Ah, the boyfriend; strong, passionate, compassionate , attentive, gentle, and sexy. Well, at least one day out of the year. The rest of the time? Jobless, penniless, angry, addicted to video game (yes, one), cigarettes, marijuana, beer, and porn.
We’ve always been the extremely passionate, lovey dovey couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and who felt no one in the world ever knew them better. Perhaps always isn’t the right choice of word, but that’s how it felt until this past year. It would seem something came up lacking.
This last chapter in our relationship involves a little background knowledge. I have known for quite some time that he is attracted to… well, certain accessories the powers that be never granted me; my legs cross without anything getting in the way, if you catch my drift. I am well aware of this fact because of my own insanity. He has been known to lie to me about the most obscure and irrelevant occurrences, which, naturally leads me to snoop beyond the normal limitations. I’m not proud of it by any means, but I rationalize it by telling myself if he's lying about THAT what bigger skeletons are hiding in that boys' closet? I have been known to look through his phone, computer, emails, pockets, etc. Psycho, right? The thing that drives me is that I ALWAYS find something displeasing. Sometimes it’s as harmless as a rude text message to his best friend, other times a lot worse.
A few months ago, riffling through his phone, as I do, I found a string of unsettling text messages. I’ll spare the details, but the gist of them were a meeting of the sexual kind between him and No-Name-Number, including condom checks and comments like “she would kill us if she knew what we were doing” She, of course, being me. Outraged I called the number, wouldn’t you? No-Name-Number didn’t answer, but the voicemail of Michael did. After several weeks of fighting, lies and calling Michael as well as my boyfriend, it was disclosed; at least to the best of my knowledge. They met on the devil site, Craigslist, and within an hour, took it to our bed. My boyfriend claims he couldn’t go through with it, and opted to watch Michael pleasure his well blessed accessories (on my bed). My boyfriend also claimed curiosity killed the cat (I'm assuming here the "cat" was his homosexual fantasies) and he didn’t have any feelings towards men, transvestites, penises in general, after that.
I believed him for at least a month. We didn’t fight and we were back to being disgustingly affectionate. When we did have an argument it was over the fact that I wanted a cat but we couldn’t because of his dogs or about what to cook for dinner and it never escaladed into a yelling match. Actually, it was more like foreplay in the way we prefixed everything with baby and said it in voices normally suited for talking to an infant.
Then, I noticed the abrupt decline in our sexual life. I know this to be a sign of something amiss. I once again donned my psycho girlfriend hat and went in search of wrongdoings. That boy of mine always delivers. The internet porn activity on his computer didn’t have a vagina in sight. So much for the dead cat, which of course, is a horribly disturbing image, forget I said it. I wasn’t surprised and I wasn’t mad. I think most of me just felt like a fool. I had trusted him again… and again, I got burned. I rationalized that it was only porn, a liberty I feel is allowed in an exclusive relationship, and chalked it up to my submissive nature in the bedroom in need of changing. I became more aggressive, holding the reins, if you will, in our sex life. I felt good, empowered, but it lapsed back into our normal routine after a couple of months.
Over this past weekend, I noticed a webcam advertisement pop-up on his computer; and then another one, and another. My first thought was it must be a virus he contracted. Then, I thought about the fact that he’s been spending all of his time in front of his computer playing his game lately and we hadn’t had sex in awhile. I decided to let the psycho back out for her routine digging. The boys record is flawless. This time, he answered yet another craigslist posting. This one was for some webcam play time with a transvestite. He also created a profile on a webcam scam website, hence the pop-ups. With some probing (pardon the pun) I got the truth out of him, sort of. He admitted to contacting a girl (does that qualify?) and he claims it was harmless because “she” never responded. I fought it for a while, but considering he was drunk, and the conversation wasn’t exactly linear, and I threw in the towel.
So there it is, in a nutshell. Why don’t I leave the bastard before the viruses are no longer attached to only his computer but perhaps to my genitals and my very soul? I suppose it’s because I’m a pushover, one. Two, I am no saint myself. Our very relationship started while I was in another long-term relationship (which, ended in the unthinkable, I left the steady for the other man, turns out it does happen occasionally, Sally) and three, I am crazy about him. I don’t consider myself to ever have low self-esteem, save public speaking, or even to have “daddy issues” but here I am, in a relationship I’d peg as destructive to any one of my girlfriends in the same boat. I suppose love makes us blind, stupid even. I know if he asked me to marry him, I’d probably say yes. I don’t want to be a beard and I don’t want to set woman’s rights back a hundred years by smiling and hiding it like a good little housewife but there is some supernatural force willing me to stay put. As hard as I try to struggle from its grasp, I can’t. Is it love that holds me here? Lust? Fear? Devotion? I don’t know. I’m hoping the stars will align and it will all become clear. When that day finally comes, I’m buying a cat, perferably alive.