Monthly Archives: August 2011

The touch

Standard

I found an outlet, theater. Just doing local theater and basically only one play that ran only at Christmas but I loved it.  I was emerging from my shell.

Hubby decided it was “OK” but it did cost us money because I was driving back and forth to rehearsals. Oh and don’t talk to him about it, he wasn’t interested so he wasn’t listening. Just like we didn’t talk about work or friends known only by one of us. At times I did listen to him talk about his work and coworkers but heaven forbid I bring up my life. Basically that left the kids and any sports I absorbed. But I didn’t like to talk to him…such negativity. It got me down. I did try to talk to him…at times. Other times we fought and I would tell him just how he was going to end up, all alone like his dad. But he decided I was either just upset or suffering from PMS when I brought up the negativity and the lack of affection.

I’m still not sure how he knew of my need for affection but a man I was working with on a theater project was standing next to me one night and he lightly touched my lower back…electricity sparked between us with just that touch. “But wait!” I thought. I admire him, like his wife (egads! he was married) and I’m married. But…this means I’m desirable, lovely, lovable. Everything I wasn’t getting from hubby. My imagination kicked in! I started planning, methodically. I wasn’t happy. I knew hubby couldn’t be happy. I know! We have a trip planned…if he loses his temper on this trip, in public, well…that’s it! I’ll be through, out!

As I planned hubby and I’s trip (he rarely helped) I began cruising the “adult only” websites, looking at what all is out there. Oh, and loosing weight. I was starting to feel good about myself, justifying my future plans. I knew what I was planning to do and I had to shut up the little voice inside my head that has tried to keep me on the straight and narrow.

I loved Paris and Nice. I cried when I saw Notre Dame and Monet’s paintings in the D’Orsay.  In Nice I loved to just sit on the rocks and watch the Mediterranean lap and crash around me.  The volcano in Iceland forced us to stay in Nice five extra days. During one of our trips to the aeroport de Nice I hit the wrong button on the laptop, hubby slammed his fist on the table in anger. That was it, the sign. I was free to go, to leave, to do what I want. My marriage is over.

Hubby didn’t know it but I already was in email contact with another man. He assured me he would have never ignored me in the City of Lights…I would have been his and he mine. I could hardly wait to get back to the states so I could quit feeling so lonely.

Once home I effectively shut up that still small voice in my head and dove head first into my first affair.

Advertisements

Bliss then apathy

Standard

Bliss! It flowed through every inch of my body. I was his and he was mine. I knew with all certainty that we would be together for the rest of our lives. I may have been only 17 and he 22, but I knew it.

The first half of my senior year of high school my man worked in the Gulf of Mexico on an oil rig. I only saw him every three to five weeks. It was torture. I sent him perfume doused letters written on yellow striped stationery (said letters were routinely passed around for sniffing). Even packed a stuffed animal in his bag earning him the nickname “Freddie bear”.  I fell into the habit of skipping class (a lot) when he was home. Still managed to keep the grades up but a couple of my teachers dropped them because of the absences. Then my daddy stepped in and threatened to not pay for our wedding if I didn’t toe the line. So toe the line I did.

The gulf job didn’t last…too much longing. He came home and settled into a job at home and looked for a place for us to live come June.

Fast forward to June…just two weeks after graduation I married the man who changed all my dreams…no Broadway, no college right after high school, no big time city and stardom but I had l.o.v.e. My parents had divorced as had Fred’s and I was determined that I would never let that happen.

So…on June 6th, 1981 I married at the ripe old age of 18.

Three months later I was pregnant.

Number one was born on June 6th 1982, our first anniversary present to each other.

Number two came in 1984.

Number three appeared in 1986.

And our omega in 1989.

I would say we were quite busy.

To top it off I was in school. Finished my nursing degree in 1991.

We had another love in our lives at this time, our church. We were there any time the doors were open. At one point we were the ones opening those doors (custodians).  We were training up our children in the way they should go…children’s quizzing, home schooling, very little TV, no movies. We were the youth pastors and I was the teen quiz coach. Hubby was so knowledgeable about the Bible, so earnest in his teachings. But at home cracks were starting to show…we argued, pulled away from each other, even took to sleeping in separate beds (because I moved so much). I saw the cracks and tried to fix them but it was like trying to use duct tape to hold a cracked priceless vase together…you know the crack is still there, the tape is only an unsightly, temporary fix for something precious, something valuable that needs to be nurtured and lovingly pieced back together before more damage is done, before it is irreparably broke.

Teens were our lives for ten years but then the church we were at showed their human side and crushed the both of us but more so hubby.  The pastor left and so did we. I often imagined we had signs around our neck that said “walking wounded”.

Lethargy overtook us. We cared less about our children, our God, ourselves, each other.

I put on weight. Felt unattractive, unlovable. But didn’t really do anything about it. Didn’t care one whit.

Ten more years passed.  Apathy deep-rooted. Every once in a while I would plead for affection, touch. Get it for a few days and then we went back to minimal touching unless, well, you know. No problem there (I made sure hubby was taken care of) but I was starving for affection, to feel lovely.

Finally…

a touch!

Just Kissess!?

Standard

My now 17 year old self was so in love! Head over heels! Drooling!

And he was such a gentleman…

We spent  HOURS sitting in his car after work just KISSING. Nothing else. Just closed mouth smooches (I had adapted after our first kiss on my front porch). Our boss accused us of  doing certain other “activities” (which I kinda expected) but like a said, he was a gentleman.

Our first date was on my 17th birthday. Eighteen days later he bought me a bracelet and had it engraved with the sentiments, “I love you”.

And we continued to kiss. Only.

But I was used to so much more.

Had been since I was 14.

Finally, one night we went back to his apartment after going out with his friends. But he WAS a gentleman. He knew how he felt so he had asked his room-mate to come home early.  He protected my reputation once again.

I loved the gentleman he was…made me feel cared for, special, lady-like.

But those kisses…they lighted a fire that melted every bit of reserve I had. And they were with a closed mouth! I knew what I wanted but would have never spoke it or even “went for it”.  I was ready for more than just kisses. I loved him and wanted to show him.

The bed beckons…

Standard

Today was a workday.  13 hours.  And I’m tired.

Love my job, the people, the challenge but…it sure can tucker me out at times.

Wonderful coworkers help.

My job involves touch. And talking. Teaching. And listening.

I think I’m pretty good at it.

But…

I…

want…

to…

go…

to…

bed…

!

Good Night

Me Oh My!

Standard

Sitting in the break room at work my 16 year old self was running her mouth, as usual. I was going to be a famous actress, Broadway mind you.  When from the table across from me the hot, older guy spoke, “Whoa, you’re talking about my hometown!”.  My dastardly plans had included returning to said town of my youth and “showing them” cause they had been “mean to my sister” and we moved because of that (not really what happened but it was all I knew back then).

That “whoa” was all I needed and I was gone.

I asked him out. Yep. For my 17th birthday. All my girlfriends assured me, “what’s the worse that can happen?” I didn’t want the worse. I wanted him.

Well, he went home, asked his room mate what he thought, said room mate offered to bail him out if need be (I was what was fondly called “jail bait” back in the day) so he said “Yes”!

I took him and one of my girlfriends to a movie. She was my protectress. Just in case. But there were no worries. Nothing happened and I mean nothing. Not even a kiss.

A week later  he asked me out to bowl with his friends. He was older than me and they were older than him but that was “OK”. I spent the evening playing with my hair and shrugging my shoulders. Trying every move I knew to get him to put his arms around me. It. Did. Not. Work. What was I? Chopped liver?

But the piece de la resistance was coming…the goodbye kiss on the front porch.

I felt his hands on my shoulders as I closed my eyes…I was getting so tingly!

He slowly lowered his mouth to mine…

and…

Bam!

Disaster struck!

My mouth was wide open, his shut.

Gomer has found her voice!

Standard

Gomer was a prostitute. She married a wonderful man then left him.

He took her back.

Over.

And

Over

Again.

I left my husband.  After sleeping with a couple of men.

He took me back.

I am not proud.

But

I

am

forgiven.

By

my

husband,

my

God

and finally

by

myself!

When first reuniting with hubby I found an abysmal lack of info on women who were the adulterous ones. Lots of guilty men. Zilch women. I so struggled with GUILT. It was my constant companion.

The “whys” I left him and went back are another post, another time, another “me”…

Ah figure next mahght be a good time to introduce mahself.

Gomer