This is Not How I Wanted to Get “Famous”

In the summer of 2006, after a series of unfortunate events including a miscarriage, losing my job, and a freaking hailstorm, I decided to try out a new coping mechanism, baking.   I wasn’t ready emotionally or physically to try to find a new job yet, but I had to get off the couch and be productive.  At first, it was making this delicate Italian butter cream icing with egg white meringue and butter. Because I was forever on a quest to lose weight, I decided that perfecting cake icing was not the best use of my time and effort. I then decided to try my hand at low-glycemic index and gluten free muffin recipes. This was before gluten-free was really a trend. I was ahead of my time. The best recipe I had as a gluten-free lemon/blueberry muffin which was surprisingly light, fluffy, and only had 180 calories.

Why couldn't I be famous for this?

Why couldn’t I be famous for this?

Muffins. Healthy, reasonably nutritious muffins. That is what I wanted to be famous for. Muffins were not to be my destiny.

At Least I’m the Number One Google Search for Something

I am the number one Google search for “Is my husband gay.” If you type that in a Google search, you land on “12 Signs I Ignored My Husband Was Way 5-12.” You know, being top Google search for anything is pretty great, right? It was an article I wrote five years ago. It got featured on the “Huffington Post” a couple of times and “Blogher” actually paid me for a similar article. Great. My most notable literary achievement and I cannot even tell my parents let alone discuss at dinner parties. Its not that I am ashamed, it is just not “polite” because it is about sex, divorce, and heartache. Hardly something you want to bring up right before you ask “please pass the mashed potatoes” to your Great Aunt Edna.

You did what? I thought "doggie style" was just what those perverts at HBO dreamed up for "Game of Thrones" to do in between all the beheadings.

You did what? I thought “doggie style” was just what those perverts at HBO dreamed up for “Game of Thrones” to do in between all the beheadings.

So here I am. I am the patron saints of broken hearts. By the way, I looked it up. There is no specific patron saint of broken hearts in the Catholic cannon. Weird, huh?

What I’ve Learned Through Google Analytics

I read the Google Analytics. I see that most people find while Googling variations on the theme “How Can I Tell my Husband is Gay.” They read from the “Gay Ex-Husband” theme in little else. Apparently no one cares about my dating or dieting struggles. My site is Googled often in the middle of the night (from 11 pm to 3 am) by mostly women aged 30-45 from across the United States, Canada, Australia, and other English speaking countries. I get emails from my “contact page” almost daily with women telling an all too familiar story:

My husband doesn’t touch me
My husband tells me I’m crazy
My husband criticizes me for my appearance/weight
My husband thinks I’m a nympho for wanting sex “all the time” (which is probably once or twice a month. A woman will only be turned down so often before she stops trying)
My husband tells me I’m crazy/depressed
No one believes me or my friends and family thinks he is gay, but I don’t know what to do.
I found porn, other guys hitting on my husband, he denies it or comes up with an excuse.
The overwhelming theme of these emails are:
I feel used
I feel ashamed
I feel stupid
I don’t know who to trust, not even myself.

My answer is often:
I feel your pain
You’re not alone
You’re not stupid
Are you ready for the truth?
Are you safe?
Do you have a plan if you have to leave?
Are you happy?

The REAL Question

Are you happy?  That is the biggest question. The question is not whether or not your husband is gay, its what are you going to do about it if he is? Your happiness, your sanity, your SAFETY is more important than whether or not he admits to being gay. He may never admit to it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you feel lonely and unsafe in a loveless marriage.

I do not have the answers. All I have is my story, and it is a cautionary tale at best.

But let me tell you, if you read the rest of this blog you will see I do have a happy ending. I did leave my husband, I made my own way in the world with little help from friends or family, I found love again. I forgave him… kind of…. I’m still angry with him lying to me and wasting my time. I have forgiven him enough that it doesn’t haunt me. I have forgiven him enough that I don’t hate all gay people, far from it. I admire those who live their truth. I am working on understanding. Forgiveness is like breaking a habit, you have to practice it everyday, often without being asked.

My Fate Might Be Your Salvation, or God Works in Mysterious Ways

So this is my “fate.” I was reading in some of my journals from my early twenties how I wanted to be a writer and I prayed for something “interesting” to happen to me so I would have something to write about. And I thought God doesn’t answer prayers.

Maybe I am an answer to someone else’s prayers. Maybe some of you stumbled upon this blog searching your phone in the dark after another sleepless, sexless night. Maybe you typed in the tale-tale search through blinding tears. You know the truth in your heart and you just have to have your brain confirm it. Maybe you needed to hear it from someone else. Someone who teeters on the edge between courage and stupidity to put her life open to the world. Rest assured, “Charlotte Jay” is not my real name. I would hate for employers to Google my name and find out that I have so much insight into “doggie style.” God forbid my family to find out that I am an authority on such things.

I hope, dear readers, that my story gives you some comfort, some insight, a way out. Feel free to email me at if you wish. I do not make phone calls for obvious reasons.

I believe you.

Believe in yourself.


happy ending 2

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No Sham Marriage

Why it so hard to believe that I was married for twelve years?  Is it because I looks so much younger?  God, I hope so.  Is it because twelve years of marriage did not produce a single alimony check or child support payment?  Is it because I do not give off the vibe of a bitter mid-30’s divorce’ but that of a wild, sexy single woman still trying to sow some wild oats? Maybe.

On Cheating and Sex

No one believes that neither of us cheated on one another.  Maybe not until the end when we agreed on some fucked up “open marriage” thing that didn’t work out too well.  Hell, we were having sex more often than relatively content couples up until three weeks until we got divorced.  If I knew that was going to be last time we had sex, let alone the last time he was going to have sex with a woman, I sure as hell would have tried harder.

Not that the sex was ever bad.  It wasn’t.  I mean, it got as routine and predictable as any other couple’s sex life can get when you have been together with someone for more than a decade.  I knew all his moves and he knew mine.  But they were good moves.  Like going to your favorite diner where you know the menu front and back, but you like everything that is served.

Don’t read this with that look on your face.  I know what you are thinking.  You think he was faking it the whole time.  He was lying there with a hard on just to be polite while he was really thinking about George Clooney.  Okay, so we were both fantasizing about George Clooney, but that is not the point. It really was pretty okay sex. In another post, I will have to write about what it is like being made to as a person instead of as a woman.  There is a difference I hope no straight woman has to learn.

sexy george clooney


His and Her Communities

It is not a “consensus” of his community because I hesitate to presume that one community has the same perspective on things, but a majority of his community thinks our marriage was a sham.  That’s okay, many in my straight community believe the same thing.  His gay brothers think I was his “heterosexual experiment” of trying to be straight to a sympathetic, nice girl who didn’t know any better.  My community thinks that I was duped by a charming, smooth talking, cowardly closet gay man that was using me as a cover or a “beard.’  I hate that term.  It is insulting to all parties. I was no beard.  I was his wife.  His partner.  For many years we were “Team (our last name)”.  I loved being on that team.  We made decisions together and we supported each other.  Even now, he supports this writing project and hopes I make it big, but does not want to read any and wants me to keep his name and likeness out of it.  I can respect that.

The “Other Woman” was a Man

It is not just his homosexuality that ruined our marriage.  He was also a cowardly, selfish prick.  He pursued his career with vigor, traveling a lot, and I even helped him with his MBA. Sure, I got to travel with him some those first few years, and that was exciting.  Towards the end, however, he kept distancing himself from me more and more.  And the last years he played a lot of role playing games (Dungeons and Dragons) and going out with “friends” without me.  One of his D and D friends became his husband.  And yes, that does bother me.  It bothers me a lot.  We have known that man for more than ten years and I thought he and I were friends.   I feel betrayed by my husband and my friend.  I cannot accurately describe how hurt and betrayed I feel at the same time I feel like I don’t have the right to be because he is just “fulfilling his nature.”  Why couldn’t he fulfill his nature and never marry me in the first place?  My “friends” (who no longer speak to me) also told me that I should be happy he is with a friend.  Fuck that shit!  I’d much rather he be with someone I didn’t know than a friend who has been on the scene ten years of our twelve year marriage.  Did I mention the boy was only seventeen when he first met my husband who was twenty-seven and married at the time?  The boy was a gentleman and did not make a move on my husband (to my knowledge) until I was out of the picture.    He does have the decency to be allowed to be snubbed like the “the other woman” like only a “first wife” can.  I still have dibs.

Come at me, Bro

Come at me, Bro


What was Good: Shopping and Superheroes

That being said, our marriage was no sham.  We loved each other.  We loved each other in a unique way that no one else but he and I will ever understand.  He was probably bisexual in his twenties and thirties.  According to the Kinsey scale, one’s sexuality can be in the middle as well as shift through the based on life experience.  Nothing is black and white and no one is 100% gay or straight.

We had joint checking accounts.  He had some accounts I didn’t know about and how we spent and handled money, although it might not have been a crime, it certainly was a sin.  We shopped in bulk at Costco, went to the movies religiously and largely had the same taste in movies.  He really turned me onto super hero movies as I helped him appreciate small budget independent films.  He was great to go with clothes shopping.  Sure, that is a bit of a stereo-type, but he was great at helping me pick out clothes and he had a greater knowledge of style and appreciation of my body than I ever did.  I was never embarrassed of my body when I was with him.  My passion in bed and my hunger for sex embarrassed and challenged him towards the end, but when he loved me…..

I say that too much… “When he loved me” because there was definitely a time when he did and definitely a time when he stopped.  Guess what, I’ve stopped loving him too.  Now that I see what he put me through.  Now that I see what good love actually looks like and feels like…fuck him for keeping me from that.   I never made him stay with me.  I set him free at great personal cost, and honestly, I think we are both better for it.

He says I was the love of his life, it was just the first part of his life.   I too thought I had lost the love of my life, only at the time I had not yet realized I was a cat.

Best quote in his explaining how he is not a “gold star” gay man, because he did love a woman.  And for a time, he loved that woman completely and unabashedly.  To quote him, “Some of my gay friends don’t understand what it is to like to have sex with a vagina let alone to be dazzled by one.”  I don’t care who you are, it is flattering when a man says he is dazzled by your pussy especially if he has lost his liking for women altogether.  But you know how I know he’s gay?  He used the word “dazzled.”

An artist rendition of my gay ex-husband's perception of my pussy.

An artist rendition of my gay ex-husband’s perception of my vagina.

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What Now? – What to do if you have discovered your spouse is gay and you think you might have to leave.

Let me be very clear. This is not legal advice. If you do feel an impending divorce, get a lawyer, get some cash, and get a friend or family member you can stay with in case you have to leave that day. If it is not an emergency where you or your children are in danger, consider the following as tips from someone who has been there and left that.


1. Are you safe? Sometimes a person who has latent or repressed homosexuality can have a lot of self hate behind that and can act out violently towards you or others. Sometimes domestic violence can have other triggers such as aggression, anger issues, financial troubles, a mental illness, the list goes on. If there are tendencies towards violence, being confronted about their sexuality could be a big trigger. If you are thinking of leaving, and are ready to leave, get your bags packed and ready to go. There is a strong possibility that you may no longer be welcome in his home, let alone safe there. Call a friend, a family member, or even a shelter if you need to. Tell someone first. They may not believe you, but that is not the priority. Your safety is the first priority.

You can make your own way.

You can make your own way.


Money and Finances

2. Get your own bank account in your name only. I suggest getting an individualized bank account in your name at the same bank so you can get your own online login profile to track joint account transactions. Read more about individualized bank accounts here.


3. Get your own credit card in your name and authorized users are for suckers
Getting your own credit card in your name is the best way to improve your credit score. If you are planning to get divorced, and if you don’t have your own card yet, do so before you divorce so you can still claim his income. Credit worthiness is based on household income so even if you haven’t gotten your own income yet, you can get a card. They will ask if you want to have an “authorized user” on your card, say “no.” More about getting a credit card and about authorized users here.


4. If you don’t already get your own income, get a job. Even if it is just a little part time job at Starbucks or working after school day care at your kids’ school, get any kind of income that is yours.  I will write more about how getting my own job can lead to independence and eventually leaving soon.

Even if you feel like this, its something. Besides, free lattes!

Even if you feel like this, its something. Besides, free lattes will help dealing with all the bullshit you are about to face.

5. Get a lawyer, get a lawyer, get a lawyer. No seriously, get a lawyer. I just got a “mediator” because I was stupid, ashamed, in a hurry, and worst of all, still in love. One tends to make horrible decisions in a divorce when you are still in love. Protect yourself.


6. If you have children: I have no idea. We had money, debt (lots of debt, as it turned out) and some property I didn’t mind walking away from but we had no children. Our divorce only took about three months because no one contested anything and when I say “no one”, I mean me. I was scared of the debt and scared of why we were divorcing would get out. I was still so afraid and ashamed.

Its 2016 and the sexual preference of a parent is probably not that big of a factor in custody that it used to be and it would be a sad state if it were. You can be angry at your spouse all you want, but don’t put your kids through that. They will have enough to deal with that they might not need to know the inner workings of your bedroom. Get a lawyer for you and a counselor for them. You should probably see a counselor too. You are going to have a lot to sort out and you will need a professional.


7. Get someone who is not in the “inner circle” of your marriage who believes you and will put you up for a night or two if things get dicey. This person may not be your “couple friends” or even your family. Don’t go inviting random coworkers, your boss, or even your friend at church to your drama. You have probably been living in the “Twilight Zone” of lies for so long, you may not know who to trust. Maybe this would be a good time to make sure you have enough credit on that credit card you got to stay in a hotel if you need too. If you are concerned about violence, you might want to familiarize yourself with local shelters just in case.

8. Get tested. No really, this is a good time to have a full screen of STIs and an AIDS test. You don’t know where he’s been, you just don’t. Especially when they are on the “Down Low” or just hiding it from you, if there are just spur of the moment hookups or well orchestrated affairs, how do you know that he is using protection? You don’t. Besides, finding condoms in his car is a great way to get caught so he may not be being safe. Be safe. Besides, if you are planning to get out there again, you want to know that you are safe for future partners, because, Baby, you deserve a nice clean fuck more than anyone.
These are just a few things you should consider if you think you may be leaving the marriage, or you think your spouse wants to leave you. You don’t have to have a suitcase waiting in the hall closet, but you know when the end is near. When the end is near, you need to be prepared.
Here are a few more resources:

Where you can find a woman’s shelter by your zipcode 

Divorce and 401K


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What Now? Credit Cards and Authorized Users

Get Your Own Credit Card in Your Name

Your one step closer.  Proceed with caution.

Your one step closer. Proceed with caution.

Getting your own credit card in your name is the best way to improve your credit score. If you are planning to get divorced, and if you don’t have your own card yet, do so before you divorce so you can still claim his income. Credit worthiness is based on household income so even if you haven’t gotten your own income yet, you can get a card. They will ask if you want to have an “authorized user” on your card, say “no.” Even if you are basing it on the “household income” and not your own, you are under no obligation to get your spouse as a joint account holder or an authorized user (This depends on the type of card you get, of course. Be sure to read the fine print.)

Here are some links for new cards.   I am not recommending them and I get nothing to endorse them.

New Cars for New Users

How to build credit with a credit card 

Authorized Users are for Suckers!

"Why did I let him be an authorized user on my credit card?  I thought I could trust him.  I let him do butt stuff."

“Why did I let him be an authorized user on my credit card? I thought I could trust him. I let him do butt stuff.”

More about Authorized Users: An authorized user means they can use the card, i.e. run up the debt, and yet have no obligation to it.  I made one of the worst financial mistakes of my life adding my ex-husband as an authorized user. I had one of those little introductory cards you get in college that you charge pizza on or plane tickets for spring break and then you pay it off with your part-time job at the dorms. Yeah, well, my ex had some money problems when we first met and was in a consolidation loan. Because of the loan, he couldn’t get a credit card so once we married I added him on as an authorized user. He handled all the finances, and all the mail, skip ahead twelve years, and that spells disaster.  Financing a lie as big as his is expensive. I did not know about the debt until we were in the lawyers office that day.  I was livid. He did not legally have to pay it because it was all in his name. I threatened to either pay off the debt or sell the house and make him use my half of the proceedings to pay it off, either way it was the same amount of money. That’s right. Think about it. He ran up enough credit card debt that it was the same as my half of a rather nice house.  Turns out, I could have done both, but getting out of debt was more important to me than fighting him over a house in a city I had no intention of staying.  I’m still kind of mad. Good thing he paid it off in a timely manner or I couldn’t even get decent work because almost all employers do a credit check. Be wise.

More information about Authorized Users from Experts

The Truth about Authorized Users-not their responsibility, only the credit card holder

Pros and cons of authorized users 


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What Now? Banking Tips

More About Getting Your Own Bank Account and Following the Money

Follow the money

Follow the money

Get your own bank account and your own online profile for your bank. My grandmother told me to do this when I first got married and I did not listen. When I got married I had no money, no job, and a bunch of student loan debt. I also was irresponsible because I was only twenty-three and never had to make grown up choice before, I mean other than getting married. My recommendation is to get an individual account at the same bank you have a joint account. You can get online access that your spouse cannot see because online bank access at most banks go by an individual’s social security number. Even if you do not get your own bank account, at least have your own login. Your spouse cannot see you login and cannot see how often you check it if you have your own online ID and password. My ex-husband had accounts I was not on and if a person is willing to put up a grand facade of hiding their sexuality, you can be quite certain they are hiding money too. If you get an account at the same bank you have your joint account, you can move money if you need to, but that other person will figure that out, so transfer funds only in an emergency or if you are ready to go that day.

It is easier to get your own account than to get someone off a joint account.

Online Access is Your Key to the Truth and Independence

For most banks it is very difficult to take a joint tenant off your account but either one can close one for any reason. Remember that. If you are concerned about your local bank representative tipping their hand, go to a branch across town or set one up on line. Bank representatives by law cannot disclose what is going on in an individual’s account without facing losing their job or possibly criminal charges. The only way that your estranged spouse will know that you have your own account or that you have your own online access is if you tell them. If they tell you that there is only one online ID and password, that is probably not true. Yes, he/she might let you “share” one, but trust me, get your own login.
2. If you want to track the goings on in a joint account, look online. Most records of VISA transactions and transfers go back at least 18 months. Beyond that you can get statements online going back 7-10 years.

Call Your Bank’s 1-800 number… they live for this shit. 

Yes, your spouse is an a**hole.  Let's follow his tracks on your joint account to find out where he is spending his children's future on that tramp.  Call anytime.

Yes, your spouse is an a**hole. Let’s follow his tracks on your joint account to find out where he is spending your children’s future on that tramp. Call anytime.

You can also call your bank’s customer service and a bank representative can go through recent transactions if you so wish. They also can track things like purchases over $500.00 or something like that. If you do call in, I would recommend calling in around 2 pm Eastern Standard Time. That is when bank lines are the least busy but when the most senior representatives are working because they would have used their seniority to get the better schedule. Telephone bank reps love tracking down mean old dirty bastards up to no good. They won’t do anything illegal and won’t be able to “make a case” for you or anything, but they can track a ATM withdraws in other cities outside your local area in an attempt for “fraud protection.” Play it cool and you can get a lot of information. They are bored, you are not asking for anything you are not entitled to or couldn’t find yourself if you looked online, but they have a more trained eye and know how to spot patterns and inconsistencies. Call centers are busy yet boring places and you can’t even socialize with your coworkers too much. Finding a money trail to a mistress (or mister) in Atlanta is the stuff bank reps live for. Besides, it is all in the name of fraud protection, right? Want to find what someone is up to? FOLLOW THE MONEY!

Matthew 12:34 “Wherever your treasure lie, there will your heart be also.”

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Testing the Waters or How a One Night Stand Helped Me Leave my Gay Husband

Why I am Writing This: Reader Feedback

I am truly moved and humbled by my readers’ response. I had told you want to look for and a bit of what it looks on the other side of the closet. I’ve told, told, told, but I have not shown. Why does a woman leave her comfortable upper middle class lifestyle, her friends, most of her family, and a whole life behind? What was the “final straw?” After five, ten, even twenty years of marriage, if it is just a little latent homosexuality, a little infidelity, why rock the boat? Please understand that this post might change the way you view your Miss Charlotte Jay. I was not always the willing or naive victim. Sometimes, what might have looked like recklessness was really my taking the reins of my own life. Towards the end, I decided to test the waters.

The Justification—Sinking Ship

I think Rose and Jack might be having some trouble in paradise.

I think Rose and Jack might be having some trouble in paradise.

An impending divorce is kind of like being on a sinking ship. The two of you might try to plug up the holes with the silly putty and the chewed gum of marriage counseling and couple retreats. You may try to ignore the problem completely and just roll up your pant legs and pretend the water isn’t rising. When you are in that sinking ship of a marriage, that sinking ship is all you know and it feels safer than the alternative. You don’t know if the water is infested with sharks or if you have the strength to swim to shore. In a marriage of just two people there are no lifeboats.

As they say in Monty Python’s Holy Grail, “Let’s skip a bit, Brother.”

I could go on and on about the justification. Let me sum up in some bullet points.

  • I had already confronted my husband about his “latent bisexual leanings” so that was out.
  • We had agreed to some kind of “open marriage” arrangement which was like a “Gentleman’s Agreement” were we would explore the waters but keep it to ourselves and be very discreet.
  • I had already had a bit of a flirtation with an old college chum that had already ignited some flames.

This next part has all the trappings of a really, really bad idea. Do not try this at home.

The Good Stuff:

I went to a cheating website for married people. It wasn’t the one that got hacked recently and exposed the likes of Josh Dugger (fuck that guy), but it was one similar. I decided that sleeping with another married person in another city was kind of like “mutually assured destruction” agreement. Either one of us could destroy the other’s whole life if we wanted to, we both had a lot to lose. Because we were from different cities, the likelihood of us ever running into each other was very low. If you are going to do something shady, it is best to do something shady with strangers. It felt both dangerous and super safe. That’s the thing about an affair, it takes a lot of planning.

Although I had a lot of offers, I chose a professional man from Chicago with twins he and his wife had via in vitro fertilization, a method my husband and I were considering. Here is the irony of the deal: Neither he nor I had the issues with fertility, it was our spouses. God, that sense of danger knowing that we were both carrying around “loaded weapons” that were just being shot off in the wrong direction I found particularly intoxicating. So did he. We used condoms, of course, because we are not stupid. We used four, actually, to be accurate, but I’m getting ahead of myself. This man from Chicago had a preppy, boring name like “Brian” or something (of course I remember his name, but I wouldn’t post it)but I thought his name should have been “Giovanni” if there was a God because he had this Italian look about him. Actually, he looked kind of like Jon Stewart. I am a huge “The Nightly Show” fan.

sexy jon stewart in a tie

Brian was stocky, but professional looking, thoroughly upper middle class Midwestern boy from the finer of Chicago suburbs down to his checked button down shirt, smart blue tie that matched his sky-blue eyes.  His wavy hair was short cropped with just a few strands of gray. I was sure he was too hot for me. Of course, I could have been underestimating my attractiveness. That’s easy to do when married to a narcissist gay man. I was actually quite slim at the time, only thirty-three, and had a body kind of like Nigella Lawson or Kate Winslet.  I actually didn’t realize he was shorter than me until I was leaving the hotel room that day. In my defense, I am about 5’9 and shorter guys have never been a deterrent. But once again, I’m skipping past the good parts.

I did not hook up with Brian the first time I met him. I am really not THAT kind of girl. Sure, I was the kind of girl to flirt with old flames and cheat on my husband with a married man I met on the Internet, but I don’t hook up on the first date.

Brian and I had emailed, texted, and talked on the phone for weeks. We had met at an in between spot in a parking lot in the middle of the day in an under-shopped mall. I wasn’t stupid. I thought the chances of being raped/murdered/mugged were pretty low. I could tell he was pretty established by the leather interior of his luxury SUV with the Eddie Bower twin baby seats in the back and the crispness of his freshly laundered shirt. He even smelled like money. What does money smell like? His cologne had a bit of woodsy scent, if leaves were made of hundred dollar bills. Sure I was out of my league, but this was about as close to an anonymous affair I was going to get. Besides, I had a successful well dressed man of my own at home playing Dungeons and Dragons with his “boys” that fateful Sunday afternoon. All we did that first day was talk, listen to “The 90’s at 9” on his XM radio in his car, and make out like teenagers with a curfew. We obviously had chemistry. We also shared a hunger that just was not being met at home but we weren’t going to risk our “happy” comfortable lives for that hunger. It wasn’t like we were in love. After that first meeting, we decided we would plan a date and get a hotel room. He had the kind of high powered job that would take him out of the office for half the day in a neighboring city and my job wasn’t SO important I couldn’t slip away.
A few weeks later, we met in an in between town, the college of my alma mater as fate would have it, in the kind of hotel that they put up visiting professors. The sheets were clean and white, and the bright winter sun reflecting off the recent snow filtered through the whisper of the sheers over the window. We never bothered to fully close the drapes. He wanted to see everything. He wanted to see me.

Kind of like this, only without the sheet.

Kind of like this, only without the sheet.

I remember complimenting his shirt. It was beautifully crafted. He said, “You don’t have to be nice to me.” This was startling to my Midwestern niceness. I was raised to be a nice girl. He didn’t want a nice girl. We started kissing. I’m sure I wore a cute matching bra/panty set, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t wear it for long. Like I said, we were starving, and we were on a deadline. He had a late afternoon meeting back in Chicago and I would be expected back at work eventually. We tore each other’s clothes and were on that big king sized bed in no time.
The next part was a bit of a blur. We were swept away in a hormonal haze of sweat and sex. Fucking him felt like shooting heroin. And it was fucking, not “having sex” or “making love”. Any other euphemism would not give this carnal display justice. I don’t remember details of his dick like if it was curved or veiny, all I remember was that it was big, it was hard, and it was for me. We did every position I knew and several others I only read about. It felt a bit like a Prince song, “sixty-three positions in a one night stand.” He did things to my body that I didn’t think were possible. It felt like he had unlocked all these sacred texts in my body like he had unearthed a new gospel that would raise a nation. I wouldn’t use words like “rough” or “tender” but more like everything in between. It felt like we were animals de-evolving from our false shells of Midwestern married politeness and turning into beasts set to devour each other. He pawed at me and I clawed at him. It felt like we were spinning, battling, pushing and pulling at each other’s bodies for that exquisite release that had been bottled up for so long.

In between “sessions” we would lie next to each other and catch our breath. The hotel had a some chilled bottled water that was sweating as much as we were. As per usual, I would try to pull the sheets over my body so he could only feel my body, not actually look at it. I haven’t been really gazed upon by a man in so long it was unsettling. But he kept pulling away the sheets to look at me. I remember blushing and pulling a pillow over my face so he couldn’t see how much his stare embarrassed it me. He pulled the pillow off of my face and kissed my lips. He then kissed and touched me all over getting me ready for another round, his erection pressing into my hip.

I was thirty-three years old and this was the first time I had ever had sex with a straight man. It was a fucking revelation. It was like every cliche’ from every romance novel ever written. I left that bed changed. I would never again be satisfied with a half limp dick or excuses. I wanted to be wanted like that man wanted me that day, like a drug. Okay, so drugs were probably involved. No man over thirty-five can come four times in space of two hours without some pharmaceutical intervention. I didn’t care. I appreciate his care and attention to detail to take such measures.

“It feels good, oh it feels good to be alone with you… Its the god that heroin prays to”- Hozier “To Be Alone.”

We had run out of time. I showered quickly, but part of me didn’t want to. This was a stolen moment and I wasn’t quite ready to wash off his scent, our sweat, or cool down the fire he ignited. In the hotel bathroom mirror I saw purple bruises already emerging on the winter white skin of my breasts. Unmistakably, they were the size of Brian’s grip. Turns out I would have a souvenir after all. Whatever caused those marks certainly did not hurt at the time, but I knew I would have to hide my naked body from my husband for a few days. Not that he would have noticed. I came out of the bathroom showered and dressed back in my business casual clothes. I put up my hair in a messy bun and would have to reapply some make up, but other than that, no one would be the wiser. Brian was on the couch drinking the rest of his bottled water blotted sweat from his brow with the cuff of his expensive shirt. The man looked tired. He worked hard. He deserved a break.

I never saw him again and my husband never found out.

When I got back to work, despite my efforts to play it cool, my friend (who knew where I was going) just looked at me and mouthed from her cubicle, “Did you?” I just nodded and blushed. There was no hiding it. I was walking around bow-legged like I just lost my virginity. In a way, I guess I kind of had. Later that afternoon I was called into my prick of a boss’s office. This guy didn’t like me yet he hardly held back his attraction for me. He seemed constantly conflicted with whether he would like to fire me or bend me over his desk and fuck me like the man he wished he could be. I don’t remember what my boss was saying. I wasn’t paying attention. I was buzzing like junkie. I do remember sitting there cross-legged with my pussy still pulsating, squeezing my muscles and giving myself a silent mini-little orgasm right there in his office. My boss stopped what he was saying, swallowed hard, and looked at me with a mix of confusion and lust, and then tried to finish berating me, and failing. He excused me from his office to go back to work. My friend met me in the hallway and just gave me a high five.

I was sitting there in that prick's office just like this. Come at me, Bro.

I was sitting there in that prick’s office just like this. Come at me, Bro.

Post Script

I never saw Brian again. We texted very rarely. But the next time he texted me was that March. He texted “I miss you. Your pussy is my medicine, my drug.” I happened to be in the mediator’s office filing divorce papers.

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My Liberal Leanings Are Really Interfering with my Rights as a Woman Scorned

We are in this together.  Straight, not Narrow

We are in this together. Straight, not Narrow

In light of the shootings in Orlando targeted at the LGBTQ community, I thought I should post the following:

Let me be VERY clear. I am very PRO-LGBTQ community. I think everyone should live their truth. I know that what goes on between two (or more) consenting adults is none of my business. Same sex marriage should not even be a an issue because it is a basic civil liberty and denying that right is bigotry. If homosexuality were more accepted in our culture what happened to me wouldn’t happen to anyone else.

I am not a hater for the LGBTQ community, I’m a crusader for the LGBTQ community

Being in the Closet is Dangerous to All Parties

Being in the closet can cause depression and suicidal thoughts for the gay person and the straight spouse.  See this link about depression and anxiety for the LGBTQ.  There were many a time that I wanted to die. I would fantasize about my own death frequently. They were not fleeting moments over an icy bridge like “Its a Wonderful Life” it was more like a frequent trip to the poisoned well where thoughts of my own suicide were was ordinary as getting water.  I had many imaginings of how I would kill myself: an overdose of my psych meds was the preferred way. I even made an playlist to be played at my funeral. I titled it “Workout III” on my Ipod.   I thought that I was such a disappointment to my friends and family, that I would never be financially secure enough to live on my own. I thought no one would believe me if I told the truth about my ex-husband’s sexuality. Besides, I loved him too much to out him. I would take his secret, our secret, to the grave. That is how much I loved him.
Often times the only thing that kept me going was the care of my dog. She was my savior. I knew my ex-husband would not care for her like I did and would take her to the pound. Besides, that dog knew my heart and when I cried, she cried.

Actual photo of my faithful canine companion in her youth.

Actual photo of my faithful canine companion in her youth.

My ex-husband, I’m sure, had some misgivings about the lies. He thought he was “taking care of me” through my mental illness. (I was never really mentally ill, just situationally depressed). He would often hide up in his office every night after dinner and retreat into online gaming, later (I found out) into online gay pornography and chat lines. His lie was eating us up both.

Collateral Damage of the Culture Wars

Sometimes I wonder how much am I “the victim” I am and how much of a “villain” he is. I think we are both more collateral damage of the culture wars.

People expect me to be very angry with the LGBTQ community because of my experience, but I am not. I am very sympathetic to them especially BECAUSE of my experience. However, often I do not feel like I have a community. I am not gay but I have lived on the fringes of the LGBTQ community most of my life. Straight society doesn’t really know what to do with me either. I am not the typical Midwestern housewife who concerns herself with the comings and goings of her children, cellulite, and low-fat taco recipes. My own family doesn’t know what to do with me. They would like for me to be the “spinster” aunt for childcare of my nieces or to be a companion to my mother (who’s health is fine and should really make her own friends) but I live an hour and a half a way in a big city with my own life. My “peer group” are mostly artists and most of whom are either single, divorced, our have been divorced and remarried. Funny how married people don’t have much to do with single people unless there is late night drinking or partying to be had. To paraphrase The Color Purple about Shug Avery, “No one likes someone who is too proud and too free.”


People also say, (and when I say “people” I mean friends and family who know my story) because your ex was gay you can’t be that mad. One ex-friend even said, “Aren’t you happy he’s with a fellow friend?” No. Hell no. I would have preferred a stranger rather than a so called friend honing in on my husband the whole time. How mad would any woman feel if a friend slept with your husband? You’d be mad as hell, hurt, confused, and feel down right shitty. Yes, I could have competed with another woman.  Being that I lost all but one friend in the divorce, and even that friend I let go so she wouldn’t have to choose. It was another kindness I did for love. I don’t want anyone to have to choose. If you have to hesitate to choose who you love, than you don’t love either. The answer should be clear.

I feel like I have the right to be angry with my ex-husband. I loved him, he loved me, but I may forever wonder if it was ever real and I will forever wonder if he ever did love me, when that stopped. I have the right to be angry with our friend whom swooped in after I conveniently left for Florida. Fuck him. He knows to keep his distance. I do have certain rights as “the first wife.” I refuse to disappear to history over mimosas with “the boys” during brunch as the funny/sad anecdote of that time when he had a “beard.” I am more than collateral damage. I am more than just a story that we are both a bit embarrassed by. I am a person. I am a woman, and I have a certain perspective no one is talking about.
The media LOVES a coming out story. Coming out of the closet stories is a personal victory with social relevance. Good for them. Great. I celebrate each victory of personal demons and cultural bias. But what about those of us left behind? What about the straight spouses, the straight girlfriends and boyfriends who were always practicing their truth. What happens to that truth when it was based on lies? It makes that person question everything and everyone unless there is significant healing. I believe that I have had that healing and I am offering that healing or at least my perspective of the other side of the “coming out” story that of “staying in.”

There will always be a part of me that thinks “I let this happen.”

It would be easier to hate the LGBTQ community. I would have a clear “villain” to hate. I would have a focus for my anger and would redirect some of the hurt I felt from the betrayal of my ex to a larger party. Kind of like when you are stabbed in the heart with a screwdriver, survive, and then sue Home Depot. Its not Home Depot’s fault. It is not LGBTQ’s fault that my husband lied to me and himself all those years. He was a coward and a son of a bitch, don’t get me wrong, but he had his reasons. I have forgiven him somewhat, even though he has hardly asked. His community has embraced him, where is my community? My “community” might embrace me better if I would renounce him, ex-communicate him, or have a bit of hate for the LGBTQ, but I don’t. I’ve got nothing but love for them. I want nothing but justice, understanding, acceptance, and civil rights for all. So, “polite society” won’t have me. Fuck polite society. Just last night after a death in the family, I had a gay man come over and commiserate and drink wine with me. My own family was “nice” to me, but I do not feel comfortable round them all the time, mainly for being single and childless. That’s a whole other story.

Its not his fault.

Its not his fault.

Hate is Destructive, Almost as Much as a Lie

This is my story. From my readers comments and a noted uptick in certain analytics, I am not alone. You are not alone. I will still keep telling my story. There is truth to be told on both sides. You are allowed to be angry at your gay ex spouse without being a douchebag and hating all gay people. One gay/lesbian person lied and betrayed you, not a whole culture. They probably did love you, might still do, they just have to live their truth. Be angry with that person for fucking you up, not for being fucked up. They had to deal with their lie early on in the relationship, you have to deal with their lie at the end. So deal, cry, eat some ice cream, fuck some strangers (safely) get it out of your system. Hate is destructive but if you have to hate someone only hate that one person for being gay and marrying you anyway, not a whole subgroup of people who had nothing to do with it. Hate the mistress or mister as the case might be. They sure as hell deserve your ire. But don’t hate too much or for too long. Don’t drink poison expecting it to kill your enemies. I suggest learning to love yourself. That is so hard when you have been living someone else’s lies and them convincing you how unworthy of love you are either directly or indirectly. Start to heal. Keep reading this blog (please) and comment with your own stories. The best way to heal is to help someone else.

Trust Master Yoda on this one.  When was the last time a Jedi Muppet lied to you?

Trust Master Yoda on this one. When was the last time a Jedi Muppet lied to you?

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Not a Nympo or How a Closeted Gay Man Can Drive a Straight Girl Crazy

Lying is exhausting. Keeping up someone else’s lie you didn’t even know about can be down right destructive.

I swear, on a stack of Bibles, I did not know my husband was gay. We started dating when I was twenty-one, I first discovered his gay pornography our second year of marriage when I was twenty-five, he stopped lying about the gay porn our fifth year of marriage when I was about twenty-seven. It wasn’t after the loss of a pregnancy and his big “change” around the tenth year of marriage that some trusted friends started pointing out some hard truths that I could no longer ignore. But really, only when I believed that I could make it on my own did his lies no longer work on me.

Instincts Should Not Be Ignored

Instincts are real and should not be ignored. It is often what is your “gut” reaction. Your gut reaction is your body’s response to stimuli in the environment before your “logical” mind or your ego has a chance to interpret or misinterpret. Your logical mind can decide if it was indeed a gunshot or an old car’s engine backfiring after you have ducked. The best way to bypass your gut and even your logic is for someone you trust to convince you that you are crazy. When that trusted soul has convinced you are crazy and you cannot trust yourself let alone anyone else trust you, it becomes that much easier for them to lie to you. There is less of story to invent and less lies and alibis to keep track of. If you convince someone that they are crazy, bad, gross, slutty, and untrustworthy you have complete control over them. This method is referred in psychology as “gaslighting.” Please see the link for more information on the topic.’s go back to this Nympho nonsense.

My Ex-Husband had a Two Step Process: I’m crazy and a slut
1. Convince me and everyone else (including trained medical professionals who should have known better) that I was mentally ill.
2. Part of that evidence of my “mental illness” was that I was depressed and hypersexual. That combination will get you a diagnosis of “bipolar disorder” which will get you prescribed a whole host of medications that will get you so doped up that you don’t bother him with sex, or anything else for that matter.

Brilliant. All he would need is a pampered cat to stroke and he would be a proper villain.



My ex-husband’s plan, which is nothing short of emotional abuse, worked like a charm. He couldn’t make me more silent if he had cut out my tongue. There was a time when I was on a mood stabilizer, an anti-depressant, an anti-anxiety, and something to help me sleep. I wrote in my journal when about five years in my marriage that “All of these meds make me sleepy, fuzzy, and gain weight, but at least it is killing my libido so I’m not bothering ***** as much anymore.” For some reason, I thought that this was okay. If a girlfriend told me she had the same experience I would counsel her to get counseling…and a lawyer. Funny, when I got divorced, I got off all the above and never felt better. We were having sex less and less and I had a hard time getting aroused, not that he helped with that, and even a harder time climaxing. I thought I was the problem, not him. There was a time when there were a lot of late night sex under the influence of Ambien. In the morning, we barely looked at each other like it never happened.

Then There was ALL the Psych Meds….

When I wasn’t doped up on any number of needless medications (needless for me, not for other people who actually need them) my ex-husband tried to make me feel like I was a nympho. He thought I was “hypersexual” and even tried to convince my psychritrist I my hypersexuality was a symptom of my bipolar disorder. Yes I was depressed because I was living a lie I could not speak and everyone, my family and OUR friends kept telling me how happy I should be. My husband did not love me, I was on all these drugs that made me tired and gain weight. My only outlet of comfort was food, movies, and TV. I was a mess. I was depressed, I was angry, but I was not mentally ill and I was certainly not a nymphomaniac.

Nymphomaniacs are really sex addicts who need professional help. Sex addicts will do anything for sex and are never satisfied. I only wanted to have sex with my husband, rather vanilla sex in hindsight, but I could be satisfied. Sure it was the more “shallow” clitoral only orgasms. I had not yet discovered the deep satisfactory “internal” g-spot orgasms. The internal versus external orgasm deserves its own post. I only desired my husband and he could make me happy in bed, even though towards the end he made every other aspect of my life miserable.

The Patriarchy Isn’t Helping

Our American post-Puritanical culture is based on women feeling bad about their bodies and especially their sexuality. I think some of the fear and shame dispensed about women’s sexuality is just how powerful it can be. We can have sex whenever we want, there is an endless supply of men who want to fuck us (depending on one’s standards), we have the ability to have multiple orgasms, and we can fucking make babies. Men can produce sperm and get erections and that is pretty cool, but neither particularly reliably. I’m just kidding. I love men. I love erections, no matter what shape or form as long as they are for me.

You deserve this! All women deserve to feel this good. It can happen.

You deserve this! All women deserve to feel this good. It can happen.

orgasm 2 orgasm 3

The patriarchy is a real thing. You throw some old time religion in there and you got some serious repression going on. If you feel like your friends, family, and the whole of society is against you, you may be right. Men are believed before women by default and women are seen as “emotional.” If he has tried to convince you that you are some kind of sex-crazed slut too, all the better…for him. Women perpetuate the patriarchy more for themselves and to other women that men hardly have to try at all. We are so indoctrinated with the patriarchal rule of submission to men and modesty all in an effort to be a “nice girl.” Being “nice girls” is the favor we do for men to save men from feeling like assholes trying to reinforce the patriarchy. They don’t because they don’t have to. Just another job women do better than men. If your man is calling you a “nympho” to justify the fact that we won’t make love to you because he is busy screwing someone else than that is on him, not on you. If there were some medical reason why he could not make love to you like a heart condition or diabetes, you know he would run, not walk, to the doctor to solve that problem. Either that or he would be reading up on some techniques to work his tongue or his hands to keep you happy. Men do know themselves. They know if they stop fucking you, someone else will take their place. Calling you a “nympho” is an attempt to shame you so you will take the pressure off him yet you won’t go to anyone else. If a gay man is lying to you about his sexuality, he has a reason to keep you, and its not just your cooking.

Believe In Yourself and Your Power to be Pleased

Just think what would happen to our economy even the very scratchy, binding fabric of our society if women across the country actually felt good about themselves, their bodies, and felt entitled to the orgasms their bodies are designed to deliver. The economy would come to a screeching halt, we would never hear about cellulite ever again, and women would worry less about crow’s feet and more about smile lines because they’d be so happy from all the orgasms they’d give themselves or teach their partners to provide. I live in that world. It’s awesome. Please join me.

It can be like this.

It can be like this.

On last thing on this so-called Nympo jazz.

One of the last conversations we had before we divorced and I left the house he said this.

“Charlotte, you’re pretty, you’re smart, you have your own job, you come easily, and you initiate. Clearly there is something wrong with me.”

If you are even half of the above, then there is something wrong with him, not you.

P.S. I don’t hate gay people or anyone on the LGTBQ spectrum. I think everyone has the right to live their truth. I do have the right to my truth and to tell to my story about my abuser. The fact that he happened to be gay complicated the issue.

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Love Second Time Around

Some of you will never feel what it is like to fall in love for a second time, and for that you should be grateful, because it’s awful.  It is heart wrenching and you can’t trust anyone and you can’t even trust yourself.  You can’t even trust your own senses.  You’ve been there before. You have felt love, you have been loved.  You know the feeling, the rush, the closeness, what it’s like to feel safe.  To feel what it is like to bond yourself to another knowing you are his and he is mine and we will take on the world together.  You are just old enough to know the world is a treacherous place, but together you can handle anything.  After divorce, that safety is gone.  Your balance, your partner, everything that was right and beautiful in the world is just gone.

It doesn't have to be scary to ball or lose your balance. You can fall right into the calm water...where I'm sure there are no eels or scary bacteria.

It doesn’t have to be scary to fall or lose your balance. You can fall right into the calm water…where I’m sure there are no eels or scary bacteria.

Then you learn to deal with it.  You figure out how to make it on your own.  You limp off licking your wounds, but not with your tail between your legs, but your head held high.  “I have made it on my own.”  You are proud of yourself.  You learn to trust yourself.  You get your shit together.  You work on your professional life, make new friends, you learn what is like to be on your own.  You begin to like it.

Sure, you might go through a stage of dangerous promiscuity just to “prove” your attractiveness.  Congratulations, you are are over the age of twenty-five and can still get laid.  Here is your medal, and you might want to get tested.   Or you go through a stage of false piety and swear off men/women proving that love is all false and you are “saving yourself” like you are some kind of “reborn virgin.”  Both extremes are stupid and come from the same place: hurt and self punishment.

When falling in love in your youth, you are betting on possibilities and it is all in.  You don’t know what that person will be like in twenty, thirty, fifty years.  You don’t know what you will be like in twenty, thirty or fifty years.  All you know is that you are in love and you hope for the best.  I know that I got up before God and everybody on my wedding without a doubt in my mind.  I loved him, he loved me, and we were in this together for the long haul.  I was deceived.  Just because he came into the relationship under false pretenses did not mean I did.  I promised I would love him forever.  Just because we are not married anymore does that make it any less true.  It was not just a promise made and because “my word is my honor” or anything like that.  I have broken many promises to myself and others, but true love is forever.  I truly loved him even if he did not love me back.  But I had to let go of him.  I had to let go of the dream, and a bit of the hope that we would always be together.  I had to force myself not to be in love with him in order to trust someone to love me.  Love me back for real this time.

When you fall in love a second time (or third or fourth) and you are not so young or so innocent, you know more what you are getting into and hopefully you know more of who you are and what you want.  There is less of gamble but no less potential for pay off.  And it is still “all in”.


After age thirty, thirty-five or so, people have lived up to their potential or let it pass them by. Not that there aren’t great second acts.  I believe I am one of them.  I squandered a lot of my potential because I was trying to make the one thing that could never work, my relationship, work at the cost of my professional success, my relationship to my family, friends, God, and even my sanity.  I had to give up on that dream to wake up to myself.  Now I am sane, I am somewhat successful, and I have better relationships with my family and new friends, even with God.  All my relationships are better because I am an authentic person now.  I am no longer pretending to be someone I am not in order to get someone who could never love me to do so.  I gave him my heart and my life and he never really wanted it.  How the hell are you supposed to trust again?

I tell you how.  Lose every material thing you have ever had, start over at the bottom professionally, move half away across the country leaving behind everything and everyone you have ever known and loved and start brand new because you are brand new.   You are not “damaged goods” you are probably more “you” than you have ever been in your life. You are not Ms. Somebody’s husband or  “Mrs. So-and –so.”  You are Charlotte, Susan, Ashley, Erica, Dave, Michael, Anthony, or Josh.  You are your own person because no one is in your way.  No one is shouldering the burden so you know exactly how much weight you can bare. It is a lot more than you think, but no more than you can take.

So when that NEW special someone comes into your life.  Not just the sexy guy/girl that makes you feel young and frisky again. That can happen to anyone.  Not the “sure bet” that you think will “take care of you” or give you the lifestyle you know you can’t have on your own so it never feels like yours.  Nor is it the good “cover” that will keep your secrets even from yourself.  The second time you fall in love can be the most authentic, rewarding, and scariest thing you will ever experience.  That feeling of falling, when you don’t know which way is up.  That’s understandable.  Whether it is the first time, second time, or the last time you fall in love, it is always disorientating.  The heart always feels the most lost just before it finds its home.

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It Happens to the Best of Us

I am not the first wife have her husband “turn gay” on her.  There are also husbands who have lost their wives to the Sapphic allure of lesbianism.  Of course, I do not believe anyone really “turns” gay.  There is not some magic homosexual wand that turns people one way or another.  I think that people are born with a preference and their life experiences either nurture or suppress their natural tendencies.  In my husband’s case, his life experience suppressed his natural tendency and so he chose to fall in love with a woman, marry her, and did the best he could to “cut it” as a straight person.  He did his “best” for himself to keep his so-called status in the community and his family but also I believe he did his best to make me happy.  He knew I loved him and did not want to hurt me.  His love for me (he contends) kept him in the closet for so long and he did try his best to make his homosexual feelings go away.  He sees that “I left him” but I see that I “set him free.”  I knew that he would never leave me, but I also knew that one of us was going to cheat on the other because we could not do without the love and affection we used to provide for each other.  I decided to leave before we both betrayed the memory of us by cheating.  With the addition of moving cross country and changing my name, I really did us both a favor.  A lady knows when to leave.

A lady knows when to leave

In the early part of the process of leaving my now ex-husband I often asked “Why did this happen to me?”  I am exploring this very question through my writing, introspection, therapy, and prayer.  I believe I was complicit in the continuing of the marriage after we both “knew” the truth.  I am an accomplice to my husband’s closeted and repressed homosexuality.  I continued it because I loved him and I believed he loved me.  If I were honest with myself and the world I would have to admit that I was also afraid to be on my own, no one else would love me, and I had grown very accustomed to the lifestyle the two of us made together.  But really, I loved him and thought I could love him out of his same-sex attraction.  He believed I could love him out of it too.  But I am not Jesus.  I cannot save him.  I could only save myself.

When I finally “came out” to a few of my friends about the truth of the divorce (with still protecting the ex) I was amazed at how common this situation was.  Many people I talked to had known someone who had “lost a spouse to the homosexuality” or it had happened to them.  I think most straight people at sometime in their lives have dated and/or slept with someone who was or eventually batted for the other team.

Maybe Kinsey was on to something.

Hey, Straight People, it happens to the best of us.  Gay Men and Lesbians can be very attractive and seductive, how can you blame yourselves?  Besides, just because they preferred their own sex over your sex does not mean you failed as a man/woman.  It does not mean that you are sucker, a loser, or bad in bed.  You were and are probably quite charming and probably great friend material.  Stop wincing, it is not a death sentence.  Consider this, you kept their attention for a time.  They fought their “true nature” to fuck you for awhile, didn’t they?  Besides, think of the mad skills you picked up in bed to keep them as interested in you for as long as you did.  Mad skills, Baby, mad skills.

There are two men that I know that lost their wives to The Gay.  One is an old friend from high school the other is an old friend of the family.  Until recently, I had not talked to either man in years.  It is because of the wonder of Facebook that we had become reacquainted.  My old high school buddy alerted to me that something was perhaps “wrong” with my husband.  He saw the signs before I did.  I will never forget what he said that alerted me to my husband’s “issues.”  “Damn, Girl, He’s either gay or dropped on his head not to want you.”   What a ringing endorsement of my hotness.  Really, it was quite flattering.  Even when I felt fat, old, or in otherwise unappealing because my husband did not want me, he reminded me that it was my husband that was mistaken.

This is what my friend from high school look my head.

This is what my friend from high school looks like…in my head.

The other situation is of an old family friend I became reacquainted with through a rather bizarre coincidence I will not go into right now.  Weird.  In later discussions with him he volunteered he got divorced for the same reason.  Sigh…. Like I said, happens to the best of us.

Do not get me wrong, these two men are quite cute.  One in a very traditional American standard of hotness.  He is in the military and his body is our tax dollars at work.  He looks delicious.  The humidity goes up when he walks in the room…in my pants.  The other has a quirky kind of cuteness that is nonetheless appealing.  He is the kind of guy that would help you with your chemistry homework and then you end up making out on the couch while listening to Weird Al.  Stranger things have happened, at least to me.  I wonder if it happened to them, why should I be surprised it happened to me?  Both of these men are handsome in their own way, they are perfectly fine specimens of manliness and not the least bit effeminate.  So, what the hell?  I am kind of cute, or so I am told, and have very feminine features.  It is not my fault.  It is not their fault.  It just happens.

Did these two men’s sexiness factor drop a notch or two just because their wives turned out to be lesbians?  Not at all.  In fact, I imagine if I were single, given the right circumstances, and if the moon were in the seventh house and the moon aligned with Mars, I could see myself sleeping with either one of them if they would have me.  I might have even imagined what it would be like.  In an attempt for “fair and balanced” fantasies, I imagined scenarios with both individuals.  No threesomes, just one and one, mind you.  I imagine that perhaps together we could somehow fuck away the memory of our exes with the added benefit of reaffirming our attractiveness to the opposite sex.  It would be a win-win-win.  We would have matching wounds.  Would a romp in the hay with Ms. Charlotte J really undo all that damage?  Probably not.  Just like there is no magic wand that turns men into fairies (pardon the term, it is just a joke) I do not have a magic pussy that heals hearts.  I can only do so much.

But… still… it might be fun to try.

Maybe if I looks more like this I could have been more magical and turned him straight. Nope. Still would not have worked.

Maybe if I looks more like this I could have been more magical and turned him straight. Nope. Still would not have worked.



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