Through the years, I hardly had any social life and only a few dates. I did get a master’s degree and a position in management that paid well, so my life was busy and family-centered for many years. As the children left the nest, I began thinking of a life for myself.

I must admit that I was looking for that Prince Charming whom most women seem to dream up in the secret corners of their minds. A charming man did appear. Simon was handsome, well educated, hard working, and had been legally separated from his family for several months. He looked like the perfect mate. Granted, he had left a wife and four children, but I knew all the details and it just was not his fault.

Upon finalizing his divorce, Simon quickly plugged into my need for love and approval. As I now see in retrospect, he had found my vulnerable areas and cunningly played the long-awaited, perfect mate. Gallant friends tried to warn me. People risked our friendship to give me the “straight scoop” about this man and his lack of integrity. They told me of his questionable friendships with women, married and otherwise.

Friends of his former wife came to me to report how he had left her alone to cope with their four children. I couldn’t hear these terrible stories. I didn’t want to believe that they could be true. Instead, I sympathized with the unhappy years he had struggled to keep a bad marriage alive. He had finally found me, and I would make his life complete. Married to me, he would have no need to chase women again.

Simon’s mother soon came on the scene. She corroborated his story of an unhappy marriage. His mother was an influential person in his life, who wanted only his happiness, she said, but in reality, she was very possessive and domineering. She soon became obsessed with being involved in our lives. Both mother and son professed to a profound commitment to religion. Their devotion touched me deeply, for I also had strong religious convictions. In many ways, we seemed to be a perfect match. The marriage took place, and we sailed into the sunset with heads high in the clouds. We lived the enchanted life for a few years, and I kept telling myself how happy I was.

At first, I paid no attention to the disturbing signals. He spent more and more time away from home, opened questionable charge accounts, and attended dinner meetings alone that included an invitation for wives. He never invited me. In public Simon openly demonstrated his affection for me always hugging and kissing me but in private, he was the opposite. He would make it a point not to go to bed when I did.

When we did go to bed together, he would give me a quick little peck on the cheek, turn over, and go right to sleep. There was no loving or caressing. It became apparent, after a few months, that he had an impotency problem of some magnitude. After five years of marriage, I began to feel like a battered wife. I was not harmed by any physical violence; the battering was strictly psychological. He talked to me less and less, and when he did speak, it was always in a condescending tone. His lack of self-respect, I now understand, was being transferred to me.

There were other warning signs, if I had only been willing to acknowledge them. For example, he often played the role of the macho male who was quick with abusive remarks about the gay community (ironically, I had many homosexual friends). Moreover, he was into feely, touchy behavior with other women. He always had his hands on them when he was talking. Because of those mannerisms, he was considered by some of my friends to be a very sensual, loving husband. Also, he was very secretive.

What he did with his money or how much he had was never a topic for discussion, although he always wanted to know what I was doing with my money. Finally, he seemed troubled and unhappy most of the time, changed jobs and friends suddenly, and didn’t want to participate with the same group for very long. It eventually reached the point that my friends started telling me that they preferred to go out with me alone or to do things together that did not include my husband. Odd as it now seems, it was a close friend who first suggested the possibility of a sexual preference problem.

One day as we sat together in church, the one place we continued to go together, I looked over at him and realized that I didn’t know him at all. Then it suddenly all clicked. I saw the whole picture. His womanizing was a deliberate cover-up. I now understood his impotence and why he refused to go to a counselor.

His insecurity made sense. I could see that his mother’s constant defensiveness about him was, in fact, rejection and anxiety on her part. From Simon’s point of view, it was better to be considered a philandering husband than a homosexual man, especially as far as his mother was concerned. I realized how stupid I had been.

After ten years of marriage, I filed for divorce and left…

© 1998 Aileen H. Atwood R.N., M.S.N., Ed.D.

Excerpt from the book: Husbands Who Love Men: Deceit, Disease and Despair by Aileen H. Atwood RN, Ed.D.. This book candidly addresses the many problems that wives and children face when the husband and father is gay. By bringing the subject into the open, the author wants to help women to recognize the possible symptoms of a homosexual husband, to cope with the devastating results that typically emerge from such a relationship, and to move beyond the pain, anger, and self-blame toward a better future of forgiveness and hope.

Published by AMI Publishers, Providence, UT. © 1998 Aileen H. Atwood R.N., M.S.N., Ed.D.

Allow me to relate a story about two special women in my life. One is the one I am still married to, after more than two decades. The other is the woman I had an affair with. I’m going to call her Joanne. She knows who she is, but it would be highly indiscreet to name names. 

What is it with this 25 year syndrome? It seems that 7 years is a turning point in most marriages. It was in mine… and we made it through it. It was incredibly difficult at times. It also seems that 25 years is another turning point.

It’s easy to love someone. We all love more than one person at a time. Everybody does. But, to “be in love” is completely different.

When I was 20 years old, I had a friend who was the distant object of my affection. I was in love with her. I just didn’t have the nerve to tell her. We went out a few times, and were very close friends… and I suspect that’s how she felt about it. She wound up marrying someone else, and I was crushed (from a distance).

I allowed this to get inside my head and stir things up for several years. And, just about the time I had come to the gross realization that I wasn’t ever going to see her again I met this really great gal. We had the same political interests, social interests, and likes/dislikes… pretty much, anyway. Suffice to say, we had a great deal in common. And, like most of our friends at the time, we wound up getting married.

The seven year itch

My wife got it. I had it, but didn’t scratch it. She scratched. Big time. With two of my friends, and three others as well. I’ll never forget the day she came home from work with a book about adultery. I think the title (rather long) went something like this: ‘Civilized Adultery: A modern couple’s guide to extramarital adventure.’

It was pretty good at addressing issues of discretion, basic rules of having an affair, why you should or shouldn’t tell your spouse. Anyway, I think my wife used it to ‘break me in’ to the fact that she wanted to have sex with other men too. It also helped me to realize that my own insecurities would cause me to be jealous of any relationships she might develop.

So, after bolstering my self esteem, she began a series of affairs with several different men. I was always free to pursue this sort of thing, but I never really had the nerve. I thought that getting married would eliminate the need to look for someone to love.

After she started having an affair, I almost felt compelled but never really had the time, nor had I met anybody interesting enough. There was a lady I carpooled with, but she was very noble, and refused to become ‘the other woman.’

There was my secretary, but THAT would have really screwed up a good working relationship. And we both realized that. Madalen and I went out for dinner a couple of times during what amounted to a brief separation between me and my wife.

BUT NOW, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I HAVE HAD AN AFFAIR…

I ran into Joanne in an office building in January. We went to lunch right away. We hadn’t seen each other in 28 years, and she was now divorced. She was officially married to him for 27 and one half years… but she calls it 25. That’s when she told him she was leaving him.

One thing led to another…the emails went fast and furious. I was falling in love all over again. My wife and I had been talking divorce for well over a year.

And Joanne was just as she had been years ago. A little heavier, perhaps. A little grey around the edges ( after all, she IS approaching 50), and a few new wrinkles… but she kissed me like she had so many years ago. Funny, I still remembered what she tasted like. I was falling in love again… with the woman who had unknowingly broken my heart so many years ago. Finally, it was going to come true.

I didn’t care that she had two grown children (I have one of those myself). I didn’t care that I had to wait for 28 years. All the emotions and feelings came to the surface… so quickly. I had kept them locked away for so many years. Now, they just seemed to explode.

My wife and our relationship didn’t matter any more. I had Joanne back in my life. Nothing else mattered. I knew after the first lunch together, we would have to see each other again.

About three weeks after our initial meeting, I was working about 40 miles from her office. (I don’t live close to her, nor does my work take me near her very often — so 40 miles wasn’t out of the question). I drove to a point closer to her office and called her. I asked her out for lunch, and she readily agreed. I was in her office’s lobby in about 15 minutes.

We had a very enjoyable time, and after lunch sat out in her car and necked like a couple of teenagers. I felt a little strange. I am a respected member of my community. She was on the School Board, for goodness’ sake. There we were, off in an unoccupied corner of the parking lot… necking and getting all worked up like we did when we were 19.

The next day, I mustered the courage to send her an email expressing my desire to see her again… perhaps during a weekend. She agreed, and we set things up for a weekend in February.

And so, began the deceit…

I covered my tracks so well. I set the stage by sending myself an email from someone having to do with my business…a nd a “weekend conference” in the major city near where Joanne lives. Anybody can create a phony email account.

This was so simple, she never suspected a thing. It was very official looking, and I even printed it out to let her know I was going to attend this ‘conference.’ I also threw a strange twist into it. It was a weekend conference that started at noon on Saturday and ended at noon on Monday. Joanne scheduled a vacation day for Monday.

And I began to count the days until I would see her. The anticipation was incredible. My sleep time at night grew shorter and shorter. I couldn’t keep myself asleep after awhile. I bounded out of bed in the morning… and stayed up late at night emailing Joanne. We had the hots for each.

I got to live one of the fantasies of every man. I got to spend an incredibly erotic weekend with an old high school sweetheart.

I took a train to the city, and rode the metro train to her suburb. She met me at the station. The kiss hello was magic. My heart was light as air and ablaze with anticipation. Finally, after all the years, love was real… and right here, driving the car!

© Dick Ogden

I knew she would be waiting… but she wasn’t. So, I called. And the number didn’t work. Then I remembered, something on the news… you’ve got to dial all ten numbers — with the area code–because of some screw up with the phone numbers and the sheer number of people in this part of town.

And she answered on the second ring.

Oh my God. I caught my breath. This was really happening. She was telling me that she was right around the corner from me and would be there in just a few… And I saw her car… and she was talking on the phone… to me… I hung up, walked over to the street and was overwhelmed with wonder at seeing her there. This was going to be a weekend to remember for a long time to come.

How marvelous her lips tasted. She has a wonderful, distinctive taste. It’s ‘hers.’ Nobody else’s.

On the way to her house, we stopped at a bona-fide fish market and she bought tuna steaks and Spiced, Peel-n-eat shrimp. She spent an obscene amount of money on dinner and a snack. She had some other groceries to carry in, so I got those with my suitcase.

Three glasses of Champagne (left behind by an ex-boyfriend) later, her room mate showed up. The three of us had an amicable conversation. The roomie was repainting her suite. She and Joanne share a house with two master bedroom suites. It’s probably what every single woman would like to have.

So, roomie went upstairs while Joanne and I went to her downstairs den. We sat and talked about ‘things’ for about ten minutes… and then mutually decided that I should move from the chair to the couch next to her. Good idea.

And we were soon teenagers again. Two hours (and a little clothing) later, her room mate was calling down to us that HER date was here, and we should get ready to see the movie.

Oh… we were going to the movies? Okay… Message In a Bottle? Okay… and Chinese afterwards? Fine. And SHE was paying, as well? Whatever… She was insistant that I keep my money in my pocket. She had just gone through a divorce and knew how difficult it really is to hide money from your spouse (so she didn’t want me to spend it frivolously).

The movie was a tear jerker… dinner was kind of anticlimactic. We kept looking at each other… knowing that Chinese had nothing to do with what we wanted at that particular moment in time.

And when we went home, we went straight upstairs… and turned into a couple of wine drinking, body oil rubbing teenagers again until four thirty in the morning. And, she has a little kinky thing about leaving a light or two on… and leaving the windowshade up about six inches… just to give the neighbor (who has a telescope) a thrill now and then. I found that particularly strange and exciting.

Sunday just sort of flowed by gently, calmly… we went out to some antique shops. She bought a couple of rings (one of them she called her ‘divorce’ ring.)

I was falling in love with Joanne… all over again. My wife at home didn’t exist. Joanne and I were one… at last.

And we had a wonderful meal Sunday evening (she’s a gourmet cook and trained Master Chef). Doing the dishes was incredibly romantic. And we were back in bed by 8… turning into wanton teenagers again. This time we kept it up until 3. I had completely fallen for her again. She was the woman of my dreams.

She cared for me. She was kind to me. She was an amazing lover… just amazing. Joanne knows things that should be (and probably are in some parts of the world) illegal.

But, it started on Monday morning.

She called her office and put the message on her voice mail that she’d be “unavailable today.” She didn’t want to take a shower together… like we had the morning before. She seemed occupied… distant… strange.

She took me out for breakfast and we went to a gallery and looked at some incredible work from Austrailia… but she wasn’t really there. She was somewhere… else.

It was already starting to hurt.

She couldn’t stand it anymore, either. We’d spent the better part of the day together… when she said she had some things to get done, and hoped I wouldn’t mind if she just dropped me off at the Train Station.

I didn’t realize she was going to drop me off two hours before train time, though. It was beginning to sink in. Something wasn’t exactly right here…

The train ride home was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever experienced.

Before the week was done, I was going to feel my heart breaking… just a little at a time. And, I was going to need a therapist to help me sort all of this stuff out.

© Dick Ogden

2) Recognize that work can be a danger zone. Don’t lunch alone or take coffee breaks with the same person all the time. When you travel with a co-worker, meet in public rooms, not in a room with a bed.

3) Avoid emotional intimacy with attractive alternatives to your committed relationship. Resist the desire to rescue an unhappy soul who pours his or her heart out to you.

4) Protect your marriage by discussing relationship issues at home. If you do need to talk to someone else about your marriage, be sure that person is a friend of the marriage. If the friend disparages marriage, respond with something positive about your own relationship.

5) Keep old flames from reigniting. If a former lover is coming to the class reunion, invite your partner to come along. If you value your marriage, think twice about having lunch with an old flame.

6) Don’t go over the line when you’re online with Internet friends. Discuss your online friendships with your partner and show him/her your e-mail if he/she is interested. Invite your partner to join in your correspondence so your Internet friend won’t get any wrong ideas. Don’t exchange sexual fantasies online.

7) Make sure your social network is supportive of your marriage. Surround yourself with friends who are happily married and who don’t believe in fooling around.

Copyright © 2003 Shirley P. Glass, Ph.D

What we aren’t sure of is what went wrong. I mean, we’re both divorced, having lost our husbands to younger, prettier, perkier women. “Bimboettes” is the word Janna uses. From all appearances, our exes are happy as little pigs in clover. Janna and I should be, too, but somewhere in the journey between divorce and happiness, we took a couple wrong turns.

If it weren’t so damned emotionally draining, our walk along life’s crooked roads could almost be amusing. But, so far, we find ourselves crying a few more tears than we’d like to, and cursing our luck (or is it lack of luck?) in our choice of suitable male companions.

You see, Janna and I have fallen into the role of “other woman.” Not because there were no other men who wanted to date us. Not because we wanted to break up marriages as ours had been broken. Us as “bimboettes” is laughable! We’re middle-aged, already!

And, yet, here we are, two divorced women who spend time together comparing our lovers’ latest excuses instead of regaling each other with tales of getaways and vacations for two at far away romantic places. We’re pretty much past believing that we’ll ever spend extended periods of time with the men we love because they can’t tear themselves away from their wives. And yet we wait for the impossible to happen, the phone call, the knock on the door, his happy face as he tells us it’s our turn, she’s agreed to a divorce.

Why should she? If she’s got any brains at all she won’t want to be out here with the rest of us. No, if she has any brains at all, she’ll bide her time. And if we had any brains at all, we’d dump the cheats and make some room in our hearts for the proverbial “good guy” who’s just waiting to sweep us off to paradise.

Yeah, right! He lives with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Sorry, we quit believing in good guys and white horses a long time ago. Maybe that’s why we take the little bit of affection we get from our married men and hold tight to the thought when it’s the middle of the night and we’re alone.

Janna got involved with Stan just after her husband divorced her. It was a big emotional low point for her and I wasn’t much help, after all, Charlie was acting funny and it was all I could do to keep tabs on our life at the time. Maybe if I’d been there for her, maybe she would have poured her troubles out to me instead of him, maybe she wouldn’t have been so easily led to believe that he understood perfectly what she was going through because he had the same problems with a wife who just didn’t understand, who just couldn’t provide the emotional support a sensitive guy like him needed. By the time she came up for air, he had set the hook and reeled her in like a trophy sailfish.

We lost contact briefly as I fought my indignation over her new life role as “the other woman.” When we did get together, I had a difficult time being objective, seeing her as the friend I used to enjoy being around. I’m afraid I found myself labeling her with some very unpleasant names.

But, you see, by this time, Charlie had moved in with his perky little girlfriend — the “other woman” in our marriage. I had my hands full trying to deal with my life as it crumbled around me. How could I possibly be objective about Janna’s less than perfect life? Particularly when she was busy doing to some other wife the same thing Charlie’s new love was doing to me!

Divorce does things to otherwise sane and rational human beings. I think I survived, but I’ll know in about twenty years, if I live that long. In the meantime, Janna and I have reconciled, returning to “best friends” status. Was it because she didn’t judge me when I told her about Todd?

Ah, Todd…. Smooth talkin’ and fast walkin’ I think might be a good description. The kind of guy who knows the right words at the right time, aided with one perfect rose (the kind of touch Charlie never thought appropriate for romancing me, but apparently finds useful with his current girlfriend) and a bottle of “our” favorite wine nicely chilled.

That it was necessary for me to go through the divorce trauma in order to meet the man I’d always known was waiting for me. He was perfect, my soulmate. It was right.In the beginning I thought he was the reason my life had taken the turns it had.

Actually, it was wrong and I’ve come to realize that but it doesn’t mean that I have the need to let him go or maybe it’s not so much need as it is the necessity to let him go. My real Mr. Right hasn’t shown up, and I don’t expect he will. So I’ve tried to get my life into an orderly sort of existance, one that has Todd compartmentalized with all the other wishes that have never come true, and probably won’t.

And every once in a while I actually believe him when he says that he loves me, although he doesn’t say it as much now as he used to. Perhaps it has something to do with the promises he made to his wife when she discovered some receipts in his pocket for clothing he bought me. Perhaps he wanted to get caught. Maybe he has a need to be reprimanded for cheating. It doesn’t stop him, only makes him a little more cautious when he calls or when we meet.

Or maybe our relationship needed to be spiced up a bit for him and maybe he enjoys knowing that he has to be supremely careful or she’ll find out again. Maybe it’s a game he’s playing, using me to create excitement in his marriage. I’ve tried to analyze this in the long hours of the night but it still comes back to this: I wait for his call and I run to him for the little time we can spend together and then I take the memory back with me and stretch it out to fill the time until we get together again.

Sometimes I dream about being his wife. But then I get these spurts of sanity and know that if I was his wife there would be someone else like me dreaming the same dreams. Is it better that I am who and where I am? Am I freer this way? I think so.

© Pat Gaudette. All rights reserved.