This evening, I was fortunate enough to be ‘followed’ by a man with a most fascinating blog. He writes so beautifully of the pain of the betrayal he’s suffered…so poignantly…that it makes me cry. More than that, it causes me to feel as though, possibly, all men may not be horrible cock monkeys.
I had to stop reading his blog because I’m sitting here, mind racing, wondering if it might be true…that men hurt, too. And that they hurt in a real way. Because that has not been my experience. Exish cheated on me before our first anniversary and continued until I left him. I’m not sure if he’s seen anyone since I’ve been back. I doubt it. I think that being separated…having my permission, as it were…leaves him with a void. He no longer derives the same pleasure from fucking one whorish bitch after another as he once did.
One thing about Exish is that he always made certain that I’d find out about his indiscretions. I was never one to snoop around in his personal things, and he knew that. However, it seemed to cause him a great deal of satisfaction when I’d find out about things. He’d do things like leaving notes from his conquests on the bathroom vanity, or on the coffee table. He’d leave emails open so that, when I’d hit the space bar, the email was right in front of me. The last one I read was the one that hurt more than any other note or word or action up to that point. The woman he had been seeing had just found out that he was married. She was writing to tell him that she wanted to end things before I found out…that she had no desire to cause me pain. His reply to her was that it would be over when he said it was over. She did not disagree. I suppose all that sentiment was to soothe herself. Figures…
I wish that I could seek understanding of the goings on in my married life in the way that this man does his own. I think that I just became so numb to it that it stopped hurting a long time ago. I never took the sex personally. I knew that had nothing to do with me. But the few times when it grew beyond sex…dear God…there are no words known to man that can describe that. You feel skinless…provoked…trapped and angry and, somewhere inside, you totally lose your footing as you plummet into a sorrow that your brain cannot fathom.