Good News from New York

Words from the Lady in New York:

Oh, I do want to be with you.

I love you Jack, and I do miss you. It's fun being busy doing things here, but I miss you. I keep praying that I'll get everything I need from this trip in order to come home at peace. Some of that at least is happening.

Love you darlin'

I don't know what it will be like when she comes back. I mustn't assume or expect. But how could I possibly not have hope?

When She Tried to Win Me

When my emotional infidelity was discovered, I loved her (or at least believed I did), but I was in love with someone else. I wasn't in love with my wife.

I was discovered on a Thursday morning. She called me at work where I was instant messaging my adulteress, and told me she had evidence that I was having an affair, and that I needed to come home right away.

That weekend we checked into the nicest suite at a nearby hotel to work things out.

I was fully willing to end the physical part of my relationship with my "friend". I'd been kissing her for a couple of weeks now, and I could give that up. But we'd been very close friends for two years, and I was not willing to give that up. My wife (and everyone else who knew) was demanding no less than total separation: I was never to have any contact with the other woman ever again.

I wasn't willing to do that.

So my wife threw herself at me sexually. She attacked me almost savagely, trying to win my heart by pleasuring my body and blowing my mind. She gave so much to me for eighteen months, dancing, stripping, wearing costumes, talking dirty, whatever she could think of to capture me.

To my enormous shame, nothing worked. I wallowed in depression and the loss of my "friend". I was so heavily medicated my libido shrivelled to nearly nothing. She may never forget the day she walked in wearing high heels and a feathered boa --- and nothing else --- and I said dully, "thanks for trying," and rolled over.

She felt completely abandoned. That's why she eventually ended things between us.

Not long after the separation, I finally got a handle on the depression. I really beat it, even without drugs. And that allowed me to begin to heal, just a little. And six months after the separation started, my heart finally broke and I fell in love with her.

Her love for me had completely died by then.

So now I follow her example, trying to kindle love in her, into a heart severely battered not just by me, but by the men she met and tried to entice while we were separated. I must carefully observe her mood and body language, to know whether to back off or pursue, whether to lavish words on her or keep silent. The slightest misstep can cause fear and rage in her. She doesn't trust me at all. Or at least, that was the case until very very recently.

The main place where she doesn't trust me is my depression. I still fight it, like an alcoholic fights his disease. Sometimes I need drugs to help; other times exercise and appropriate eating habits are enough to keep insanity at bay. See, when I'm depressed, I believe untruths, seeing all the negatives and none of the positives. And that causes me to say and do things that hurt her deeply.

Her greatest fear is that I'll become depressed again. She said to me, "I don't think I could ever pledge 'in sickness and in health' to you. Because if you get depressed again, I'm gone. Without the slightest hesitation."

And so, beyond anything else, I must ensure that I never, ever, ever become depressed again. Whatever the cost.

What It Isn't

During my wooing of my wife, I once told her:

"If I can't be your husband, I'll be your lover. And if I can't be your lover, I'll be your friend. And if I can't be your friend, I'll be your servant. I just love you, and will be whatever you will allow me to be."

For a long time, it was really at the servant level.

Slowly, the friendship developed, as I maintained consistency in my actions and emotions. There were times when it was more like friends. But then it would go back to "servant" level, and that was really, really hard. But I tried not to completely fall apart. Sometimes it took antidepressants and alcohol and ranting and screaming in private, so that I could come back with a smile on, ready to do whatever she would permit.

Now, it seems, we will be advancing to the "lover" level.

I'm pretty sure I'll not be sharing the bedroom with her in the conventional sense. I'll have my own room in the house, my own bed, my own space. We'll live together, and I will be permitted to pursue her romantically and even sexually in ways I haven't been permitted hitherto. But it's not, at this point, "husband" status. At least, that's what I'm assuming.

I will be bold and romantic and confident and strong. But at the same time, I need to be deeply aware and sensitive to her needs and wishes and desires and yes, even whims. I believe that if I make one error, it could end everything. That is extraordinarily challenging and terrifying.

But I believe, with all my heart, that if I am consistent and stable and strong and resilient, bold and unafraid, sensitive and aware, even these restrictions could be lifted.

I guess all this is to say that I'm not assuming she's ready to commit to me. But it seems that she is willing for me to show her my desire for her in ways I've not been allowed before.

This is amazing progress. The story is far from over, but it's a quantum leap ahead of where it was when she left for New York.

Breakthrough

For years I was terrified.

I wanted to love her. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to make her feel loved and cherished and beautiful and wonderful. But I failed, and that added so much to my depression and self-loathing.

I doubted myself. I had no self-confidence whatsoever. I considered myself a total, complete failure in every way. I was timid, shy, weak, hesitant.

I fell in love with another, and I felt like a god. I felt amazing, powerful, wonderful. And then it all collapsed in my face, and I realised I was a bigger failure than I had ever imagined.

And then I fell in love with my Lady.

I have spent the last 135 days trying to win her back. I've worked very hard, lost 50 pounds, got in shape, kicked depression, and done everything she has asked me to do.

Today I received this from her:

Come to me in strength, my loved one

Come without fear, and I will love, fearless

Come without doubt, and I will doubt not

Come in confidence and I will put my confidence in you

Come, truly loving me, or do not come at all


It is your love that makes you worthy

If you are sure of your love for me, then be sure of yourself

And come to me in strength

Oh God... have I actually won her?

She returns in three weeks...

Sold to the beautiful lady on the cordless phone

"I have a question for you," she said quietly.

"Go ahead," I replied.

"Have... have you been looking?"

I hesitated. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. Have I been looking for... something else?" I wasn't even sure what I meant, exactly.

"No," she said.

"Can you explain?"

"No."

And so we chatted on the phone for probably half an hour. It's almost become the norm while she's been in New York. At some point her friends are busy with their lives, or she needs some alone-time, and invariably she calls or emails me to call her. And we talk, like friends, almost. It's strange, and strangely wonderful.

After while: "I'm really missing you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well... needless to say I've been missing you tremendously."

"I think," she says carefully, "that we should start couples' counselling when I come back. I think I'm ready for that, now."

My heart leaps. We've talked before; if we are to ever get back together, counselling is imperative. We communicate incredibly poorly with each other, and there's a lot of past hurts and bad habits to work through. Without counselling we will never make it. Even with, it's going to be difficult.

"Okay," I say in a relieved voice. "Okay. That sounds great."

"Oh," she says, almost as an afterthought. "What were you thinking, schedule-wise, for when I come home? You know, from the airport to home."

"Well," I said. "I had a few different plans, depending on where you're at and what you want. I'm picking you up around 5 pm; that's early enough that we could just drive the four hours home. Or, you know, we could stay overnight somewhere, like we did going down. Except I think I'd maybe arrange for the kids not to come this time."

"I like the second idea. Why don't you go with that one?"

"Sold!" I replied in my best auctioneer's voice. "Sold to the beautiful lady on the cordless phone."

She Keeps Calling

She's contacted me pretty much every day since she went to New York. We chatted on the phone last night for at least twenty minutes. It was really nice.

I am starting to relax and calm down, and get back into a regular schedule. The kids are holding up well, and I've almost burnt a whole week. Three-and-a-half more to go.

Keep praying, please.

She is Gone

She left for New York on Sunday. We piled the into the car and drove three hours to the nearest airport. Had a really great time, actually.

She made a lot of very positive, off-hand comments, about enjoying my company, about how good-looking I am, about things we'll do when she returns. She held my hand often, and didn't get angry with me the whole trip. She was moderately affectionate, and allowed me to give her a pedicure/foot massage while she soaked, gloriously nude, in the tub at the hotel.

And she promised to come home again in a month, after her performance.

Meanwhile I am lonely, fighting depression. I am afraid that she will act too single while she's away. Conversely, I'm afraid she'll come back and say, "I've decided to divorce you." Or, almost worse, to stay as we are: no promises, no security, just day-by-day evaluation to see if Jack is worth being with. Jack giving everything with no hope of return. Infrequent sex, and very brief when it happens.

I try to focus on the now. I can do nothing for my relationship with the Lady now. I can only focus on the children and my own positive state of mind, my own growth.

It will be a long four weeks...

Enticed, Used, Discarded

Warning: explicit language and situations.

She looked at me with simmering eyes, burrowing into my soul. I looked away, lest the passion rise within me and I alienate her again. She has been clear; I am not permitted to want her, to desire her, to even think about desire for her.

But she caught my eye and captured my gaze. Her forehead wrinkled prettily.

“Do you like me?” she asked in a small voice.

I hardly dared to speak. “I do. Very much.”

She reached out and touched my hand, sending intense shocks through my whole being. I shivered softly with delight.

For days she continued to capture my attention, reaching out to me, flaunting her body, turning me on and then leaving again. She undressed casually before me, showing me her body and inflaming me beyond sensibility. Once she emerged from the washroom clad only in a pink G-string, and allowed me to feast my eyes on her for a long time before disappearing again.

Occasionally she even kissed me.

I so feared to respond. Mad with desire, I still knew that the wrong word, the wrong look, the wrong touch would offend her greatly. Years upon years of harsh experience have taught me this. Now even more so, merely the fact that I desire is grounds for total rejection. I can’t understand why she tempts me like this. She is my wife, but she rejects even the idea that we are married. She deliberately inflames arousal, but the inevitable wrong response results in total rejection. I live in fear, because the wrong move on my part is punished in ways that brutalise my soul.

And then she was kissing me passionately, pressing her body against me. I angled my body so that she would not feel my painful erection, but she wriggled against me --- and it --- insistently.

“Put your hand on my ass,” she breathed. I complied, and she moaned into my mouth.

She continued taking what she wanted from me, giving explicit instructions for my actions. I remained in fear; this would only continue if I did exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it, how she wanted it, whether she told me so or not.

“Let’s go downstairs and fuck,” she said.

So we did.

I suggested some lubrication; she rejected the idea. I suggested giving her oral; she rejected that too. She just wanted hard, fast, missionary-style fucking. And she wanted it now.

It was over all too soon.

I wanted to collapse beside her and hold her in my arms. She permitted it for a few minutes, but not for long. I continued to attempt to be affectionate and attentive, but she was increasingly aloof. She complained about being sore, because she was insufficiently lubricated.

The next day, she said, “I don’t want to sleep with you; I don’t want hugs or kisses; I don’t want anything. I want us to behave like just friends.”

I wrote some poetry to her; I copied out some classic love poems; I put together some romantic song lyrics. She said, “I can deal with you if you can just be friends. I can’t handle the emotional baggage.”

She’s preparing to go to New York in two weeks. She wants to act as though she were entirely single. She knows how to pick up men in the bars; she had plenty of practice while we were apart. She knows how to have one-night stands. She knows how to use people for her own gratification. She’s proud of ending her monogamous record while we were separated; she considers extramarital sex essential to her growth as a person.

I fell in love with someone when we were married. But I never did that. I just fell in love. I’ve still only had sex with one person in my life.

I have a lot to give, romantically, sexually, intellectually. But she doesn’t want it. She just wants someone to buy her things, take her for dinner, pay bills, and obey her whims and feel honoured to do so.

I hurt. She could have me, just by reaching out her hand, if she wanted me.

But she doesn’t seem to want me at all.

The reason I fell in love with the Other Woman is that she made me feel powerful and wonderful, like I could do no wrong, like a god.

My wife still makes me feel like a complete and total failure.

In six weeks she will return. I wonder if she’ll want me by then.

Pursuit

"I feel like a girl whose boyfriend keeps pressuring her for sex," she said.

It felt like a blow to the stomach. Or maybe a little lower.

She'd talked about us "living together", being "common-law". I didn't think I was "pressuring". But I'd let her know that I'm completely in love with her, that I desired her beauty. I spent time being romantic: flowers, cards, poems, little touches, little hugs and kisses. Occasionally I would make a suggestive comment, in a manner that I thought was light and playful. But apparently this wasn't welcome.

I tried to let her know my perspective. But she maintained her position. "I don't want to know you're even thinking about sex," she said firmly.

I thought to myself, That's a natural byproduct of the y chromosome, I'm afraid. There will very rarely be a time when I'm not thinking about sex. It's part of the male condition. If that were to change, that's indicative of a huge problem that needs to be resolved.

What in the world does "living together" mean, then?

"Oh. I meant as roommates, not as... you know... anything romantic," she said.

Ah. Silly me. How could I have possibly misunderstood that?

Confuzzled

Stuff is happening, dear readers... I've just been too busy to write more than fragmented notes.

Worst-case scenario, she will be leaving for New York in two weeks, and trust me, I'll be havin' tons of time to write.

Your prayers are most welcome.