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Counselling demands a preliminary conversation on why such therapy is necessary.
But after about a month he said he was falling in love with me and it was affecting his relationship with his wife, and so he had to end things. “Did you never think about the type of person he must be? It was a thousand times more intense than with the other guy. He said, ‘I want you to kiss me.’ I went over to him and kissed him. And all that stuff—I don’t know what it’s called—was falling down and was in my hair and all over my shirt, and he was brushing it from my face and laughing. If an illicit affair stretches on, will it inevitably become as banal as marriage?
I will not show her my knee-jerk resistance to this tale of adultery that offers no apology. “Tell me about your marriage before you say anything of the affairs.” “I married at 19. Older men would approach me and I was so naive, I didn’t know what was going on. It was love at first sight, but I realize now I was looking for someone to love me. So, I don’t think we should share a room anymore.’ He turned and left. He was in the hospital once for appendicitis and was in a lot of pain. “I agreed to meet him in Portland for two days,” continued Laura.
He was very attractive, and at 22 he already had a good job. It hadn’t been acceptable that I’d move out on my own; I think my parents were relieved that someone was going to take care of me. He never said anything, and we never talked about it.” “Nothing? I wanted him to know that I really cared about him, so I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. That was the last time we touched.” “How can you function within the house or when you have friends over? “I told my husband I was going on a shopping trip to Toronto.
She seems to live in a vacuum—not once giving voice to the clamouring problems of what any of this means in the outside world. “I’m afraid of abandoning my children and their idea of what a family should be.” For a moment I am stunned into silence. Her children must know only too well that this shared isolation is not a family. I have so many divorced friends and they all seem miserable. The betrayal is no longer important to me, except as a catalyst for an understanding of self, a move into a better life.
I know you have to hold the other person’s feelings in your mind.
Friends dreamt of bridal gowns and sugared almonds and happily-ever-after; I desired a garret and its resident poet. The second night we went out for dinner but didn’t do anything. We continued to write, and I was hoping that we’d still be able to get together once in a while. ” “He’d been married less than two years, Laura,” I said. “I went back to the chat room because I liked the interaction and the flirting. Matthew was divorced, a successful lawyer in Florida. I opened up a post office box so he could send me real letters and photos—his dog, his kids, house, car, friends. “We drove home through the back roads and passed alongside a cornfield. I said I’d love to walk through that, and he stopped the car and we walked through this tall, tall corn. I recall her comment on how good premarital sex had been, how the taboo of it heightened the thrill, how the thrill dissipated within convention.
“Then seven years ago my father died, only a short time after the death of my mother. I remember him patting me on the back, telling me it would all be fine. A little after that he was ill and we slept apart for a week or so. It was as if a switch had been turned on all of a sudden. And I hadn’t even slept with a man.” I remember my own first relationship after divorce, rediscovering the pleasures of lust and femininity—things that had imperceptibly seeped away year by year.
I seem to think if you don’t talk about something, it doesn’t really exist. I know what it is to live with another human being and yet remain completely alone, to be immersed in mind-numbing predictability. So, the loneliness remains, highlighting the vacant, nondescript apathetic days. I went online to chat rooms, not really wanting anything except connection. We chatted for a long time, and there’d been some telephone calls with sex talk. In his picture he wasn’t very good-looking, kind of geeky. I was attracted to all the attention he was paying me, and by then I was more in touch with my body than ever before.
Ben left that bedroom so easily; he was relieved to return to his sanctuary. And as there have been no real conversations since…well, you see the problem? I met a man online, married, living in the southern states.