I have lost the thread of this blog

It is pretty obvious that my posting has dropped off. OK, fine, that happens. But a couple of minutes ago I realized one of the reasons why my posting has dropped off. I don't know what I am writing any more.

This blog started out as a way for me to come to understand my marriage better. Then gradually it turned into a chronicle of my affair with D. And occasionally I would drop in posts on other topics that had been on my mind. So at this point, what exactly am I writing here?

• A string of complaints about Wife? That'll get repetitious pretty quickly.
• A chronicle of divorce? I figure that's a couple years out at this point. Long wait.
• A narrative about me and D? Well, I try to post something each time we get together; but other than that, the relationship has hit a fairly even level, by which I mean that it is not changing rapidly at this point. So what parts are worth telling and what aren't?
• A diary? Probably more interesting if you knew us all personally ... and probably not even then. Who wants to read somebody else's diary except for the occasional juicy parts? "Today I went to work. Then I had a sandwich for lunch. I had to answer e-mails that were even more inane than usual." Gosh, I'm all a-quiver.
• An anthology of philosophical insights? Right. Another long wait.

So you see the problem. I don't really know what I am writing. And that makes it hard to sit down and get the writing done, even when I have a chance. I could ask you what you feel like reading, but since I've gone private there aren't even that many of you out there ... and some of those have (I think) largely given up on the blogosphere. Still, if there is something you'd like to see in this space, feel free to let me know because I am kind of short of ideas right now ....

Sex makes you smarter

Hey, I'm not making this up. It's on the Internet, so it must be true. They couldn't post it otherwise, right?

Check out this article here.

Harems

Over the course of my last couple of dates with D, we talked a few times about the idea of infidelity, meaning to each other. The topic came up in a number of ways.

On the one hand, when D is truly, rapturously, over-the-top orgasmic, she will often sigh, “Oh Hosea, that’s wonderful. You should have a whole harem of women!”

On the other hand, we were talking about anger one evening and she remarked as a matter of course that the only thing I could ever do to generate wild, unreasoning fury in her would be to cheat on her. Even breaking up with her wouldn’t be as bad.

Of course she has said things like this before. Once I even called her on it, reminding her that I am still married and that I cannot guarantee never again to fuck a woman to whom I am legally married. (In practical terms there is no way that I would fuck Wife these days: the emotional side of the relationship is too shattered, and she has allowed herself to get quite ugly. But the principle was the important thing to me right then.) When I reminded her of that conversation this time, she acknowledged that it made sense even though at an emotional level she couldn’t accept it. And she sighed while adding, “I guess what I don’t know can’t hurt me.” I think what this has to mean in practical terms is, “If you do fuck somebody else, don’t tell me about it. Or lie.”

And because I know she feels like this, I don’t take her remarks about harems too seriously. If I wanted to get all cold and analytical about it, I’d say that all she means by them is “That’s wonderful.” During our most recent date we were getting into the shower one morning and she said I should have a harem, and I suggested, “I don’t think you’d like that much in reality.”

D replied, “Only because of all my jealousy and possessiveness, But those are vices; we don’t want to encourage them. Besides,” she added, stepping into the shower next to me and sliding an arm around my waist, “it’s a very appealing fantasy.”

I have to admit that last part is true, and it works the other way too. When we first got together, D was a little embarrassed by her own glorious sexuality, and so she tried (a bit half-heartedly) to convince me that she was “inexperienced.” Never mind that for sheer implausibility this is like my claiming to be the King of Swaziland. The fact is also that I don’t want it to be true. You’ve read how often I compare her to Aphrodite, and it doesn’t take much familiarity with the Olympian gods to get a pretty good sense for the extent and variety in their sex lives. There is something inestimably titillating at the vision of her personal count running into the dozens. Or higher. I don’t suppose it really does (or at least it’s probably not as high as I wish I could imagine) ... but it’s an appealing fantasy.

Does that explain why I don't feel the way she does about fidelity to each other? I don’t mean on my part – it’s not like I have any competing offers at the moment, and I’m not particularly looking. But all along I have known that D gets really, really upset at the thought of my fucking someone else, and I don’t feel the same way about her. What’s the difference?

I think there are several factors at work.

At the lowest level is the prurient fantasy I just described. If she were fucking other men (and I don’t believe she is), the thought would have a kind of pornographic appeal for me. I’d want to know all about it – more than I had any right to know – and the whole business would be very exciting.

A second factor is that I have learned – from my long experience of Wife’s affairs – to cultivate a kind of resignation on the subject. I have learned to disassociate myself from any extra fucking that is going on, at least to the extent of telling myself it’s not about me. It’s not because I am a failure. What’s more, I have learned to tell myself that so long as I am getting all the sex I want, I have no cause to complain if the woman in my life is getting more somewhere else. I have learned to tell myself that it is like her taking a multivitamin, as a supplement to the food she eats.

A third factor is the simple realization that there is something a little precious about asking for fidelity from someone who has already proved herself unfaithful just by being with you in the first place. I know that I have argued elsewhere that such fidelity is possible, and I think it is. But it is a grace, or a gift. To ask for it, insist on it, demand it ... this is really going out on a limb. After all, each of you has already proven to the other that, under certain circumstances, you are willing to break oaths, break trust, lie and cheat. So the only way you can expect any better is to be certain that you are enough better than her (or his) old spouse. And isn’t there something just a little bit arrogant about that?

But I wonder whether there might be a fourth factor too, one that does not reflect at all well on me. I didn’t start by framing it to myself in these terms. But once the thought occurred to me, I did start to ponder whether it might be another, subterranean motive.

The idea is this: I know that sex is enormously important to D. Sex is how she defines and delimits her emotional world. I think this means that if she’s fucking some guy – and only him – then he runs the risk of being her world, or at any rate a very large part of it. Maybe that’s overstated: I know she also puts a lot of energy into her job and her church. But I think the concept is probably valid, even if it has to be scaled back a little bit in reality.

And I don’t want to be her world. I love D passionately, but she is exhausting. “High maintenance.” I realized during our last two dates that – as much as I adore her, and cherish our time together, and miss the excellent sex – I have to have some time away every so often, just for the peace and quiet and solitude. I remember times I was glad to know that Wife and Boyfriend 4 were busy fucking in the next room, because it meant that for a while Wife would be out of my hair. Sure, I’d like to come back to D after I’ve had a little quiet and not wait till the next time my company sends me to Faraway City. But I don’t want to be her whole world. It would be a huge burden, and I’m not that strong.

So is that part of it? I don’t know. Superficially, it doesn’t feel like it. All it feels like is that if she were to fuck someone else too, I wouldn’t get too upset because I’ve had so long to get all that out of my system with Wife. But it is hard for me to trust that the superficial picture is the only picture. And so I continue to wonder ....

Eleventh and twelfth dates

Over a span of eight weeks this summer, I spent fourteen nights with D. When I stop to do the math like that, it’s quite a lot.

I’ve had two business trips in that time. For the first one, back in late June, she was able to join me for an unprecedented ten days; then this trip, early August, the other four.

I’ve tried to think if there were any overriding themes for either date, but all I can pull together are odds and ends. Still, maybe that’s better than nothing. A few of them follow below.

From our eleventh date: ....

I discovered that D has very sensitive toes. Magically sensitive toes. Normally our fucking is so intense and all-consuming that they get bypassed; but on a whim one evening I began sucking them slowly. And the most delightful tremors rippled up through D’s body, and then burbled out in her voice: “Hosea, don’t do that – aaah! You’ll never let me do that to – aaah! – you because you’re so ticklish – aaah! This is really embarrassing – aaah! Oh my God!”

I also insisted on slowing down enough that I could play with her underwear – bite it, tug on it, really play with it – before finally sliding it off of her. She didn’t expect this. In fact, after I had paid so much attention to her toes, she had even forgotten she was still wearing any underwear. But it piqued her interest: after we both returned home from our eleventh date, and before our twelfth, she told me one day she had specifically gone shopping for sexy underwear.
____________________

The weekend of this date, we had what must count as a perfect Sunday. In the morning, D suggested that we go to services at a local Orthodox church. She is Catholic, but she knows and loves the Orthodox liturgy and I knew nothing about it. So sure, hell, why not? Well, the Orthodox liturgy turned out to be very long, and it is all sung. But it was a peaceful, contemplative, devotional experience. Besides, D commented afterwards, “When you go to an Orthodox service, you really know you’ve been to Church today!” And then she laughed.

We stopped at a local delicatessen for lunch. It was a lovely summer day, so all the (many) patrons were enjoying the tables outside. From there it was a short walk to the theater where a new play was opening. I had secured tickets for two for the Sunday matinee, so we spent the heat of the day in a dark, air-conditioned room watching a remarkably inventive new story unfold.

After the play we wandered the streets a while talking. And then, about the time we were thinking of going back to the hotel, we heard what sounded like music coming from somewhere down that-a-way. We turned down that street, walked another couple of blocks ... and came upon a street fair we had read about but had not been able to figure out how to find. And here we had found it. A band was playing, booths were selling food and drinks and face painting, kids were running about playing, adults were talking, and everybody was having a lovely time. So we found a table near the music, bought a couple glasses of wine, and sat down.

Time passed, a new band replaced the old one, we had a few more glasses of wine and finally some food. The new band was playing strongly-danceable music, so D got up to dance. I’ve never been very good on my feet, but after enough wine I didn’t care so much; so I joined her. And it was fun. Before I realized how late it was the sun had set, and the folks organizing the fair were putting up a huge screen. The band finished, and the fair proceeded to show a movie (“Star Trek” 2009) out under the stars, for anyone who was still there.

We got to bed awfully late – actually that was true several other nights as well – but it was a perfect Sunday.
____________________

But I also started to wear out, and my exhaustion came to light as bouts of depression. Up until this date, D has always reacted pretty badly when I get really depressed, backing off as if I were growing a green exoskeleton and bat wings. Finally this time she explained that I really do look physically different to her when that happens: my eyeballs get rounder (that’s what she said!) and my posture gets hunched and stooped. And she admitted that she found it scary.

But of course having her back away in fright just made me feel even worse, so it became a vicious circle. And we talked about more constructive ways for her to react. First, I told her, you can’t back away. Stay with me, hold my hand, talk to me, something. But don’t back away. Second, try humor. I spend a lot of time trying to make stupid jokes; humor is a very big deal for me. So make a stupid joke, even at my expense. If you can get me to laugh, it’ll get better.

At the very end of this date, as we drove to the airport, D told me that she was reflecting on the lessons of the trip. Two of the three were those two, right there. The third was just that our time together is finite. Unless we live to statistically improbable ages, we are both in the second halves of our lives. So we should treasure the time and not waste it ....
____________________

And we talked about infidelity. This came up in a couple of ways. But actually, now that I sit down to write about it, I think the topic deserves a post to itself. So I’ll leave this remark here as a placeholder, and come back to the discussion later in more detail ....
____________________


From our twelfth date: ....

We talked about attractiveness – who is attractive, what makes them so. D has given this a lot of thought. And it is great to listen to her talk about it. When D warms up to the subject of sexual attractiveness, her eyes shine and her face beams and her voice carries the echo of inexpressable yearnings. Nor does it matter whom she is talking about: old or young, male or female, black or white. Don’t misunderstand – there is no doubt that D is straight, as far as that goes. But Beauty and Attractiveness are things that delight her and entice her and compel her attention, whoever owns the body from which they radiate. She cannot help herself for loving Beauty, and to hear her put that love in words is a thing lovely in itself.
____________________

D thinks I drink too much coffee. Maybe this is because I wasn’t very hungry for breakfast Sunday morning, so I drank five cups of coffee while she ate. Then by dinner-time I was famished, so I scarfed up most of the bread on the table while we were waiting for our meals. She later reminded me that this is not a healthy way to eat.

Dinner itself, however, was wonderful fun. The Consultant was in town; so we all ate together and compared notes on our lives. His divorce is complete, and he has asked his girlfriend to marry him. For my part, progress towards a divorce is on hold, and I am inclined to wait till both boys are in high school at any rate. But D and I still continue to see each other, naturally, every chance we get. The Consultant says he thinks being around D makes me calmer; he adds that he has no doubt she is a good influence in my life. We told a lot of stories (the Consultant, in particular, keeps a huge fund of them) and had a wonderful time.
____________________

I spent several hours of the weekend reading aloud to D. It’s a very natural form of recreation for us when we’re not fucking; I love reading aloud, and D loves to listen equally well. I had also come to realize that a lot of our ongoing conversations seemed to hover around a number of the same topics over and over: education is one of these, religion is another. So I finally decided to start reading her Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. (I write this with a bit of trepidation, because I anticipate eye-rolling on the part of readers who have encountered one too many Pirsig-cultist over the years. But I do think his discussions are interesting, they are relevant to other things D and I have talked about ... and she has never read it.)

Reflecting on these hours after she got back home, D wrote, “In analyzing the weekend, I was struck by the polarities; your depression concerned me and left you battered and overwhelmed, yet those hours we spent when you read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance stand out as some of the finest hours I have ever spent with another person; a genuine dialogue and engagement with an important work. I will treasure them for years to come and eagerly look forward to September when we will pick up the discussion. I am ever so grateful for the time with you, and your love ... which exceeds all expectations.”


We’ll see each other for a day or two in September, if our current plans hold. I’m looking forward to it.

Goading Wife

Well, the other day I seem to have goaded Wife into storming out of the house, though she didn't stay gone long. She had just started the laundry and we were talking about the things that Son 1 needs us to buy before he leaves for high school. We had been e-mailing back and forth on the subject while I was recently out of town, and she hadn't read my most recent contribution to the subject (a day or two before), nor understood some of what I wrote her before. So I fear I was less inclined to be helpful than I might otherwise have been. Anyway, somewhere along the line we started talking about whether Son 1 needs us to buy him a wastebasket.

Surely this is a silly thing to argue about, isn't it? We must have plenty of wastebaskets in the house; I bet we have one or more in the garage. So I said no, we're not buying him one.

She reminded me that he needs one for his dorm room, and she claimed that we don't have any extras.

Hosea: [purely at random] Ummm, gosh, OK how about the fact that there are two of them in the back bathroom? Let him take one of those.

Wife: No, the "extra" one there is a plastic one I sit on in the shower to shave my legs, because my balance isn't good enough to do it standing up. So I need it. I mean, I suppose I could give him that and then I could go BUY a stool to sit on, but that doesn't make any sense!

Hosea: Fine, whatever. I was just giving an example of my general point. And strictly speaking that's not really a "need". [I've never really sympathized with the desire of women to shave their bodies anyway, but I didn't want to get derailed onto a different topic.]

Wife: What do you mean it isn't a "need"? I suppose you mean that I don't have to shave my legs??

Hosea: "Have to"? No, you don't "have to." That's grooming. All grooming is discretionary, or at any rate personal. I don't ask you to pay for my grooming expenses ....

Wife: You know, I've had that wastebasket ever since I moved away from home. And I don't see why I should have to go without it just because you're too cheap to buy Son 1 a $5 wastebasket.

Hosea: What, are you saying the wastebasket is an important family heirloom?

Wife: No, of course not.

Hosea: But that's what you just said, in effect -- or at any rate that you shouldn't have to be inconvenienced by giving it to Son 1, even though there must be lots of other ways to address your issue without spending more money. That's the gist of it: we should go out and buy more stuff so that you personally aren't inconvenienced. It's all me me me me me me me me me me ....

At this point she slapped me in the face. It was a childish taunt, and I was being really annoying, and knew it. Also this particular taunt was one that D had coined during her big clean-up back in our Sixth Date. So it irritated Wife really seriously.

Hosea: Me me me me me me me me me me me me me ....

At this point she slapped me in the face a lot harder. Then she tried to shove past me.

Wife: Are you blocking my way? I'll call the police on you! I have the right to leave, you know!

Hosea: I'm not blocking your way. I thought we were talking, and I assumed we should finish the conversation. As for the police, feel free to call them. But you are the one hitting me, and not vice versa.

She pushed her way out of the bedroom door -- we had been in the bedroom with the door closed, and neither boy was in with us -- and ran to the front door. On her way out of it she turned to shout, "You're the biggest bastard and son of a bitch I've ever known! And you can do your own laundry!" Then she stormed out the door and slammed it.

A minute later she came back into the house, picked up a jacket and her medicines and a phone book, and then stormed out a second time.

Son 2 had been sitting in the living room reading when all this happened. So in a few minutes he came wandering back to the study, where I was finishing up the bills and Son 1 was doing something on the other computer, and said, "I wonder what all that was about, but I probably shouldn't ask."

Hosea: I have no idea, Son 2. I started by going in to make a note on the calendar, then we started talking about the things we have to buy for Son 1, and then the conversation veered off into somewhere very weird.

Son 2: I hope she isn't gone long, although since she took her pills it looks like she's planning to be gone for a few days or something ....

Hosea: I really don't know.

But then a few minutes later we heard some noises in the rest of the house, and specifically heard Wife dragging the laundry out into the garage and starting it. And once she had started it going, she came back and ensconced herself in the bed once more.

The next morning, Wife's phone rang at 5:30. She answered it, then carried it into the living room to talk. It was Friend. What I can piece together is that she called him during her brief flight the day before, but couldn't reach him and he was calling her back. In any event, she told him basically the same story I just recounted above. She did spell out where she went ... she drove to the parking lot of the local elementary school, from which she tried to call Friend. But when there was no answer, she came back to the house. Apparently Friend recommended that she move to a battered women's shelter; Wife replied that I had threatened that if she ever left the house she couldn't come back because it is "my house." (Gosh, I don't remember saying that, but why interfere in a good story?) She also added "It's only a week till Son 1 goes away to high school. After that, ... I don't want to lose Son 2, but I have got to get out of here. Hosea is such a tyrant." I have no idea what this wish will mean in reality. Probably nothing, at least for a long time, because her passivity is so great. Maybe it will mean that she does nothing for a long time and then bursts out in a break for freedom -- wild, unreasoned, unplanned, and ultimately self-defeating. If that's the case (and it is plausible) then I have to take care to limit the amount of damage she can do in the process.

She did tell Friend, weeping silently, that she felt terribly confused. At another point, after a silence where he must have said something, she added, "I do love you. That's why I keep trying to figure out how I can come out there. I've never even seen you!" Not sure quite why this should be so hard, of course. Log onto Orbitz.com, find a flight to his city, give them a credit card number, pack a suitcase, fly there, and then take a taxi to the street address she already has for him. Sounds easy to me. I feel like mis-quoting Mark Antony: "Love should be made of sterner stuff." Of course, if she did that then the woman who pretends to be Friend would have to improvise quickly to explain why he wasn't there (and wasn't due to return until the day after Wife's flight home). But I'm sure she is up to that task ... she seems to have improvised any number of whoppers in the past, and they have all been believed. (sigh)

I'm not sure how the conversation ended, because I lost interest. But I think it went on for the better part of an hour, at any rate.

"Call me"

I had a phone call with D tonight that ran something like this. The way I tell it here involves a bit of creative interpretation on my side -- amplifying reality here and there to make a more imteresting poem. So you shouldn't jump to any conclusions about what is "really" going on. I figure in this case reality is an inspiration and no more. Still, I don't think it's too bad for something I tossed off in a hurry ....

.

.

"Tomorrow call my phone just after six.

I'm on the road – alone an hour or two.

They say that phones and driving shouldn't mix,

But I am famished for a chance to talk with you."

.

And so I called, a bit past six o'clock.

I heard a rustle, voices, then a hush.

"My darling, are you free now? Can you talk?"

"I'm not," she said, and hung up in a rush.

.

I know she'll send me e-mail with the dawn,

Assuring me how true I'll find her heart.

She'll tell me, "Truly this is what went on."

If only Truth for her weren't such an art!

.

And yet I'll love her every bit as well,

No matter where she was, or what she'll tell.