Sunday, December 14, 2008

The Glitch

In this narrative of my wife’s hotwife transformation if you have followed this blog from the beginning you know that over the years she has been a housewife, a mother, a Sunday School teacher, a cheater. When we got into the lifestyle her third black guy got into her head and she entertained him in our home, in my bed (and in every room in our house) for a weekend—naturally without my knowledge or consent, without the benefit of condoms.

So I knew she had within her the ability to cheat, and the ability to look me straight in the eye and tell me she loved me and then lie like a dog. Not being a complete idiot (although that can be debated at times) I have long since stopped believing in an odd coincidence when things accidentally happen that should arouse suspicion.

I was answering the phone in her home office one day and hear the chime of a cell phone beep, as if a text message had arrived. She wasn’t there and had her cell phone with her, so I did a search and could find nothing. I dismissed it.

So it was with a bit of a shock that I was looking for some extra paper to the printer, went into her computer area, looked down to a bottom shelf and discovered a cell phone charger. It was to a Nokia phone—and we do not have Nokia phone, as I had bought her an LG just like mine because she liked mine.

I checked on the cord periodically and it didn’t change. I even placed the wire over the other in a recognizable pattern to see if it was used, and a few days later checked it and it had not. So I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.

A few weeks later we were on a long car trip that required overnighting en rough, and we had work to do and she asked me to plug up her laptop. I went into her backpack, looking for the powercord, and there was a Nokia phone charger cord. I looked at it a little too long, and she paused and said, “Oh, that’s just an old cord, I don’t know why that’s in there.”

I knew what it was, but then again I wasn’t certain. The deciding factor would be if the phone cord was missing at her computer station when I got home. And she was staying with friends for a few days and flying home, so I would be there a few days ahead of her.

So when I got home after a two day drive, before I did anything else, I went straight to her computer area, looked where the cord had been, and it was missing. I actually became nauseous. I spent the night figuring out what to do—and I had a few days to get it put together. My first thought was to have vehicle we have paid off, with the camper on it, and her clothes loaded in it when she arrived, have the locks changed, and just hand her the keys and wish her a good life

I went so far as to go to U-Haul and buy the wardrobe boxes, and went to my lawyer, told him the entire deal, and he advised to wait, give her the choice to give up the lifestyle and never transgress again. “A divorce is always messy—and expensive,” he advised. I knew I was too emotional to make a lucid decision so I followed his advice.

She picked up on my mental state without me saying anything, and when I picked her up she was aggressive. That is always her best defense, and it worked again. I had decided to take her stuff and dump it in the living room floor and go through it until I found the damn phone, but her attack derailed me. . “What’s going on—you’ve been weird all week, and if you don’t spit it out I’m not going home.” I told her about the phone, and she pulled it off, swearing that it was an old cord, she thought it went to her ipod and she had taken it by mistake, and had given it to one of our friends who had a Nokia phone while she was gone.

I believed. So you don’t leave if you believe the story do you? Never mind that I had convinced myself what I would do, how the emotional had worn down, how I lost a little more of love, respect, a little less marriage, a little less bond holding us together. But it was all a big mistake, due to my overactive imagination—and later I realized due to my very active and correct GUT.

I was going to take a shower but I don’t. I’m trembling. (Not shaking—trembling). I guess it happens when your whole life shatters right before your eyes. I went straight to her, ordered her to hang up the phone, and held the phone out.

“What is this?”

“You know what it is.”

“What’s going on?”

“The answer is right there in your hands,” she said. She was still talking to the guy she had come to our home when I was away.

She was belligerent right up until the moment I told her to get some of her clothes and get the hell out. She refused. She got shakier when I explain that I’ve already talked to our attorney, and that the boxes outside are for her clothes.

She asks if I’m willing to throw away 25 years over this. “Yes.” I answer.

She tells me she has no money, no where to go. “You should have thought about that before you did it.” I respond.

Then she gets weepy, cries, tells me she loves me, says she will make it up to me, and tries (for three days). Her idea of making it up is to keep things as they are.

I kept the phone with me. I had a few choice words to say when he would call. But he didn’t call. She tells me later, “But I didn’t see him again, I only talked to him.”

“Behind my back.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done it.”

When I asked why he hadn’t called she said they had agreed that if she went three days without contacting him to not call anymore, that something had happened (like I had found the phone).

So where does that leave us? I’m pretty cold. We revisit the occurrence from time to time—and it ends with an invitation for her to go now if she doesn’t want to stay that I no longer care. I can take it or leave it.

I do love her, I do not want her to go, but it is a love that was at total infatuation, to unconditional love, to accepting the fact that she might go and fighting to keep her, to adjusting to the fact that I might have to live without her, to where I am today. I still have love, but it is far much less than it was. It is a realization that there are no more “another chances”. One more transgression will mean that we split. I won’t live with someone I can’t trust.

As I got into things I discovered that her lover/phone friend had told her a few days earlier that he was moving in with another woman--and her one response and defense is that it was only conversation. She described how he and we were in the same town on a trip, and he was begging her to meet him and she wouldn't without me there.

I was once told by a psychologist that we cannot control other people or what they do--we can only control our reaction to what they do. And in this case the decision has been made. She behaves herself or I'm gone. She'll have to play her deceit and lying games on someone else.

This happened a several months ago--and we have resumed playing with the understanding that the limit has been reached--and in the meantime we're enjoying it, and seem to have survived what had better be the last dishonest thing that happens related to this lifestyle, if our marriage continues.

Sorry for the downer tone of this post--but this is our real journey--not fantasy.


rb said...

Greetings...I just came across your blog and appreciate your candor. I am living a cuck life now, in fact it has started recently and while my Wife has not cheated on me She has at times been less than honest, so we worked through that. I write abt our journey with candor too at and i am going to link to your blog. thanks for sharing.

corkscrewlegend said...

great page....

MikeCindynJoe said...

I was trembling too, just from reading about that horrible, sinking, desolate feeling that consumes you when you learn that words like "faith" and "trust" mean nothing any longer and your world is changed.

I had my heart broken once a long time ago (before I met Cindy). I say "once", because like losing an arm or a leg, you can't lose that arm or leg again... so my heart cannot hurt like it once did, thank goodness. It resides in a safer place now, unable to risk coming undone again as I fear I would not recover. But my love is safe, and even if I were to learn I am wrong, I could not be as devastated as I was the first time... it's simply not possible.

So sorry to learn of your heartache and hope you can recover. Unfortunately, "Faith is most needed when you have the least of it." Sigh...

I'll follow your progress.


Anonymous said...

Holy frickin' crap guy I do appreciate your candor as well. Although my wife and I have been married for almost 25 years and have talked a lot for sex spicing we haven't ever done anything about it. Once when I first found out my shy little introverted wife was really a firecracker horn dog (as I suspect most women are since it appears to be part of their entire makeup,) she was hit on by a young man during our little fighting/learning marathon and although I had encouraged her to go f*ck some other guy to see if that's what she really wanted when I found out about it I went down there and told him flat out that although I don't blame him if he continued to pursue her we would be fighting and that put an end to that. She was furious that he refused to contact her after that and to this day maintains that she has NEVER done ANYTHING sexual with ANYONE outside of our marriage.

But the truth is, I don't fucking believe that. God damn if you don't catch them red handed you'll never fucking find out.

So yeah I understand how you're getting off on all of this and it's a good thing you're older with a family history or else you probably would have never stayed together. And I get the interracial thing too, I liken it to the same old rituals of past days when certain times of the year would find men and women wearing masks and gangbanging the women who clearly can take a lot more than one single dude, especially during ovulation cycles. Or like the same rituals enacted in "Eyes Wide Shut". The idea being to eliminate the personality from the equation and just get down to the oldest urges, fucking as sexual objects. I think the interracial thing makes it that much easier for men to objectify the other man as an object. But then women aren't like that entirely are they? They get emotional and start bonding sometimes. This story you've been writing, holy fucking cow was exactly what I was hoping to read because it frankly scares the bejebus out of me. It's the dishonesty that hurts the most, but also I'm curious about how she really feels about you and sex at this point. She'd probably leave you in a heartbeat if she meat a bbc with money and needed a wife. That would not make you feel good. But then again, you'd finally be free of this dishonest witch who has had you under her love juice spell for so long that you no longer know what the fuck you feel and truth be told, you may just be FUCKING RELIEVED IN THE END WHEN SHE'S GONE. You know yourself that's a real possibility, it just comes down to what you replace this life with, what do you have to look forward to other than another bullshit relationship. And that my friend, is why, IMO, the fiery ring of marriage IS UNNATURAL AND FUCKED UP FOR US GUYS.

I'm going to get some popcorn and waiting anxiously for season II.

D. J. said...

Had to comment, not sure if you read comments months/years after the post. But here goes. I want to complement you on your righting. The highest praise a story teller can get is to find out your story evoked emotions from your reader. You have met that goal. The posts regarding dishonesty have brought a lot of the pain when I caught my wife in her lies about past lovers. I survived it and from where I am in your story sounds like you have to. again many kudos on your writing. P.S. My wife switched from texts and calling to email, then from email to private messages on her face book. The last one I can not seem to be able to monitor and she can have them forwarded to her phone with no trace.