They say the husband is always the last to know. I've thought about that statement quite a bit over the past several months, and I have decided that it's not quite accurate. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be that the husband is the last to accept.
I was one of those husbands. I thought I had a good marriage. Of course, it hadn't turned out exactly like I thought it would, but what marriage does? Sure, my wife Ann hadn't gone back to school to finish her degree as she had said she wanted to before we were married, but we were making ends meet on our salaries as they were. And of course, her figure had changed quite a bit, but having three children will do that to a woman. I still found her attractive, the fullness of her body only adding to her softly sensual nature. The main things stayed the same. I loved her, she loved me, and we were working together to make a good life for ourselves and our children.
But things change. In our case, the changes were gradual at first, hardly noticeable, certainly nothing to be concerned about. I assured myself that taking care of three children and working even part time was bound to make my wife a little disinterested in the bedroom. We had a box full of sex toys under the bed, a testament to the fact that Ann could be adventurous when she wanted. That Ann had stopped initiating sex or suggesting that we bring out the toys I thought was only a reflection of the daily stress of life. She remained willing when I initiated sex, and she always returned my less sexual displays of affection such as holding hands or the quick hug in the kitchen. We kissed each other goodbye in the morning, and I never entered the house without giving Ann a kiss hello. I was sure the lack of further intimacy was just a phase. When the kids were older, the job less stressful, the in-laws less interfering, I knew things would get better in the bedroom.
Gradual change is a funny thing though. Little things occurring over time aren't that noticeable when looked at separately. They might be a trifle annoying perhaps, but certainly nothing to be worried about. So you soldier on, you swallow the building resentment and think about the good of the family. You tell yourself things will get better. You don't really notice, or allow yourself to see, the gathering storm on the horizon.
I remember distinctly the moment I knew something was wrong. Not the moment I accepted that something was wrong, mind you, but the moment that I knew something was wrong. More of a feeling really, a sense in your gut that things aren't quite right, that change is occurring, and not for the better.
Ann had started a new job some months prior. After years of working at a job she had long ago grown tired of, she had accepted a job as a caseworker with a medical practice and was enjoying the daily interaction with patients and staff. She had been more vibrant and engaged than I had seen for quite a long time.
This particular night as I was finishing making dinner (a task that had increasingly fallen to me) she mentioned his name for the first time...Greg.
Most husbands who have been married for any length of time will tell you that their wife's mention of a strange man's name will immediately set off warning bells in their head. Add to the mention of this name that your wife is telling you what a nice guy he is, how good with the patients he is, and that he seems to be paying a lot of attention to her and the alarm bells become almost deafening. I stopped what I was doing, and looked at my wife.
"You know," I said, "you seem to be talking to Greg an awful lot. He does know that you're married doesn't he?"
"Of course," Ann replied. "Don't get jealous. He's just a kid, barely out of college and only 23 years old. He even lives with his parents. I'm certain he's not interested in a forty year old mother of three. It's just flattering having a young man show interest in me that's all. I've told him I can't possibly go out with him."
RIIIINNNNGGGGG! Those damn alarm bells again.
"And why would you have to tell him you can't possibly go out with him?"
"Well, he asked me out for drinks after work," Ann said.
"And what did you say?" I asked.
"I told him I was married."
RIIIINNNNGGGGG! Those damn alarm bells again. After ignoring so many little things for so many years, I suddenly took notice that she hadn't said "No, I won't go out with you." Was I reading too much into this conversation?
"And what did he say to that?" I asked.
She said, "He said to ask my husband if it was alright with him."
Oh my, I did not like the way this was going, not one little bit. This guy had balls, and it was time for me to set some things straight.
"Well," I said, "you can tell him that your husband said it was very much not alright."
"Oh honey, don't be silly," she said. "Of course I would never go out with him. I know I'm married and he's just a kid. It's just flattering to be asked, that's all. It's cute that you still get jealous though."
Yeah, right...cute. In my heart I knew Ann would never cheat on me. We loved each other too much. In a way I was pissed at myself. Surely I trusted Ann. She had never given me reason to doubt her faithfulness. I promised myself I would not become one of those paranoid jerk husbands tracking their wife's every move. I loved her. She loved me. I trusted her. I would let her have her little flirtation and be happy that she enjoyed the stimulation of her new job.
