family. She didn’t really reach out to me until the recent events, between my marriage going in the shitter and her uncle/my father’s declining health. She was honest with me, she thought I was boring before she heard about what I’d done. To her, and everyone else, I was just a straight-laced, mild-mannered, Christian man before word reached them that I was apparently a big ‘sex fiend’, picking up random women and indulging in profligate living these days. Neither of us really thought we could have much in common with this cousin we hardly knew. Turns out we were wrong. Spending time with her has been an interesting psychological case study, seeing how she and I are incredibly similar but grew up in radically different environments. Sometimes I hear her talking, and it sounds like me, sitting across from myself, but a ‘me’ that grew up in a very different world.

Her phone on the table buzzed, the name ‘Feo’ appeared on the screen, Joanne frowned and let it ring.
“Ugly, huh?” I remarked.
“Yeah… he’s the one.” Joanne laughed nervously.
“Sorry, I try not to look at other peoples’ phones, but couldn’t help but catch that one, haha, too funny.”
“It’s Ok, it’s like 10:45, he’s probably drunk. I forgot to turn off my location, so he probably thinks I’m on a date.”
“He’s the one you were involved with long term then? How have you been with that, still feeling down?”
“Yeah, but it’s Ok. It’s like you and your wife, she still loves you I’m sure, so it hurts, that’s how it is with me.”
“Do you really think so? She hates me so much, I just can’t imagine it.”
“I do, she hates you and she loves you, and she hates loving you, haha.”

The restaurant closed at 10, but they let us stay late and drink and talk while the staff cleaned. It was a very enlightening evening. Once Joanne had two margaritas in her she did get a little loose with the information. I learned things about my uncle and aunt I’d rather not have known. I learned many things about her own personal struggles. She had made many mistakes in her life, several of them criminal, but, like me, she was a slave to duty, refusing charity and trying hard to stand on her own two feet. She could be kind and generous to a fault at times, but you also didn’t want to cross her, lest she kick your ass or slash your tires or both.

“People are weird as fuck around here. Like, I’m used to getting honked at a bunch of times walking on the street at home, it’s like, I get it, I honk for a nice ass too sometimes, haha, but here guys actually pull over to try and talk to me, it is super creepy.”
I dragged off the blunt we’d rolled, blowing the sweet smoke that smelled of a mixture of tobacco and cannabis, flicked the ash into the cup in my cup holder, and handed it to her.
“Seriously? Well, I just don’t typically have men pull over and hit on me,” I chuckled wryly.
We’d parked by the beach, looking out at the harbor lights, it was past midnight.
“Well, I don’t know, you might. I don’t know. Men are just jerks. Well, I guess girls are jerks too.” She laughed and took a deep drag and exhaled.
“We’re all jerks. Scumbags. Really, nobody can be trusted and relied upon. You think you know people, I thought I knew myself, but look what I did, I destroyed my wife’s world. I loved her, and I destroyed her.”
She sat smoking thoughtfully for a moment, her face illuminated by the blue glow from the stereo, before handing me back the blunt.
“You give yourself too much credit. What you did to her was fucked up. But, you didn’t destroy her world anymore than she did. Sounds like her expectations were too high. You’re not a scumbag, you mean well, you’re taking responsibility, but you’re still a man.” I puffed out and carefully handed her the almost-spent blunt, while she continued, “My father isn’t a scumbag either, even though sometimes I’ve wanted to think he is. I used to put him on this pedestal when I was younger, then one day he told me what he’d done, just like you, and it rocked my world. I wasn’t ready to believe my father was just a man, but he is. Before that, I felt that perhaps I could live up to the ideal, I felt I had something to shoot for, but now, I don’t think so, nobody lives up to it. I just wish I hadn’t found out.”

The Rainbow’s End

Last night, Her and I talked. I feel she and I are both at a crossroads in our lives. We are traveling blindly, following our hearts. Both of us free to seek new companions, and after all, we are both very sensual people, we’ve both had ‘meaningless’ sex before. We both agreed that sex is never meaningless, but it can feel so empty when the other person you are having it with doesn’t connect with you; you don’t know what they are feeling, in the moment and sometimes even later on. Free of my wife I should be out picking up girls on a nightly basis. But, here I am alone again tonight. In some ways I’m frustrated with myself.

I left work late today after a long video chat with Her. We keep coming down to it, both of us baffled by our feelings for each other, how they can be so strong when we haven’t met.
“I love you baby.”
“Love you,” she smiled a sweet smile that melts my heart every time, I feel so connected to Her when I look into her eyes, even if it is only through a pixelated screen.
“Talk to you later.”
“Ok.”
I started the car and put my playlist on shuffle. This playlist is kind of the playlist of my life, I try not to play it too often, but it is my go-to when I’m not sure what to listen to. I don’t necessarily put songs that I’m entirely in love with on it, just songs with meaning for whatever reason. If my life was the film, these were the soundtracks that were played to punctuate the major events. There’s a bit of my childhood, and high school, and my friends, good times, bad times. I just keep adding to it, there are songs that my wife and I shared, ‘our songs’, songs of love, romance, and plenty of old Swing standards. For example, Polka Dots and Moonbeams is on there.

I pulled out of the parking garage.
“Think I can fly, think I can fly when I’m with you, my arms are wide, catching fire as the wind blows,” came the song over the stereo from my phone, accompanied by a cascading synth melody.
Yes, Sierra is in the playlist too, how could she not be? This was a song that twenty-year-old girl played for me on a particular late night drive, befitting her youthful exuberance. It isn’t a great song per se, Galantis is somewhat too gaudy and overproduced for my tastes, but one particular lyric always sticks with me,
“Even if we’re strangers til we die…”
Sometimes I wonder if Sierra thought about that lyric as I did when we were together. That our relationship was never meant to last, and we would share an intimate physical relationship for a time, and then return to being strangers until we die. Seemed like that was the plan. I have trouble regretting it; it had its time and place.

As I drove, I thought about Sierra for a time, picturing her smiling there beside me. Thinking about her betrayal and how it all ended. Another song came on.
“Can you find the time to let your lover love you? He only wants to show you…” Christina Perri sang.
This was one of Her’s favorites, and it meant a lot to me since she’d sung it to me herself. The song’s infectious idealism of the love of soulmates (and seabirds that mate for life) is almost bordering on the sappy side, but, somehow it works so well, but only if sung with such genuine heart as Christina and Her sing it with. I felt so warm inside hearing it on the drive home, hearing Her’s lovely voice in my head.
“Baby we’re fate, baby it’s fate… not luck.”

After dinner, I walked with my sister and her dog to the liquor store to get her cigarettes and a bottle so we could make some cocktails. I was texting some more with Her, she was watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of my favorite movies, I was a bit sad I was missing it. It made me think of a post I’d made a long time ago now. Her and I talked some more. It was a continuing theme with us, we both never wanted to be trapped again, we wanted to be free, yet we kept coming back to how empty the idea of sex with other people seemed to the both of us at this time, we had become… monogamous, yet we’d never met one another nor were we tied together by any vow or expectation. We admitted our love freely enough to one another, but we were both very much aware it likely wouldn’t be forever.
“‘People don’t belong to people. I won’t be put in a cage…'” She quotes Holly to me in a text.
That final scene in that film, it all comes together so beautifully. Holly has a point, after a manner she is right, no person should ‘own’ another and put them in a cage. She is terrified of commitment, of falling in love, of losing. She won’t even name her own cat and call it hers. In some ways, that’s how Her and I were being, and perhaps it is some wise caution for two people thousands of miles away who’ve never met. But, Paul’s monologue, as he stands out in the rain leaning into the cab, perfectly delivering Capote’s immortal words that cut to the heart:

You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say, ‘Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.’ You call yourself a free spirit, a ‘wild thing,’ and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

You have to have courage to belong to someone else because that’s life, people do it, they fall in love and sometimes they fall out of love, or they hurt and cheat each other as Her and I have done to others and had done to us. It’s all a risk, it’s scary, and people get hurt, but good still comes of it, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and the memories and music and meaning remain. We’re after the same rainbow’s end, Her and I, why not seek it together?

Photographs & Memories

But we sure had a good time,
When we started way back when,
Morning walks and bedroom talks,
Oh how I loved you then,

Summer skies and lullabies,
Nights we couldn’t say good-bye,
And of all of the things that we knew,
Not a dream survived

It was a solemn occasion, gathering each memory and placing them in that small box. A necklace I gave her for her first birthday we celebrated together, engraved with her initial, the chain still held a tangled strand of her hair. A ring with a heart shaped piece of marble, the corner chipped, I was always meaning to buy her a replacement. My wedding ring. Notes written on stickies, on bits of paper, on card stock. Mix CD’s full of love songs. Photograph after photograph that used to sit framed about the house, smiles, silly faces, kisses. Souvenirs from our honeymoon. From vacations and adventures. Once the tears were flowing they couldn’t be stopped. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so freely, the tears flowed out cleanly, uninhibited by any inner contradiction. Not a cry of pain, or shock or empathy or release as when I confessed my adultery, but of pure sadness at joyful loving memories that were forever behind me and the person I’d loved so deeply, and hurt, and lost.

The Answer

“Are we making the right decision?” The question hung in the air after I’d posed it, dead air on the other end of the phone.
“…Jason, it’s over. You’ve hurt me enough, the only thing that is holding me together is sticking to our plan,” my wife’s voice on the other end finally responded.
“I’m so sorry, I’d do anything to fix it.”
We seemed to have this same conversation almost every evening. My wife would phone me up as I sit in the room downstairs, cataloging our assets, trying to sell them to pay for the divorce.
“Sorry isn’t enough. I wish I’d never met you, I wish I hadn’t chosen you, I wish you’d never been born.” She ended the conversation.

Whenever I have space from my wife, I’m haunted by the memories of our good times together and all that I know I’m giving up, our sometimes happy little family. So, I often ask, “are we sure about this?” But, every time the answer is the same: it is out of my hands. This is the only path forward. I’d broken our life and our family, and it was too late to go back. Every day more trinkets, old love notes, photos, and jewelry show up on my nightstand, all gifts I’d given her. I’ve yet to figure out what to do with them, I can’t give them back, and I can never throw them away, I can’t throw away our memories.

All that is left is to sell this stuff, pack my things, and fill out the packet the lawyer gave me. Just everything feels so hollow at this point. My emotions are tangled in knots.

One Minute More

Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.

We sat at the same table where two weeks earlier we’d sat while both of us cried our eyes out as I laid bare my ugly soul. This time there were no tears. It was business. We’d had our ugly moments over the last few days. Moments of major contention. But, a few days ago in another counseling session with the pastor my wife had finally admitted that reconciliation couldn’t happen at this point. She made it clear that unless I made some major changes right then and there with my attitude, we couldn’t even begin to try to reconcile. She wanted me to want her, to fall on my knees, beg forgiveness from her and before God and unconditionally surrender, commit to doing all she asks to reconcile, display my love and desire for her. I wasn’t going to do that, not when I couldn’t be honest about it. I was willing to get counseling and address these things, but I wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure reconciliation was the best thing for us so how could I commit to it unconditionally? How could I come back to God when I wasn’t certain what to make of Him anymore? How could I say I wanted her and desired her when it isn’t true? Perhaps those things would change in time, no one can say for sure, but I’m not there right now, and I told her that. We had decided for divorce.

So, here we were, we’d had our heated words about dividing things up already, but finally, my wife was ready to set aside her personal feelings and hot emotions and come to a tentative agreement so we could have a smooth and amicable separation. We sat at the table, pen and paper in hand and went over the finances, assets, alimony, child support, custody, legal fees, and process. It reminded me of times she and I had sat together to go over some family business. We did work well together when dealing with a crisis, and this certainly was one.
“I can’t imagine you with someone else, we can’t be friends, I can’t know about who you’re with,” my wife said calmly, but I could hear the strain in her voice, “I was in it till death do us part.”
I nodded sadly, “I know, I’m sorry. I want to be your friend but I understand if you can’t accept my friendship, I’ll always be there for you.”
“This pain is awful, you’ve turned our lives upside down, you don’t feel a thing do you? Not the least bit sad about us?” She asked.
Whenever I thought about us my head felt hot, my eyes stung, but tears would never start.
“I will miss us. The sadness is almost more than I can bear. Despite everything, much good came out of our relationship, we had many good times together,” I said leaning over the chair.

It was true. Now, more than ever as we are headed down this road do I feel conflicted. I love my wife, I love my son. Part of me wants our family back, to erase the damage I’ve caused and to go back to the way it was. But, that is a trap, I know it. Just being happy was a daily struggle. I’m not ready to go back there, not now. And my wife isn’t willing to delay, she wants this over with. So, here we are. I should be moving out hopefully by the end of the month, and we should have a divorce contract within a week or two. I’ll be visiting my son a couple of times a week. There is a lot of uncertainty going forward. The road is wide open. I have to carry the regret of having a failed marriage and a child to care for until he is 18, but I won’t shirk my responsibility, and I will never stop loving my wife or child. I feel like I’ve wasted almost half my life away, and my wife’s while I was at it. I’ve ruined enough lives at this point, perhaps it is better to stop holding on, and accept it, mourn the relationship, and appreciate what was good about it, even though I’m continually tempted to go and hold my wife and tell her I want her back. But, I know I only want to do that because I don’t want her to be in pain anymore, I want it to be all a bad dream and to be able to make her happy again. That’s why I stayed as long as I did, that’s why I didn’t break up with her when we were dating, that’s why I married her, that’s why I had a child with her, all because I didn’t want her to hurt and I wanted her to be happy. I had made myself responsible for her happiness, and it had destroyed me. But, looking back I have to accept that I couldn’t succeed when my heart wasn’t truly in it. A good part of the time, I made her miserable, and she made me miserable. And then I did all this and now I’ve devastated her, inflicted wounds that will never heal. I want to be the one to bring her happiness, but I don’t think I am that person. So, as much as I just want to go and comfort her, and be the one to make her happy again, even for just one more minute, it seems I shouldn’t, won’t it only bring more misery down the road?

Welcome to Your Life

Listen. I may not be much, but I’m all I’ve got. Maybe you need a magnifying glass to find my face in my high school graduation photo. Maybe I haven’t got any family or friends. Yes, yes, I know all that. But, strange as it might seem, I’m not entirely dissatisfied with life… I feel pretty much at home with what I am. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want any unicorns behind fences.

I woke to Her text as I do every morning now, expressions of love and gaiety that warm my heart. Despite that, the room was cold, the bare cinder block walls failed to hold much heat in during the long night. When the sun went down the fog would roll in from the ocean and would stay there until it burned off around mid day. The room was perpetually cool, which is probably better than the alternative given the limited ventilation. The small slatted window no longer opened since the knobs had broken, and provided almost no light. My wife had poked her head in before going off to work that morning, set the baby monitor on the shelf by the door (which was really just exposed wood framing that had been painted). I could always feel her eyes searching the room to see if I was alone. She’d tried a few times when she wasn’t working to run down and catch me off guard to see if she could catch me in the act, but I had been honest with her, I hadn’t had any girls over, to spend the night or otherwise so far, and for her sake, I didn’t plan to as long as I shared a roof with her. She’d suffered enough with my infidelity thus far, and I certainly didn’t want to add insult to injury.

I got up and switched the light on. My little makeshift bachelor pad had come together quickly enough. I’d gotten my old beat up dresser out of the garage that I’d had since I was 6 years old, which my wife had kindly repainted and I’d put on some shiny new hardware, that is, before we decided we wanted nice new matching dressers for the bedroom upstairs, now her bedroom. Shirts, pants, and suits hung in the improvised closet with my shoe rack down below. Set up a little desk and chair, and was trying to cobble together an old computer from spare parts in the garage, it wasn’t going well, bad graphics adapter causing video corruption and glitches and occasional crashes and would need to be replaced when I had a chance, but it was reasonably serviceable now that I had the OS up and running.

One of the dogs had snuck in that morning when my wife cracked the door. She was a loyal one, and I knew she missed me now that I was living downstairs, the other dog often didn’t want to brave the cold of my room, so he’d stay warm upstairs. But, she’d snuggle up by my feet on the bed, which was no more than a box springs and mattress on the floor, and as soon as I’d get up she’d find a warm spot beneath the blankets where I had been laying. My wife had made me take all the blankets and sheets downstairs that had been on the bed when I slept with Anne and Sierra. She had wanted to burn them, but acknowledged that we wouldn’t have much to put on the bed downstairs if she did.

I put on my slippers and sauntered off to the shower across the cold tile of the living room/kitchenette downstairs. A shower, shave, and comb and I was a new man, instead of the neanderthal that had looked in the mirror minutes earlier. Dressed for work, and had time for some cereal as the baby stirred on the monitor. My wife insists that I keep all of my food and dishes confined to the downstairs kitchenette, really that I keep myself downstairs as much as possible so she doesn’t have to look at me. I can understand, she says just seeing me, the man that destroyed her life, makes her want to vomit. She couldn’t bear to be near me, and I can understand that. We decided some space was needed for both of us, so we could decide how to move forward, to reconcile or to divorce. I was surprised with how quickly we’d managed to separate our lives, within less than a week’s time. We’d had to tell our renter, Kenny, and his girlfriend since she is a friend as well, part of the church youth group to boot (all of them haven’t found out about the depths of my betrayal yet). My wife refuses to let me tell anyone simply that ‘I had an affair’, it has to be ‘I had five affairs’. She said it was important they had an idea of the level of my depravity. I’ve acquiesced to this description that I now wear like a brand, like the mark of Cain. Kenny was really nice about all of it, I feel terrible for displacing him, another life altered on my account. The pastor offered his spare bedroom free of charge for Kenny, so he moved out almost right away and I moved into his old room, which quickly reaffirmed in my mind the pittance we had been charging him to stay there, but I am content with it.

As I finished my cereal and rinsed my dishes, the baby began cooing and bouncing in his crib upstairs. I opened the door to the stairs and walked up. The upstairs is certainly far nicer than the downstairs. My wife and I had worked tirelessly to make it so, it is representative of the life we built together. The colors we chose to paint the walls, the furniture pieces and the layout. Above the fireplace hung a painting I’d purchased from one of her favorite artists and given it to her as a gift for Christmas. There were pictures of the baby and family and friends on the walls in the hallway, except for a few blank spaces where my wife had removed any frame that contained a photo of me. The door to the bathroom was ajar, the shower was spotless, my wife had scrubbed it top to bottom with bleach when she found out that I’d been in it together with Sierra. We’d spent the first two days and nights since my confession pouring over every detail of my affairs. She wanted to know everything: when, where, everything about every girl, her age, job, height, weight, race, cup size, every kiss, every sex act we performed together, even demanding I tell her how it felt and how they compared to her, and every nonsexual thing we did, everything I talked about and shared with them, the minute details of every relationship nothing omitted. I was flabbergasted by some of the details she asked about, but I had promised her transparency, so I shared, as difficult as it was. Each detail would bring fresh outrage from my wife, it seemed to me this had to be unhealthy, like she was seeking to be immersed in the pain it would bring her. Unsurprisingly, she was appalled that I’d had girls over, and in our bed, and at crazy hours and spent the night with Sierra twice. But, for some reason, that I’d been with a girl in our shower was even more grievous than all that. Somehow, she managed to perceive that it was more than sex for me with Sierra, and soon she was mining the details of our daily escapades. She referred to Sierra as my ‘college skank’ and to Her as my ‘mistress’, and to the others as just ‘sluts’, she eventually forbade me to use their names when answering her questions, I had to just refer to them as girl number so-and-so. All these descriptions had lead my wife to believe that I was a demented sex addict and needed serious help. It became more awkward for her to share these details with our friends and family, much as I tried to dissuade her. Soon just about everyone was in agreement that I had a serious problem as a sex fiend. My wife was hurting, she was disgusted, she had been utterly violated by my behavior, and she naturally felt I’d put all of these women above her, and in some ways she may have been right, and I felt terrible for that. Above all, she seemed to be hurt the most by my rejection of her. That she, as a caring mother and hard-working life partner, wasn’t enough for me: I had chosen these women, I had chosen sexual and romantic fulfillment above what she offered me. I had thought I could have both, but I was wrong. It was heartbreaking to watch her walk about, her face blank or twisted in misery. She didn’t deserve any of this. But, what could be done? Reconciling or divorcing were both fraught with pitfalls, there was no easy solution.

I opened the door to the nursery, and the baby stood in his crib clapping happily when he saw me. Then, of course, in the middle of it all, is our son who we both love dearly.
“Good morning, buddy,” I said cheerfully as I picked him up.

The Rise & Fall of Naive Adulterer: Part 3

Sometimes you hit a point where you either change or self destruct.

I remember being fascinated by the death drive in psychoanalysis when I was in my Psychology class. The very idea that humans have an innate drive and instinct towards death and self-destruction, like a hidden desire. Sometimes I wonder how much I exhibit this.

It was your average fateful Saturday, little did I know the events I was about to set in motion. I’d gotten up to get the baby and give my wife a chance to sleep in before she had to get up to prepare for work at her part time job. Plus, it gave me a chance to text Her away from prying eyes. We said our good mornings, she was a cutsy, girlie girl, something I just happen to find very attractive overall, frequently repeating the last characters in a word like she had suffered a stroke at the end of her sentence, I found just about every silly thing she did adorable and endearing. We shared our laughs, and our flirts, teasing, pushing and pulling, it was all natural, made me smile and brightened my day as I played with my son, and then prepared his breakfast.

My wife got up, we shared coffee, chatted. We’d been on a good streak actually. We’d been paying off debts with our tax return, gotten some new furniture and rugs, it was time to talk about getting rid of my old beater and buying a new car. The romance was gone, but we were a life team, and a good one at that, despite some dark moments of misery, malignant spats, and overall inability to stimulate a modicum of sexual fervor. But, as an adulterer, my needs were being met on the side. Though, She had made me think about what was out there, what I was missing, but I doubted I’d ever leave this marriage situation much as I dreamed about it, there were far to many obstacles at that moment.

I talked with my wife, as she prepared for work. I can’t recall what about now. I paused part way through our conversation to check on a message from Her. I can’t recall what about now, I think we’d been talking about tickle spots on the body, just a little casual flirting.
“Who are you messaging?” My wife asked.
“Just texting Saul,” I replied.
“No, you’re not. That’s a different chat app, and why are there heart emojis, is that another woman?!” my wife looked concerned.
I suddenly realized she’d caught a glimpse of it as I passed the mirror, how could I be so careless.
“Ummm…. no, it’s just Saul” I stammered.
“Then show me.”
She had me, I hadn’t texted Saul in days, there was nothing for me to show her. I couldn’t show her this chat log, or any chat log that would come close to satisfying her suspicion.
“Jason, just show me, whatever it is, I want to know,” she started to cry, tears streaming down her face.
I couldn’t, I couldn’t show her. Not all those things I’d said to Her, not the love, not the desire, not all the secrets, they would hurt my wife beyond belief. I had always said to myself that if I was found out I wouldn’t share the truth, there would be no point, it would just hurt her. But, I needed something, some excuse, some half-truth. What was the closest thing?
“I can’t show you,” I said.
“Why? Why can’t you show me. It’s another woman, isn’t it? Who is it? Please, just show me,” my wife continued pleading.
“She’s a friend, I can’t tell you more,” I said.
“Why are you doing this? It is another woman, Jason please, I need to see!” She was crying, holding out her hand for the phone.
I paused, breathing deeply. I had to give her at least some of the truth now, and figure out how much to reveal later.
“I have a blog,” I began, “That’s how I met her, she read my blog.”
“A blog? About what?”
“I write, stories, memories, thoughts. About a lot of things.”
“I need to see it, and I need to see those messages.”
“I can’t show you either.”

The Rise & Fall of Naive Adulterer: Part 2

Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.

Hearing her voice had started to really change things for me. At first she would only sing to me, leaving a voice memo in my email, she had a beautiful voice. She was also socially awkward, imprecise, cute, whimsical, and even occasionally haughty. I loved her messiness, the way she enunciated her words in funny ways at times, her occasionally nervous habits that would come through over the audio. Every detail painted a picture in my mind of who she was. And she’d bring to life in my mind the many characters in the story of her life, her controlling, egotistical husband, her waffling former affair partner, her ex-boyfriend, her sister. Most love interests she had in her life seemed either cruel or petulant, with very little in between, at least from her perspective, she seemed to think I was different though, and maybe she is right, and maybe not. I’d seen her picture, she was truly a vision of beauty. I could see her speak in my mind’s eye. I’d record memos back to her. I sung her a few of my favorite songs, usually old standards. We shared much, swapping songs, interests, movies.

I’d told Her my favorite movie, and she went to watch it. Once I’d finished with the wife and baby for the evening, I joined Her, sitting down at my own TV and getting to the same part. It was corny, but we sat there sharing the same movie from hundreds of miles apart, chatting away on our phones and laughing. We could just be ourselves. No posturing or self-consciousness. Sometimes we were corny and goofy, sometimes dirty and crude, sometimes dripping with desire and lust, sometimes sappy and lovey, sometimes sarcastic and witty, sometimes critical and philosophical, sometimes fantastical and dreamy, sometimes passionate and intense, sometimes somber and empathetic. We could be all ways that we were with each other, sharing it all like intimate lovers, transitioning seamlessly like old friends. It was a beautiful relationship.

When we finally spoke on the phone for the first time, it was more of the same, and an hour flew past in what seemed like five minutes. Could it all be real, or was it merely too good to be true?

The Rise & Fall of Naive Adulterer: Part 1

All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live forever; you can’t live forever.’

The vibration of my phone on my nightstand woke me in the dim morning light. It was Her. How had it happened? When had it started? Had it always been this way and I just didn’t see it? I had loved waking to her texts the last couple days. Had it only been a couple of days? My life before Her seemed like it had been a dream, not true memories. There was tense amorous anticipation with each message. Almost like trembling, hesitation, bated breath. We described the sensations we were feeling to each other, butterflies in the stomach, our hearts beating faster. Were we fooling ourselves? Playing with each other? Or was this real? We’d never seen each other in person. It had started with an innocent off-hand message regarding a mutual friend, then some innocent flirting, and then suddenly we were discussing intimate details of our lives and exchanging pictures. Now we shared every day together, not because of some formal agreement, but because we wanted to, it was as natural as breath. I had searched my instant messaging app’s history to see if I could pinpoint when it all happened, we’d exchanged so many messages that the history had all been erased back that far.

It was love, there could be no question of it, or at least it was what both of us knew of the feeling of being in love with someone. It was terrifying. We were both adulterers. We both had loved people other than our spouses in the past, but never had we found mutual love, or love this intense in our lives. We spoke about turning back many times, but we knew we couldn’t turn our back on what we’d discovered, or we would regret it forever. I had never had any serious thoughts that I’d leave my wife for another woman. I couldn’t foresee having those feelings. But I was having them. That doesn’t mean that I’d make good on them, I couldn’t see the future, but they weren’t just fantasies, they were serious considerations now, despite the huge obstacles in the path: we were both married, we lived hundreds of miles from each other, and we had never met.  I wanted to grind those obstacles to dust by sheer willpower. But was I actually willing to step over the edge of the abyss?

Is this the beginning of the end to our story?