It’s summer.
What a beautiful time of year.
You can shed your clothing, your shoes and your bitterness and worship the sun for three short months. Everything smells good and you wake up to chirping birds. It just puts you in a good mood.
I don’t care if my body isn’t perfect, I let the sun hit every part of it just like a skinny girl would. Round shoulders look just as beautiful when they are bronze. I wear sundresses and flowers in my hair and drive to work blasting Elton John’s “Island Girl.”
Sometimes, I skip the bra.
It’s probably a good thing I live in a rural area.
I’m in full blown peri-menopause, and I am only 48 years old.
I bleed for more than a week, and when I menstruate my bathroom looks like the floor of an operating room. I’m still horny as hell though, and when I have my period, I get bitchy because I cannot masturbate. I bleed so badly that the spasmic contractions of orgasm make the whole thing worse, and I almost bled to death last time I flogged myself mid period.
Won’t make that mistake again.
I’m celibate. I do not have sex with my husband and I haven’t had sex with the Fox in well over a year and a half. When I first suspected him of cheating, I quit having sex with him. We still had mutual orgasms, but no penetration. I made sure of that, because I did not feel as close to him as I once did, and I was not willing to trust my sexual health to him.
Without trust, fear takes over. Nothing brings about self preservation faster than absolute betrayal of trust. We go into fight or flight mode, and nothing matters but our own survival. We gotta shut down to survive the pain. The pain of betrayal runs deep. It’s that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, like a giant backhand to your cerebellum. It’s that feeling right before the roller coaster starts “chink, chink, chinking” up the hill to nowhere, dragging you into the clouds and plunging you over the top until your ass leaves the safety of the fiberglass seat on the sled to Hell.
O.k, so that’s a bit dramatic. But, it’s true, and every chick knows what I’m talking about, whether it happened in the fifth grade or at the age of 40. It’s that moment when you realize that you ain’t as important as you thought you were and that you’re replaceable. That you were not what you thought you were to someone else and worse, you still want to be. It’s when you are hit hard with the fact that there is someone prettier or more interesting or just plain different from YOU…and that YOUR special someone was not satisfied with you, so they went out looking for better.
It’s like watching someone die and you weren’t expecting it.
It’s that moment that you realize that life will never be what you wanted it to be, and that it may never be more than what it is at that very moment right then.
What the hell do you do now?
You evaluate the situation and you realize that some things can’t be replaced. Some people ARE irreplaceable, and worth the ups and the downs, the good and the bad. You realize that the thought of someone else loving YOUR person is a horrible thought indeed, and you rush to make things right again. I don’t feel angry, because I pulled away from the Fox and I was not doing anything to maintain the relationship. I do feel hurt, and that is different from anger.
I can forgive. I can forget. I can move on. I believe that is because my love is true. In the spirit of moving on, you do not rub the person’s face in their transgression. You truly forgive, because we are all human. And we all need to be loved. You truly forgive, because you were part of the reason and it takes two people to fail in love and nothing is ever ONE person’s fault. .
In many ways, I am more true to this affair than I am in my real marriage.
Maybe in every way.
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