Hiding in Plain Sight

I’m having an affair, or at least it feels like one. I have never before been unfaithful to my husband of 32 years (33 if you count the year we lived in sin). There were temptations in the early days; his “friends” showing up at our door unannounced, knowing he would be gone, or the hand left too long on my arm, my leg, while out to dinner with another couple. Once I found myself trapped against the wall by someone’s drunken husband who announced that he wanted desperately to fuck me, right now. Now as flattering as all those romantic proposals were, I declined, and I told my husband about them as soon as we were alone. We always talked it over, and decided which of these people to avoid in the future. I’m sure he had opportunities too, but women are usually a bit more subtle in their approach, with egos that don’t take rejection well. At least that was true 25 years ago in the professional world in which he traveled. It seems the model for women has had undergone some dramatic alteration, but I understand from my daughter that men haven’t changed all that much, which is some comfort in a constantly shifting universe.

My outward appearance as a girl was one of innocence, and I continued to look that way long pass the time when it was true. When I came into my own, I like to think I was both direct and honest about my needs, but at the same time, I’ve always liked the fact that my passion came as a surprise once the bedroom door was closed. The model I heard about from men of my era was to be “a lady in the drawing room and a whore in the bedroom”. I still think that’s kind of a turn on for most men, like a naughty secret only they know. When I decided to bare all and write this blog, I found that a lot of what I wanted to say about dieting and weight also had a lot to do with sex, and the residual guilt passed on to me by Victorian parents. The fact that I have married two men whose libido did not match mine, and still remember the best sex I had was outside the marriage bed, is rather sad, but also telling. Did I purposefully marry men who could not keep up with me because I felt I didn’t deserve satisfaction? Did they unconsciously marry me thinking I would increase their testosterone level? Am I an idiot for not dealing with this 30 years ago?

I am of the opinion that the answers just might still be important. No matter what kind of “euwww” reaction it may have for the younger crowd, sex drive does not necessarily disappear after age 50. Unfortunately it did for my husband because of a combination of things, mostly drinking and other overindulgence. Our communication on this issue hasn’t been stellar. When he first started experiencing sexual dysfunction he didn’t bother to tell me at all. I assumed his disinterest was because of my weight, and searched desperately for a diet that would make me appealing to him again. One day he came back from the doctor’s office and announced happily that he had a trial package of Viagra. My reaction was not exactly what he expected. It had been at least 5 years since we had done anything and I had spent that time blaming myself, depressed and often suicidal, while he sat silent behind a wall of male pride. When I got over being angry and relieved, we had a frank talk about all things sexual. I thought this would be the start of a new era for us, but when the Viagra didn’t work, he quietly slid back over to his side of the bed and started snoring. We have gone back to selective silence, quietly tiptoeing around the sleeping dragon in the middle of our relationship. I am exhausted by the silence. I have nothing left to lose except my soul. I have come to this place so I can write true, expose the lies I live with, and grow strong enough to confront all my demons.