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.

Posted in Dating, Divorce, Reinvention | Tagged , | 2 Comments

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.



Posted in Gay Ex-Husband, Sex | Tagged , | 5 Comments

Back in Indiana and Back on Track : An Update on my Weight, My Career, and My New Beau….. Because I Know You are Dying to Know.

A lot of things have changed for the better since coming “home.”   Here are the highlights.

My Weight

I haven’t been writing about dieting lately because it just wasn’t my focus. I was working on my career, moving cross country, establishing new relationships, fostering old ones, and letting others go. It was rather time consuming. Through all that uproar, my weight remained amazingly consistent. Of course, consistent considering they about thirty or so pounds I gained in Florida.

I could give excuses as to why I gained weight in Florida, being recently divorced being the major one. My ex-husband’s weight fluctuated some, not as much as mine, but we still attempted to eat healthy and we always had a gym membership. My dog was a lot younger and we went on walks a lot. Oh no, am I about to blame my weight gain on my aging, arthritic dog? Maybe. Also, I lived in a resort town, I was depressed, angry, lonely, and it was too damn hot and humid to exercise and I couldn’t afford a gym. That’s enough of excuses, right? Honestly, I was going through a lot and food was my comfort. I also kind of picked up a minor smoking habit. Bad, Charlotte. The thing is, I have been this heavy before back in 2001 when the first signs of my husband’s homosexuality emerged and I had a hard time keeping a job in the teaching field, which I had no business being in the first place. I was miserable and my weight reflected that misery and mounds of unappealing flesh. Let’s not even talk about the kind of men you attract when you are a mess like that.

I have adopted a more “plant based lifestyle” which is NOT becoming a vegetarian.  There is so much polarization in our society, let’s not polarize on food.  I don’t eat any red meat any more, but I do have the occasional organically raised chicken, turkey, or fish about two or three times a week.  I am walking more and have really begun to slim down.  I am feeling so much better.

This is what I look like when I look for my Prince Charming

This is what I look like when I look for my Prince Charming

My Career

I was hired over the phone for a pretty good job. It is still a little too “entry-level” for a woman in her thirties, but times are tough and I am happy to have it. I have shown great promise and I believe I will go far very quickly. Its about time I got my shit together professionally. I have some good friends. Strangely, now that I am more secure in myself my need for constant companionship has waned but my ability to make friends has increased. Friends in your late thirties and forties can be difficult because everyone is so busy with family, careers, or both people can hardly squeeze in a barbecue every once and awhile. Good thing I don’t need friends so much.

Dating and New Beau

I did date some. Dating is still exhausting and I am just over that bullshit. Online dating, office romances, friends of friends, been there, done that, no more. I think I am in a good place professionally, emotionally, and physically that I am ready for a real relationship. Before I thought so poorly of myself that I kept seeking men that were my opposite to make up for my imagined shortcomings and then wondering why it didn’t work out. I like myself more so I am naturally attracted to someone more like me.

I met someone nine days after I got back to Indiana. I had no intention of dating him. He was a friend of some friends. He’s a part-time photographer at some local events that my some of my friends are into and he just kept showing up to places I wanted to go anyway. He had all these cool friends and knew all this artsy stuff that I definitely wanted him as a friend. The first night I met him after some Facebook flirting he was photographing a local burlesque show a couple of my friends were in. No really, it wasn’t creepy at all. Some of girls vouched for him and we took me to the after party and the after after party and then he drove my drunk ass home and was a perfect gentleman even though I was too drunk to be a lady. I “friend zoned” him pretty early on because first off, I wanted to play around when I got to Indy (short for Indianapolis in case you didn’t know) and had some pent up wild oats I felt obligated to sow, and the second is that I was concerned about his health. I figured he was older than me, but not by much (turned out to be only a year) but he looked so much older and he walked with a cane. No forty year old should walk with a cane. I was concerned for his health. How could I be serious about someone who looked like he was trying to kill himself one cheeseburger at a time? Of course, I was not much better. I was trying to kill myself one fried chicken sandwich and cigarette at a time. We were a mess and had no business seeing other romantically….guess what happened next.

He was “dating” me for a few months while I was “seeing” him and “seeing”other men too. I was always up front about it and he knew it. I was never out to hurt him. I might write more about this later, but long, romantic story later, I kind of fell for him.

I did not fall in love with the photographer like I had for any other man before. It wasn’t a “love at first sight” or a long pining for a man in which he finally submitted through sheer attrition to give me the time of day. Neither was it a “you’ll do” kind of Mr.-Right-Now kind of thing. It was a slow, gradual waltz toward love instead of the highway to Hell all my other love affairs turned out to me. He courted me like a gentleman, bided his time, until finally it occurred to me that we were meant to be.

But then there was still the weight and health issues we both had.

I am realizing that I might want to build a life with this man but the way we are both going, that life might only be a few years. It just seemed like there were two very large coffins in our near future instead of little winter condo along the Gulf Coast in our distant future. Something had to be done.

His getting a better job and losing weight was NOT a condition of us dating, it just turned out like that. When I met him, he had a shitty schedule. He worked every weekend 3pm-Midnight Friday-Tuesday for like ten bucks an hour. That kind of pay and schedule is not conducive to courting. He was working on getting a better job anyway, and he did. He has a better schedule, not a 9-5, Monday-Friday kind of deal, but neither do I, but its better and the pay is a lot better. He is happier and he feels he might finally have a career. When you don’t have to worry about your livelihood so much, the rest of your life can flourish too. He works from home now doing tech support and can make better food choices. He has already lost a lot of weight, I’d say easily thirty pounds and all though he has a lot more to lose in order to free himself of the health risks associated with obesity, he is well on his way.

I too have been losing weight. I will give more specifics in a later post, but it my weight loss started almost accidentally. The first thing is that my new job has a shitty health plan and getting a day off work for sick time or vacation time requires a pardon from the Vatican so being sick was just not an option. I have struggled with migraines off an on for the past year or so to the point I have had to miss work from time to time and required a prescription. Well, that was just no longer an option . SI could not do that much about stress or my menstrual cycle. Moving cross country and starting a new job would make cause anyone lots of painful stress. My periods were troublesome and PMS was manageable but I was and still am unwilling to go on birth control pills so I had to manage my symptoms in other ways. I did my research and tried to remove as many environmental factors as I could. What that meant was pretty much not eating packaged or prepared foods anytime especially right before my period. I also eliminated diet soda and sugar because of the chemicals in diet soda can trigger migraines as well as the sugar spikes and lows that sugar can cause. Well, hell, you eliminate soda, prepared convenience foods, and sugar and you will lose some weight.

I also wanted to help my friend. Let’s call him “Andrew” for now. I did not want to make him feel bad about his weight, but I didn’t want him to lose his sight or a foot to diabetes. I didn’t want to walk around with a man who was barely forty who was so heavy he had to walk with a cane. I saw so much potential in him that I don’t think he even saw in himself.

Now, conventional wisdom would advise that you cannot “change” a man and it is disrespectful, futile, and even kind of cruel to see anyone as a “fixer upper.” But hey, I’m a fixer upper. No one WANTS to be fat and anyone who is fat sure as hell knows it. They do not need to be reminded. What they do have to be reminded of is that they are loved and that they can get healthy again. Shame or conditional love will not produce real change in anyone.

The truth is that I do love him. I would love him even in the state he was in and if that never changed, it would be okay. He loved me for the mess I was in. I still would have occasional crying fits over my ex-husband whenever I had to go to the old house to get some furniture or deal with the dogs in whom we still kind of share custody. I was kind of homeless when I moved up here and I was pretty broke. The “savings” I had for the move went really quickly and I still had to borrow money from the bank for a deposit and first month’s rent on my apartment. I could have borrowed it or received a gift from my family for the expenses, but I rather answer to the bank at 6.5% interest for the next two years rather than answer to my family with 100% guilt and obligation forever.

It was very brave of him to take a chance on me, but he saw potential in me like I saw potential in him. He saw my homelessness and my struggles as temporary. He saw that I had a plan and the means to make my dreams come true. I had a fast approaching start date for a new job with a major financial firm, even if it is near the bottom. He saw that I did have an apartment in the works and my couch surfing would lead me to shore soon enough. And maybe he saw that my weight was not as problematic as I saw it. He did not even keep himself from loving me even though there were no guarantees that I would love him back. When I asked him why he still fell in love for me even though I was clear we were just “friends” he said, “because I couldn’t help it and I would have kept my distance just to be near you.” How could a woman not fall for that?

Health wise we are both doing well. Neither of us have weighed ourselves, but I know I have lost a size in clothes and looking less “fluffy.” It is hard for me to notice how much weight I have lost because I never accepted my heavier self. I just know that my body is looking more like I think it should and my clothes are fitting better. Some clothes are fitting so loosely like are falling off my shoulder and off my waist. But, of course they don’t “fall off” because my boobs and butt are as prominent as ever, just the areas around them are smaller making my curves even that much more noticeable. Not a terrible thing, mind you. “Andrew” is looking a lot slimmer, especially in his face and tummy. He walks with a walking stick for balance when we go hiking, (Yes, we hike) but he doesn’t keep it as much because his balance is better because he is slimmer and his joints don’t hurt as bad carrying around all that heft. You take a fit person, pile on eighty to a hundred pounds on them and they are going to be winded and their joints are going to hurt. Any physical exertion done by an obese person takes considerable effort and it does hurt, but its the only way to get better. Thin people just don’t get that.

This is exactly what my beau and I look like when hiking. Not really...I'm not blond.

This is exactly what my beau and I look like when hiking. Not really…I’m not blond.

There is so much I want to talk about in regards to the transformation Andrew and I are going through. So many things in my life are going well. I feel like my life was so unbalanced that it should be no surprise I had a weight problem. Weight is more of a symptom of physical and mental disease which in turn causes disease. It is a vicious cycle. If we remove the shame from weight and obesity, then maybe we can do something about it. It is not a joke any more, its an epidemic.

You have read so much of my story so far: the funny, the sad, the sexy, the tragic. Right now, I think we are getting to the good part. We are getting to the happy ending.


Here is what we will look like when we lose all our weight.

Here is what we will look like when we lose all our weight.

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What I’ve Learned in my Thirties

Even as I was living it, I knew that I would look back at my thirties and know that this would be the most interesting, fun, difficult, and freeing time of my life. So often a woman in her twenties, with notable exceptions, is wrapped in family and societal expectations. You barely know yourself let alone the world yet you have to make decisions that can impact the rest of your life and all you feel like you can handle is matching your lipstick to your nail polish. There are so many pressures of doing “the right thing” and it feels like you have to do everything RIGHT NOW. There is such a sense of urgency to get married, start a family, start a career before you know what the fuck is going on. For me, I was in the wrong career, the wrong marriage, and I wondered why I was so unhappy. In your thirties, you know yourself a little bit better, you know a little bit more of the world, you start to care less about what others think of you. With this self and world knowledge, you can start making better decisions. Its not too late.

In my 20's this was all I could handle.

In my 20’s this was all I could handle.



  • The first thing you have to let go of is that on the back of your college diploma says “for deposit only.” Education is always valuable. You have to keep telling yourself that every time you pay that student loan. So your degree is in marketing and you are a retail store manager. So what, its a paycheck and its kind of in your field. My degree is in English with a minor in Speech Pathology. My second degree is in Education. I worked in the classroom, if you include substitute teaching, for about five years. I worked for an education company developing and grading tests for about four years. I have worked in insurance and finance for the past about seven years and am so much happier. I am also paid a lot better. I have a career path in finance even though I still consider it my “day job.” People give English majors such a hard time, but knowing how to communicate effectively is a very valuable skill. They can train me on the finance stuff, but talking to people about their money is hard work and it is not for everyone.


  • Let someone else say something stupid in the meetings, it doesn’t have to be you. There is always someone in the meeting with no filter or internal dialogue. Let that person hang themselves, but you don’t have to give them the rope. Stay out of it and do your job. If you feel you just have to disagree or take up a cause at work, either talk to your manager or an HR representative privately. The whole world doesn’t need to know that you are disgruntled or that a policy sucks. There are a lot of policies in a lot of companies that suck. Its work, suck it up. In your thirties you realize a roof over your head and food on your table is more important than a misguided cause. Sure, if you feel very strongly and it is justified, be a whistle blower. There is enough corruption in the corporations that we need some whistle blowing, but understand that you will most likely just hurt yourself. You can be a sell out, but you don’t have to buy in.


  • “Don’t get you honey where you get your money” a country radio DJ said that once. Its true. There are so many sayings about this that you’d think people would learn. Sure, you are with that person all the time and will probably have shared interests, but this could be career suicide and an HR nightmare. If you HAVE to date at the office, be sure that you are up on HR policies and still ask yourself, is online dating that hard?


Keeping Up with the Jones

  • Stop. Just stop. Generation X especially has had to weather many a recession dating back to our infancy in the 70’s, the crash of 1989 when we were teens, and the Internet bubble of 2001, and the home mortgage and bank crisis of 2008. If you have a job and can pay your bills, good. That is an accomplishment in itself. There are some lucky bastards out there that seem to be untouched by market trends and other disasters. I bet their shit don’t stink too. Good for them. If you are barely making it, at least you are making it. Stop worrying about social media updates of anniversaries, promotions, new jobs, new houses, and new babies. This is hard for me, especially the anniversaries and babies bit. Try to be happy for them. We all want praise and recognition but, don’t compare your life’s story to someone else’s highlight reel.


  • This is a tricky one for me. I am a divorced, childless adult who is nearly forty. My dreams of motherhood are pretty much dashed. Sure, it is still biologically possible, but that doesn’t make it a good idea. I have pretty much decided that ship has sailed and have suffered enough about that fact for one life time. Remember, people often will try to justify their lifestyle choices by judging yours.
  • Because I am a divorced, childless adult nearly forty, I have no status in my family. None. Although I used to host the occasional holiday, no one is coming to the trendy Northside to my cute, but small one bedroom apartment for a meal no matter how gourmet and delicious the food is or how much the wine and conversation sparkles. Sure, the pressure is off and I clean my apartment mostly for my own sanity rather than the threat of guests. It still hurts that I have to hope I get an invite to my brother’s house and be an addition to his family rather than having a family of my own. It hurts, I won’t lie. But then again, I have consider amount free time and I answer to no one and that is about as awesome as you imagine it to be. I can be a role model of a happy, successful woman, single or otherwise.


  • I still want to get married again. Why lie? I loved being married even though my husband literally drove me crazy. It is nice to have a partner and have someone on your side. Of course being single is WAY better than being stuck in a bad marriage. Being in a bad romantic relationship feels like you can’t breathe. I can be a good wife for the right man. I think men who get serious about a woman knows that this is the end game for most of us. If they knew how much they benefited from marriage, perhaps they wouldn’t be so shy about it. When I get remarried, I am not going to be one of those older, second time around embarrassed brides. So, I’m not a virgin. I look bad in white anyway. My next wedding is going to be to a man worthy of me and there is going to be cake, food, booze, flowers, my nieces will be flower girls. There is going to dancing, belly dancers, music, and even fire throwers if I can pull it off. The man in the running to be my next husband knows a lot of creative people. I’m not embarrassed I will be getting married again. I don’t even regret being married the first time. I did nothing wrong. But this next time I’m going to do it right and it will be forever. And there will be cake.
Doesn't this look lovely.  This, a nice dress, the right man... what else do you need?

Doesn’t this look lovely. This, a nice dress, the right man… what else do you need?  A girl can still dream.  You can be a feminist and still want to be someone’s bride.

Body Issues

  • My weight has varied widely in my adult life. I have gone up and down seventy to hundred pounds at least twice in twenty years. I am going back down. I have been as small as a size 14 and as large as a 24. Right not I am about a size 20 which is my default setting, apparently. I am losing weight now just to avoid diabetes and heart disease, but vanity is still a major factor in my passing up temptation. Only, now I am eating so much better gravy looks and tastes disgusting and pretty much every dessert tastes cloyingly sweet. Gravity and time have been amazingly kind to me. I love my breasts although I am sometimes embarrassed by how big they are. My curves and tiny waist are enviable. My ass is big, round, shapely, like the stuff of rap songs. I don’t like my stomach and I’m working on it but I don’t hate it. Why hate the body which is the lovely, healthy, functional vessel for my soul? I still have a lot of weight to lose and I am trying to give up smoking. I so regret starting in the first place. It is the hardest habit I’ve ever had to break. Now that I like my life, I’d like to be around a lot longer if only to make up for the time when I hated myself, my life, and tried so hard to end it both actively and passively. There is still time to make up for lost time.



  • Sex is so much better in your thirties than in your twenties and I don’t blame my partners for it either. Even though my ex-husband was a closet homosexual, or really, kind of more towards bi on the Kinsey scale when we first met, I’d like to go on record that he was a good lover and he tried his best. Women give points for effort, a lot of points. I am sure there is some biological and physiological reasons for why sex is better for women in their thirties and our much rumored and documented sexual peak not withstanding. But here are some things I have learned about sex in my thirties I did not know before.
  • Although the first orgasm takes a bit more effort and more direct stimulation, I am not as afraid to ask for said stimulation and the orgasms after that initial orgasm are stronger and more frequent. Earth shattering is not an understatement.
  • There is such a thing as internal and external orgasms, although I don’t think all women know about it but I think most are capable. I think we just tell women not all of us can have vaginal orgasms to make those that haven’t yet feel better about it. Yes, the clitoris is the source for all orgasms and the “G-spot” is not all that elusive and is just the under side of the clitoris. I am physiologically lucky in the my G-spot is not especially deep and is accessible with just one finger or even a modestly endowed partner.
  • As far as male size is concerned, there is a point of diminishing returns. There is such a thing as too small where it barely feels like he’s in at all or positions are somewhat limited. But really, if you really love him or want him, you can work with what he’s got. Do not underestimate the power and creativity of fingers and a well placed tongue.
  • Swallowing is not necessary.
  • Internet porn as ruined just about every man under the age of 35.
  • Men over the age of 35 tend to have less “dick-centric” sex, are more giving, and way more appreciative in bed. Instead of keeping score with how many women they have had, they keep score with how often and how well they can satisfy you because they have figured out one women is hard enough.
He's waiting just to make you happy. (Yes, that is Johnny Depp)

He’s waiting just to make you happy. (Yes, that is Johnny Depp)

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Disadvantages of Not Being a Pretty Girl: The Funny Fat Girl

Disadvantages of Not Being a Pretty Girl: The Funny Fat Girl

I have written earlier about the advantages of not being a pretty girl.  Having time to develop one’s own personality independent of romantic entanglements certainly has value.  But let’s face it, being ugly sucks.

Now I do not believe that I am not ugly and I would believe that society would agree.  People have always said, even as a kid, I have “such a pretty face” which we all know is code for “such a pity that you’re fat.”  So, for the sake of argument, I was not ugly but rather just fat.

The thing about fat is that it can be (hypothetically) fixed.  You can’t fix ugly.  But fixing the weight problem often seemed insurmountable.

The history of fat:  As a baby and a young child I was in the 70th percentile of height and 60th percentile for weight.  Then there were some unfortunate events one when I was seven the other about ten that really jump started the weight problem.  I will address these triggers at some later point in time.  The events that led to the weight gain are immaterial for this particular topic.

I was not THE fat kid.  There were always one or two other kids that really took the cake in the obesity department.  I would categorize myself as just “heavier than normal.”  I was normal, but not quite.  I was never freakishly obese.  I was never so obese that I could not participate in physical education, walk up a couple flights of stairs, or break furniture or anything.  But I was too fat to be considered really “normal” or acceptable.  And as a young teen, every kid wants to be more than anything is to be normal and acceptable.

Before I get distracted by my own history of fat, let’s get back to the topic.  What is so bad about not falling into the sometimes unfair and unrealistic standards of beauty?  It comes down to trust.

It is hard to trust in anyone’s love, desire, or even like.  If a person has known little more than rejection over and over again, how can a person do anything but expect that reaction?  I am not saying that ugly and or fat people do not have friends.  I was often the “funny fat friend.”  Even though my friends would have never said (out loud) that was my role.  Sometimes I felt like I was the comedian opening act to warm up the crowd (that being single men) with jokes and witty banter before my more beautiful rock star friends would come out and be the real show.  I resented how my girlfriends did not have to do anything to get a man’s attention.  They didn’t have to be funny, smart, or hardly even talk.  All they had to do was be beautiful.  Not that these girls were not funny, smart, and could talk their freaking heads off, but they did not HAVE to be anything to get a man’s attention.  Men would be completely captivated and falling all over themselves trying to get the mute pretty girl to smile at them.  When minutes before I had her in stitches getting ready for a night out.  In fact, I had the guys laughing and having a good time just before the blonde or brunette bombshell walked into the room destroying any hope of any guy falling all over himself trying to make me smile rather than the other way around.

But at least I got to work on my comedic timing.  While we are on the topic, how many truly attractive stand-up comedians do you know?  I believe much of comedy is a defense mechanism.

So being fat taught me to be funny.  Great.  Put that on a resume or a dating website and see how far that gets you.


I am rereading this myself and thing, “Um… bitter much?”

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What I Really Want Say (A Going Home Poem)

What I really want to say
is this

You are the one I hate
The one I want to leave,
to lie to, and to commiserate
the misery you create
with your selfishness and sloth
you make me feel so wrong
and not in the right way
you make me feel the shame
we share
thinking you’re not good enough
for me
for life
for love
but you are
but you won’t try
and you don’t even
care enough to lie
and say you love me
when you do
for all the things I am and am not
and for all the things you are and are not
because you dare not
that life can be better
better with a woman like me
and you hate me too
you hate me for loving you
and I hate me for that too.

What I really want to say
is this

I loved you
I loved you for all the wrong and right reasons
but you were a love for one season
of summer
of an affair to remember
and discard for winter clothes
and coats because you made me hot
but you could not keep me warm
through cold nights and drudgery
that a  man and woman share
when they are are in love
not strong enough
for every day life of work and bills
for building a life on more than thrills
but you made me happy
When the sun was high and bright
you made love to me like we were young
but you were much to old to play games
with a woman like me
but you made me feel like a girl
in love, a crush from high school
and you held me like a child
when I cried when I lost you
when I needed to
because you could not stay
even though you wanted to
I wouldn’t let you
because I had to grown up
and leave you behind
like the teddy bear I’d hide
under the bed when you took me from behind
I wanted to be a wild
to be beast
and you were the man
not to tame me
but to unleash
me from the chains of tradition
of lost love and broken dreams
and you held my hand
as you’d lie in my lap
and lick me like creamthe fool
sweet on the tongue
Oh yes, you made me come
until I couldn’t see straight
through you and see what a
merry minstral you were
the jolly fool
the grasshopper to my busy bee
but you were the tool
to fix me
and like the Scarecrow,
I will miss you most of all
you were my Oz
but I’m clicking my heels
and I’m going home.



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Casual Dining

I’m too early.

Sitting in my car

Hair perfectReview Mirror

Make up pristine

There is nothing to adjust

Nothing to fix.

Just me

As I am

Or at least the more

polished version.

Hoping that who I am and what you want

have some kind of happy convergence

Hoping the Venn Diagram of lovevenn of love

has less curves than I do.

More spherical

Like the Fullness of that woman’s tummy

checking her phone on the bench outside

the restaurant waiting

for the father.

Beautiful pregnant young womanShe probably put her name in

But I won’t.

Don’t even want the hostess to know

that I’m here early

that I’m so eager

that I don’t have anything better to do

but bet on you.

Even if I did I’d drop it all for you.

I hate having so much skin in the game.

But I do.

I have my skin

my blood

my heart

all on the line

for you.

When I thought I just got all my shit together

five minutes before I met you.


I flip the channels on the radio.

Hoping to hear a song to match my mood

to match us.

But everything is too happy

too sappy

too sad.

There are hardly any songs about casual romance

They are hardly worth the ink.

Because it takes two to make a harmony

two separate melodies, no matter how lovely

make noise

even when they are in the same key.


But we get along

Me, singing to the beat of my own drum.

You, whistling “Dixie.”


And its not that you are not satisfying.

Its just that I know I’ll still be hungry.

You are interesting, flavorful, and I crave you

like a drug

but I do not need you, like sustenance.


Tonight we’ll eat, we’ll laugh

I’ll be charming and you’ll pick up the check.

You’ll take me home

But I know I’ll wake up in my own bed in the morning

Hungry, waiting,

and my hair will be a mess.

woman in bed sad

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Coming Home

Thomas Wolfe famously said what we always have known, but have to relearn over and over, “You can’t go home.” I know that line. I know it to be true, but I did it anyway.

Florida was a trip. At times I felt like I was on vacation. An extended vacation with few responsibilities, plenty of good times, sun, sex, and sand, but it always felt like there was another world going on without me. At least it makes for a good story.

Summarization of the Last Three Years in Florida.

Let’s sum up the last three years, shall we? I moved to Florida after my divorce and I quit a job about five minutes before I was fired. I was friendless, about to be homeless, suicidal, and my romantic mistakes would be comical if they weren’t so dangerous. I lived with my father and step mom in Perdido Key close to the Alabama state line. I worked retail for awhile. That was a joke. I lived with a horrible man and his moody pre-teen son because life with my Dad and stepmother became unbearable. I thought he’d get me a job or get me started in online publishing. I went through a lot of savings with him, lost more than I earned, and he still never got me that job. I left broke but not broken.

Then I had a delicious summer affair that lasted about a year and a half with an older musician from the coast of Alabama. We were both divorced, but our relationship had all the passion and the transience of an affair, but it was love. He treated me like a princess. In my thirty-nine years, he might have been the only man to have ever loved me. He cured me. He healed some recent wounds from my marriage, and some old emotional scars from my childhood. He taught me how to love. He also taught me how to fuck. God, I had no idea what I was missing not being with a straight man for so long. Our affair was illicit, but I believe it was a Godsend. Who knew that angels came with such big cocks?

Male Angel

After I left that the mean Alabama man and took up with the musician, I got a shitty customer service job with a shitty cable company and finally got my own place. I lived in what I called the “concrete cave.” It was this little duplex made of concrete blocks and tile. It was a dumpy little place, but it survived many a hurricane. I all but hosed it down when I left. It was originally built as a “fish camp” and it was obvious that this dwelling was not designed for permanent residence. I called it a “non-bedroom” apartment because it was an “efficiency” where I put up a Japanese screen to separate the “bedroom” from the rest of the house. The only doors were to the bathroom and a tiny closet. It did have its own washer and dryer and they didn’t require a security deposit. Good thing because my credit was still pretty much fucked after the divorce. It could have been very depressing, but it was hard to be depressed when you live across the street from the beach, sail boats with Christmas lights on the mast, and $1000 a week condos. Every sunset was visual poetry, and my musician lover was a bit of an astronomer and we would look up at the stars. There was hardly any industry in Pensacola and I lived far away enough from the “city” that the stars sparkled in the night sky like my eyes for my lover. Besides, he would take me out for steak dinners, we ate fresh coastal seafood, and he would fuck me until I couldn’t walk straight and then buy me cookies. So, I gained a few pounds. They were happy pounds.

My actual house in Florida.  "The Concrete Cave"

My actual house in Florida. “The Concrete Cave”

But then, I had to get all ambitious. My Midwestern work ethic would take a break for too long. Besides, I got really sick that spring and really needed some health insurance. I got a good job at a bank in their customer service center and my career was back on track. My Midwestern self does not feel comfortable unless I have a certain amount of work drudgery. I also did not trust love that came so easily or love with a man who could bring me happiness, but no real stability or “build a life together.” We finally parted ways and I took up with a fellow Midwesterner.

I thought this Midwesterner was like me: down on his luck after a divorce and having to live with family until he got his life together. I only lived with family (or with that horrible Alabama man) for about six months. It turns out the Midwesterner had lived with his mother in Florida for more than three years. For some reason, this was not a deterrent. He wasn’t a bad man. He was also super handsome. Handsome men make women do stupid things. I believed him when he said he’d get promoted, finally get legally divorced, and we’d start a family. I once again tried to save someone. I moved off the beach into town and we ended up moving in together. I did get promoted at the bank and I thought I could support the two of us on $30,000 a year. I was wrong. Although I had agreed to it, I resented working so hard just to be broke. He did work to pay his own bills but did not contribute to the household unless I begged. I was short every month. I never did anything, I had no friends, and I began to hate him. It was a foolish mistake. My love for him turned to bitterness and I had pretty much checked out of the relationship way before we officially broke up.

I went “home” for a high school reunion in the summer of 2013. For the record, I HATED high school. I was an overweight, overeager, underachieving smart choir girl who’s only friends were fundamentalist Christians who only befriended me because they were contractually obligated by their religion to allow me to hang out with them. So, needless to say, you can imagine what my teens years were like. Once I went to college, I lost weight, started hanging out with more “artsy” people, and became more “reasonable” about religion. I became Episcopalian. Even at my high school graduation I remember saying to my angst-ridden self, “I hope never to see you people again”. But for some reason, I still went. I missed my baby nieces and it seemed like a good time to go home for a break.

The reunion was something out of an Eighties teen movie. It was like I emerged this beautiful, confident woman like a Phoenix from the ashes when all those people knew of me was the nerdy worm. I was unfaithful and kind of made out with a classmate in a parking lot. I was bad. I know it. I do not justify my actions. Judge me if you so choose, I deserve it. Although I was wrong, that experience taught me that my high school trauma was over and I was miserable in my current relationship. I was a capable, beautiful, independent woman who could have any man I wanted. I broke up with my boyfriend immediately upon my return. I ended up having to break up with him a couple more times for it to stick.

I looked just like this girl... Yeah, just like her.

I looked just like this girl… Yeah, just like her.

Besides the hook up, which was more innocent in retrospect, I also met up with some good friends who turned out to really love me and supportive of me. I started networking and working to get back home. I fell in love with my baby nieces on that visit as well. They were only 18 months and four months at the time. I vowed to not miss anymore of their precious babyhoods. It is amazing how children make you grow up, even when they are not your own.

I sent out resumes, came up for an interview, and did several interviews until finally, after the first of the year and hiring budgets are reopened, I landed a phone interview with a prestigious financial firm on their banking side. My ambition and will to return was greater than my low self esteem and I went for it. I had never worked harder to get a job in my life. I was hired over the phone. My start date was delayed because of the awful winter, but that was okay by me. The universe smiled upon me, got me a good job that was a significant pay raise over my current job, had career potential, and would bring me home. I also got to miss the “polar vortex” and return in March. I temped for a few weeks. Couch surfed at a friend’s and my mom’s house and then started on with my new life.

I left the boyfriend off at his mother’s house from whence he came. He probably still hates me and is chalking up our relationship as a major fail. I deserve it. I feel badly about it. I did love him, but it just was not going to work out. Our relationship reminded me a little too much like “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman. My experience proves that whenever your life resembles a 90’s folk or alternative song, its time to make a change. Because, as the 90’s songstress Sheryl Crow will tell you, “A change will do you good.”

Fast Car

So I’m home….kind of. More on that later.


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12 Signs I Ignored That My Husband Was Gay (Signs 5-12)

5.  He was great at shopping.  I know that is a stereotype, but it is true.  We spent a stupid amount of money.  I did not want to “deal” with the finances therefore I had no idea how much debt we were in until we were in the divorce lawyer’s office.  We would spend money on entertainment, trips, gifts, and other just plain stuff in the hopes it would distract us from the fact we were not really getting along.  This was especially true towards the end.  I keep wondering if we were happier when we were both poor and heavy together.  It was when we both slimmed down (he more than me) and started making some real money did we pull apart.  I say that knowing that he was always gay; he was just too fat and poor (for his liking) to be of the “elite” gay.   Only when he was slim and rich did he believe a man could want him.  I know the feeling.

A couple who shops together go in debt together...or separately. Let's just say an "authorized user" on your credit card is on of the STUPIDEST financial decisions you can EVER make.

A couple who shops together go in debt together…or separately. Let’s just say an “authorized user” on your credit card is on of the STUPIDEST financial decisions you can EVER make.

6.  He had a makeover.  His appearance and clothes changed dramatically in about the last two to four years we were married, especially the last two.  He lost about seventy pounds through The Atkins Diet that he followed religiously and running on a treadmill 3-5 days a week.  To me he was never “fat.”  He just had the Midwestern “chubby hubby” look a lot of men get in their thirties.  He was a bit nerdy when I met him.  He was a chemical engineer when I met him and looked the part. He dressed very plainly but not too terribly, wore glasses, and had some acne issues.  He did go to an engineering conference once and his co-workers teased him about being the “best dressed engineer.”  I just laughed it off, considering the source. About year eight, after the miscarriage and the beginning of the bad and infrequent sex, he went on some serious anti-acne meds, started using “product” in his hair, went from an $8 haircut to $25, and his clothes were no longer just khakis, jeans, and polos from JC Penny.  He began to wear dress slacks, designer jeans, and various shirt options from the likes of Nordstrom and Calvin Kline.  My wardrobe did not change a lot.  Sure I went from a size 24 to a size 18 but I still had to buy “plus-sized” clothing so I did not think I deserved (or could purchase) anything as nice as his.  I thought if I got down to a size 14 or 12, then I would EARN my way to designer clothes.

See this self-worth theme keep cropping up?  I believed he was better than me and deserved nicer things. He made more money, he had lost the weight and I did not.  No wonder he gets to have nicer clothes and does not want to make love to me anymore.

7.  He was WAY too into Halloween.  I love Halloween and we had the BEST time coming up with our costumes each year.  You read about “Count Cockula.”  Should have known…. Anyway, we often would come up with very clever “couple” costumes.  We were Mardi Gras revelers once with masks; we were “victims of downsizing” where we dressed up like office zombies.  That was fun.  We were the Witches of the East and West from “The Wizard of Oz” where I was the Wicked Witch of the West with green make up and a broom and he was The Wicked Witch of the East where he wore a cardboard house over his body and just green and white stockings and red ruby slippers.  It was brilliant, but you would think a man that knows that much about The Wizard of Oz might have been “A friend of Dorothy.”  Once again, a stereotype, but sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason.

8.  He was never that into my body.  I am not saying he was “bad in bed.”  I am not.  Consider how “skilled” a man can become when he is desperately trying to cover up such a deep, dark secret.  For years, he was so good that I thought his homosexuality was all in MY head.  He just did not have the same, let’s say, enthusiasm about the female form that I have found in other straight lovers.  He did not hunger for my body like other men seem to.  This hunger sometimes embarrasses me as a grown woman.  Perhaps when I was young and innocent with a lot of hang ups about sex and my own body I could not handle “the hunger”.  I cannot help but wonder if I was complicit in some way that I married a gay man and let it go on for so many years because of my own shame issues.

Sex is not everything, but in this arena, a more experienced woman would have picked up on some clues. I was not “technically” a virgin, but pretty close.  For about six to eight years, roughly, or sex life was pretty good.  People ask me about this all the time.  Yes, he turned out to be gay, but he was attracted to me at first and could perform for many years with me without the help of porn, Viagra or anything.  He was attracted to me physically, could maintain an erection and we did have a pleasing sex life for about half our marriage.  It was sweet and tender.

I do not want to get into too many details.  It would be tacky and take away from the magic that was the early years of our marriage.  Like I have said before, I loved this man and he loved me.  I would hazard to say that we still love each other and always will at least in some form.  People say I am “too easy” on him and should be way more angry. I am, but we knew each other like husband and wife for many years.  I am so sad that he had to keep this greatest secret from me.  I do believe we were soul mates.  Maybe soul mates do not have to be married or even live in the same town to have that special connection.  That is why I defend him is because he is still a part from me.  Even with all that, now that I have been exposed to what real love can be like, I resent him not giving his all to me.

Towards the end, he rarely looked at my body while we making love.  Although he did find me aseptically pleasing in the nice clothes that he would choose for me.

Too Much Information Warning!!!!

The last year of our marriage he could only respond to be was if he took me from behind.  The longest time we did not indulge in this position.  At the end this was the only way I could make him come or even keep him hard (other than with my mouth).  He could only get off if he did not have to look at my breasts or face.  Don’t get me wrong, like many girls we like it doggie style every once and awhile, but all the time it can make a girl wonder.  Actually, it destroyed me.  I was really picking up on the idea that he no longer desired me.  He really, really would prefer a man and do things with men only men could do.  No wonder how sweet I was, how thin, how pretty I was or could become, and I could not make him want me.

9.  He always made me initiate.  In his own words he said if we ever had sex it was because I initiated 95% of the time.  He said he had sex with me to make me happy.  I told him not to bother.  He made me feel like a wanton whore just for wanting my husband.  Men who have tried to love me have to undo a lot of bad programming.

10.  Never jealous.  Men can sense if they have a chance with a woman or not.  Her marital status is immaterial.  She does not have to do anything to warrant this attention.  Her availability is subconscious.  Maybe it is pheromones, maybe it is the evolutionary hunger that women have too to procreate and her body sends out all kinds of signals to eligible, viable, viral men to alert them to her fertility. Her body is letting the world know that she has eggs ready and available and they are not being fertilized by her chosen mate.  Her body is telling any man in a certain radius, “touch me, fill me, make me happy and I will make you happy.”  It is chemical; it is psychological, and rather subversive.  We cannot help it.  The only thing to stop this hunger, the growling emptiness of our womanhood is to love your woman and fuck her properly and often.  That will keep the wolves and her own appetite at bay.

"Hey, I hear there is an unhappily married woman right over there"

“Hey, I hear there is an unhappily married woman right over there”

I told my husband about men that were hitting on me making me nervous.  I told him about his own friends making passes at me. I even told him about a rather humiliating, frightening sexual harassment issue at work and he did absolutely nothing.  He never defended me.  He did not want me, why would he think any other man would.  Maybe he secretly thought if I were getting it somewhere else that meant he would not have to and I will stay out of guilt.

11.  Everyone knew but me.  There were some that suspected form the very beginning, but he cleverly covered his inclinations and quelled suspicions.  He was a marvelous actor.  He was always the consummate game player.  He knew the game he was playing; he was in control of all the pieces and knew how to win.  What was the prize?  Was keeping the secret the prize?  Not fulfilling his true nature, finding someone (who would have to be a man) that would make him truly happy the prize?  Was I the prize?  The trophy?  No, sadly, I think I was just “the beard.”  I hate that word.  It hurts me, but it is true.

This is a variation of my 2009 Halloween costume.  I was a little naive to really pull it off, so I guess I was "asking" for it.

This is a variation of my 2009 Halloween costume. I was a little naive to really pull it off, so I guess I was “asking” for it.

12.  He was willing to give me away.  The last party we attended as a couple was, ironically, a Halloween party at our friend’s house who was gay in a gay neighborhood.  I was one of only about four girls in a part of over 40 men.  Several guys came up to me and asked if my husband was bi.  They asked me this to my face.  I was pretty much a stranger.  I knew the host and a few other people.  Maybe they thought that it was so obvious my husband was gay/bi that I had to know and therefore not a shock if they asked.  Maybe they assumed I was okay with it.  I was asked by about five different people to be in a threesome.  They thought my husband and I were cute and would like to “try out” a woman.  There were also a few guys there that were previously with women and even had children with these girls.  Often, they did not have full custody.  One guy said, “If I liked pussy, I’d start with yours.”  He then proceeded to touch my breasts like they were just open to everyone like cantaloupe at a fruit stand.  Okay, they are more the size of grapefruit, but you get the idea.  One older guy dressed up as a priest pulled me in by my collar and kissed me, with tongue, in front of several guests in the kitchen.  He did not care.  Yes, everyone was drinking, but still, huge faux pas.  Obviously he did not see my husband as a threat.  Upon leaving he came up to my husband and said “You’ve got one firecracker of a wife there.”  I believe under most circumstances behavior like that could get you a stern talking to by the husband/boyfriend if not a trip to the hospital.  If you love a woman, you don’t just give her away.  We “broke up” thirteen days later.  It was the beginning of the end.


Posted in Gay Ex-Husband, Uncategorized | Tagged | 54 Comments

12 Signs I Ignored That My Ex-Husband Was Gay (Signs 1-4))

How did I not know?  There were signs, even from the beginning that I either was too ignorant to know the difference, too trusting and believed his explanations, or downright denied the evidence right in front of me.  Never underestimate the power of denial.

1.  He made me kiss him first.  I know that this is the era of women’s lib, but still often men make the first move. Men are the pursuers just waiting for an invite so they can bring the party.  That was not the case with my ex.  He said he liked me but refused to kiss me first.  Maybe it was a game, I do not know.  I have pecked a guy on the cheek or even the lips first to let him know it was okay to take it further especially if the guy was particularly shy but any kind of heavy kissing he has to initiate before it goes to the next level.  Sure there are women that are more aggressive than that, but I wonder if I were not as eager that I might have caught on sooner.  However, we were great friends and we did have certain chemistry right off the bat.  I swear.  Neither of us was really desperate, we just really felt something for each other very quickly. Looking back, I see that any escalation physically was of my encouragement.  I feel bad about this now.  Why did I not insist on being pursued.  I am not saying that guys HAVE to be the aggressors and women keep him at bay, but now I wonder how much of our physical relationship was an attempt to keep me “happy” or to throw off my radar of his true nature.


2.  He did not want to live with me and chose to share an apartment with his “best friend” instead leaving me practically homeless.  I am sure he would tell the story of our year long engagement differently.  I just remember only seeing each other on weekends and living on my father’s couch that summer/fall.  Even my conservative mother thought it was weird.  I just thought he was being moral, a good friend, and trying to help me “find my own way.”  I have found if a man lives by himself and is in an exclusive relationship he wants the girl to move in.  He may not be ready to commit to marriage, but he is ready to commit to free sex, and someone to cook, clean, do laundry and still pay half the rent.

3.  Our second year of marriage he went to a Halloween party as “Count Cockula.”  I wish to Christ I was making this up. He was the gayest vampire you ever care not to see.  He wore a fluffy white blouse of mine, black pants, a cape, fangs and lipstick.    His catch phrase was “I vant to suck….your blood.”  I thought this was hilarious at the time and that is was all in good fun. How did I not catch on?   He loved every Halloween, whether he was in a male or female costume, because I would put make up on him.  He loved it.  It was a time when we were very intimate.  He and I so close and my making him “pretty.”  I should have known, but I loved this rare yearly closeness he afforded me and I was so hungry for his attention that I was more grateful than suspicious.

Yeah, he pretty much looked just like this.

Yeah, he pretty much looked just like this.

4.  Gay porn.  (A history)

The first time I found gay porn on his computer, he explained it away with hackers.   When I found in his history on his computer when I was innocently looking for the website for movie times I found a “college cock” link and other gay porn websites that shocked this young, impressionable church girl.  I remember my stomach churning and I wanted to vomit.  Not because of the male naked form that I have an issue with homosexuality, or even because I had never looked at porn before, because I hadn’t, really, it was because in the core of my being I knew.  I knew something was wrong with our marriage and this was the evidence.  Of course, when I confronted him about it, he said that we must have been hacked.  He even went so far as to call our internet provider, dress down the poor customer service representative (who probably knew better) and changed to another provider.  That is how deep the allusion was.  I believed it, because, why wouldn’t I?  Of course we were hacked because if not….

Year 5-  The fifth year of our marriage he was traveling a lot for his company and I had a tremendously stressful job teaching at an alternative high school.  I once again, innocently looked at the history of his computer looking up, once again, movie times and saw the familiar toned, bronzed bodies of young men in all sort of contortions and positions.  Oddly enough, I was on the phone with a friend with whom we were supposed to see a movie with that day and he said, “Watch out looking up his history, you might find gay porn or something.”  He said it as a joke, because, that would be ridiculous.  That familiar nausea returned only this time, the hacker excuse wouldn’t hack it.

He blamed me for his looking at gay porn and going on gay chat lines until three or four in the morning.  God knows what he did when he was traveling.  He blamed me because I was not fulfilling his needs because I was so stressed at work, he was gone a lot, I was needy, and crazy.  I began to believe him that I was crazy and I went to psychiatrists and was put on enough psycho-active drugs to make Nurse Ratchett blush.  He wasn’t gay, I was crazy.  I had driven him to this perversion (which I know it really isn’t) because I was such a emotionally needy and mentally unstable woman.  Either I was crazy or he was gay and I was kind enough to take the fall for the both of us.

He FINALLY admitted that he might be “bi” but loves me.  We went to couples counseling once.  He claims to have a porn addiction but is not gay. He says he looks at gay porn to “punish” himself or when I have neglected him in some way.  He promised to give it up.  I continue to go to counseling for years for MY emotional problems and was put on mood stabilizers I did not need until my liver function was affected as well as I was beginning to stutter and forget words.  I go to counseling some now but have not been on an anti-depressant or any kind of pyscho-active drug since the divorce.  Magically, I am “cured.”  More on that in another post.

This was the "tamest" picture I could find and it is just a Hollister ad.

This was the “tamest” picture I could find and it is just a Hollister ad.

Year 8- He says he looks at porn because I will not have sex with him.  I was recovering physically and emotionally from a devastating miscarriage and we still managed to have sex once or twice a month even though it hurt.  At this point, I stopped using his computer completely, avoided his office, and he bought me a laptop.

Year 11 and 12- The death rattle of our relationship.  I do not snoop, but I did see a couple of “missed calls” and even a few leading texts on his cell phone from men.  I did not want to know and never confronted him.  We were having fertility issues and it turns out that he has a very low sperm count and there is nothing wrong with me.  I blamed myself for our earlier fertility issues and the miscarriage when it turns out I am just fine.  At this point he is having impotence issues (only with me) and will barely touch me.  He, once again, blames me for my insistence on having a baby and that I am just over-sexed because I am hitting “my early thirties prime.”   Only this time, my faith in his excuses were waning as my faith in myself was growing.

(See Signs 5-12 in a later post)


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