And no, my darlings, I don't mean that sexually.
And I haven't even hit the wine. Yet.
I've got a good, old-fashioned, soul-searching question for you. Now, before you jump to an answer, roll it around in your head. Absorb it, think about it, and answer it more honestly than you ever have before, even if you are only admitting it in your mind, even for the first time.
Have you ever been cheated on?
'Cause chances are, you have.
The last time I saw, statistics had it at about 75% of married men, and 65% of married women confess to having an affair at some point in their married lives ("married lives". I love that expression. As though we have many different stages of life, much like a butterfly. I wonder which point of our life is actually supposed to be the one where we sprout wings and fly away). And those are just the ones that own up to it.
A search on Google for "adultery" turned up over 514,000 matches. When I checked it for "cheating" and "statistics" I got masses of hits of companies that will help you catch a cheating spouse. All I have to say is: if you suspect your spouse is cheating and go so far as to hire a firm, then you probably already know the answer to your question.
So I bring it back again. Have you ever been cheated on?
It's ok. We're all anonymous here. If you have been, go ahead and say. 'Cause I am here to fling the door wide open and say-yes. I have been cheated on. I have also done my share of fucking around. I am no angel, and never pretended to be. However, I can say that the few times I have mis-behaved, I felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. And only one of those can I look back on and honestly say it was worth it.
Of course, you may think, I WOULD say that.
I remember the first time I found out I was being cheated on. It was about 6 years ago. I went to my boyfriend's house, having worked late that night and just in dire need of a hug and some comfort. He wasn't home, so I let myself in, took my shoes off, and settled on his couch. He was out with his good friend, a woman that I personally couldn't stand although understood that they were close. She was also his ex-girlfriend, and hated my guts.
You can probably see the chain of events here. Sadly, I was too stupid (or too young? Too naive? Too trusting? Aren't they all the same adjectives?) at the time to see it for myself. Hindsight...that pain in the ass little fuck.
I saw a letter sitting on his desk, addressed to her. I don't know what came into me, I couldn't stop myself, and forgive me, but...I opened it. I slid my finger underneath the sealed and crackly glue,the entire triangle length of it. I slid out the note, and saw immediately the firm and familiar penmanship, part of a hundred love letters I had from him. I read the letter. I don't really see the need to relive it all here since I have enough sado-masochism in my life, but suffice to say, it told me more than I needed to know.
I drove home, and even though it was quite a long drive between our homes, I don't remember a thing about it. I got into my apartment and lay down on my bed, still fully dressed in business suit and heels, and just cried. My heart beat so fast, I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn't stop shaking. The room was spinning wildly around me, and all I could feel was that horrible letter clutched in my hand. The lights were off and although the room was dark I was hyper-aware of the location of all the furniture in the bedroom. I got up and found the only pharmaceutical relief that was available in the bathroom-Ny-Quil. Hey, man-beggars can't be choosers. So I took a swig and settled into the bedroom, waiting for that lovely Ny-Quil haze to set in and take me away (I had no Calgon, either).
We didn't last long after that.
In what is now a lifetime ago (and I don't mean that in any Shirley McLaine kind of way), with another partner, I cheated with his knowledge. His consent. We thought we were grown-ups and could handle it, that an open relationship really is possible. And maybe it is-we had one and it largely worked (with other arrangements, that are perhaps a bit too sexy for this post).
But sometimes, when you love someone so much that you can't even picture life without them, maybe you should be spared the thought of your loved one face down in someone else's crotch eliciting groans of utter delight from that other person. I went and had a sexual fling with a man with my partner's knowledge, and it broke him to bits. We both handled it badly, and it became a wedge that always lay beneath the surface, ready to be hurled at one another when things got rough. It became the Bible of our misery, filled with the Ten Commandments of Betrayal. We were totally, brutally honest with each other throughout the whole of my one-off (and I am forever grateful for that honesty) but maybe there is no recovery for hearing the physical equivalent of "Gee honey, you are a great ride but I feel like test-driving this other model".
I had thought it was something exciting that he and I could share. That I had an affair, a casual fling. Instead, it became a mountain of hurt. And maybe I didn't understand that then, maybe not enough. Maybe I should have said, "You know, my Gorgeous Darling, all I ever want is you. Let's forget about this other guy, I understand that this is too stressful. There is simply no way he could ever please me the way you do, anyway. Let's go to bed and make love to each other, and fantasize about what could have happened."
I should have said it, because I meant it.
But my partner was partially pushing me to do this, too. A test. And I wanted to do it, I admit. So I never said those words, and I will regret it forever. Because, I am feeling again what it felt like on my bed in my apartment 6 years ago, that horrible, dizzying, heart-attack nightmare. And I would give anything to take away this feeling.
The anthropological war wages about the ability of man to be monogamous (which is the idea for another post, another day). And you know, I can understand the deep biological need to get it on with the attractive members of the opposite sex, a gamble for the perpetuation of the species, a wager on natural selection.
But all bets are off when you fall in love.
I need a drink now.
-H.
Posted by Everydaystranger at September 20, 2003 07:24 PM | TrackBack