…I can understand why a lot of husbands and boyfriends/fiances lose their mind when they find out that their lady needs more than what they’re already getting. Yesterday, I told you a bit of what I experienced and today I hope to give a bit more insight to my thoughts and emotions in the moment that, first, my suspicions about her sexuality were confirmed and, second, that I really wasn’t enough for her.
It’s like getting kicked in the crotch by someone wearing steel-toed boots. Promises were made, vows were sworn to before God and company and staying true to these things are traditional and expected. The only bit of comfort came when I could push my emotional trauma aside long enough to pick up on that what I was being told didn’t have anything to do with me other than the stone-cold fact that I’m not female. I mean, how dare she prove something to me that I was “happy” just suspecting! I even saw a flaw in my perceptions because that prison thing I told you about? It was, indeed, proof of my suspicions even though, as I had said, she wasn’t a “willing participant” and I even totally bought into her explanation of why she didn’t report it. So with a plausible explanation, I just put that particular thing out of my mind, just to get kicked in the crotch with some harsh reality.
Beyond angry. Confused. Ego pulverized into unrecognizable pieces. My mind was a storm of thoughts including some rational ones: Whenever I’d ask her about this, why wouldn’t she just tell me what was going on with her? Why wouldn’t she believe me when I’d told her all those many times that she can talk to me about anything and even if something makes me angry, I will keep my cool and listen and because that’s what you’re supposed to in those kinds of situations.
She liked women and pussy! What the fuck? Wait, that’s a good thing, ain’t it, since you’ve suspected it for years. But, damn – how could she cheat on me like this? You knew something wasn’t right, too, and you didn’t do enough to find out what wasn’t right; you just let her give you some half-assed explanation for what you’d been seeing and let it go so, in a way, this is just as much your fault as it is hers.
Yep… think about that one for a moment. My gut had been telling me all along that she was doing some stuff she shouldn’t have been doing and the one time I should have trusted my gut 100%, I didn’t – I trusted her to tell me the truth – and she didn’t. We both failed and the more I sat there listening to her finally telling it all, the more it hurt, the more angry I got – at her and at myself – and, man, I had one hell of a headache to go along with the terrible heartache I was now feeling.
Not enough for her when we vowed to only be all that each other would ever need. That echo of male ego ranting and raving inside my head about being dissed like this, feeling the fire and brimstone of Old Testament stuff burning me alive on the inside as well as that “Me Tarzan, you Jane” shit that for as long as I can remember, married men tended to hold over their wives’ head even though I never really believed in that rubbish but still. She promised to be faithful… and she wasn’t… and was being unfaithful right under my nose. And the greatest pain of understanding that just when you think you know someone well, you find out that you didn’t know a damned thing.
Because I didn’t know this. Well, I did. But I didn’t. As she talked, everything that, at the time I thought about it, didn’t make sense was now making a whole lot of sense. A detached part of myself is watching her; she’s clearly upset but determined to have her say, tears running down her face out of whatever sense of frustration she felt. I felt… inadequate. Helpless. And the pain kept coming to find out that one of the women she cheated on me with was someone I went to junior high and high school with and someone else I thought I knew well since we were in the same classes and all that.
I could feel myself calming down as I began to think about whether I was being furious about her… or being mad with myself by not being more assertive – not aggressive – with her about my suspicions and being more and effectively communicative. Still, I felt defeated, betrayed, everything I thought I knew about her was proven to be from way off based to down right wrong. This ain’t the way things are supposed to be… and this is the way things are. Was she wrong? Sure she was – she broke the faith and trashed her vows and for what? Pussy? Even a chance to sleep with some guy who caught her eye and got her juices flowing? What did this say about me as man and husband? Inadequate? Unequal to the tasks at hand?
God, I wanted to… be violent. Crawl under a rock. Something – anything other than to sit there and listen to her telling me that I had completely ignored all of her needs, even if I merely suspected she had that other need. I should have done something, should have said something, shouldn’t have taken her “explanations” at face value and, in an odd way, shouldn’t have trusted her to tell the truth and only the truth… but she was telling me the truth now so that had to count for something, didn’t it, even if it was closing the barn door after the cows had already hauled ass?
Yes. No. Damn it, I don’t know anymore. She had stopped talking and I thought that now’s my chance to give voice to all I was feeling and thinking… but she wasn’t done talking… and now I got to hear the very painful and humiliating facts that while she still believed that I was good in bed with her, I wasn’t all that good when going down on her. Not even close. The anger returned as she went into great detail of every damned time she slept with a woman and how it made her feel and while she probably spared what feelings I had left by not doing a direct comparison in that sense, I could tell by what she was saying and how she was saying it that, compared to the women she’d been sleeping with, I was a rank amateur and maybe worse than that when it came to giving her that kind of sexual pleasure.
Was this the end of all that we had together? Was she gonna leave me for someone else? You kinda accept the fact that you could lose your wife to another man… but am I about to lose her to a woman? What was left of my ego couldn’t begin to fathom or accept this “impossibility” but as the details kept pouring out of her, my mind said, “Well, I guess it’s true: If you don’t take care of your woman, someone else can and will… you just didn’t think that it would be another woman, huh?”
The pain. The agony. Proof that the truth hurts and more than one can begin to imagine. I was now so much inside my own head that I wasn’t even listening to her and, as such, didn’t even realize that she had stopped talking until she shook me and asked, “Are you gonna say something?”
You’re damned right I’m gonna say something! I took a deep breath, ready to unleash all the hurt and pain I was feelings and in no uncertain terms. My mouth opened and I heard myself say, “What do we do about this?”
Huh? That’s not what I wanted to say! I wanted to cuss her out, let her know how much she had fucked shit up between us! Make her hear my pain and anguish, and “hit” her with all the threats my mind had lined up to deliver… and that is just not what I did and, now more worse, I was asking, “What do you want to do about this?”
Why didn’t I lose my ever-loving mind? Because I loved her despite all that I’d been made to listen to. Loved her with all my heart and soul, well, what what heart I had left since it had just gotten chopped up into little tiny pieces. This wasn’t totally her fault – it was mine, too, and I knew it and that, believe it or not, messed with me more than what I’d been listening to. I failed – period. Saw the signs, didn’t do much of anything about them. Failed to communicate.
Damn. And if things weren’t bad enough, when I stood up to stretch, she flinched and literally jumped back… because she actually thought I was going to hit her! That made me feel lower than low because I’d never hit her – real men do not beat on their woman. I need to let go of my anger, to let my intelligence come back to the front and work the problem so that a solution could be found; violence and ugly words were not going to solve anything and I needed time to think, to get my head back on my shoulders and I knew saying something like, “We’ll talk about this later” would be yet another huge mistake on my part so to get the time I needed to organize my thoughts and to settle myself down, um, I went to the bathroom… because I really had to pee.
To be continued.
KDaddy23 – Fellow Bisexual and Contributing Author