I Love My Husband

I love my husband.

After reading this, many people will say that I can't claim to love him because of what I do to him; but I do. I love him with everything that I am. As corny as that sounds it's true. I can't imagine my life without him. He's been my anchor, my home, and my heart for the last nine years and if he knew what I've been doing to him behind his back, I know for a fact that it would rip him apart from the inside out.

I was born to an upper middle class suburban family in New York State. My father is a doctor and my mother a housewife. I have an older sister, Sonja, as well as an identical twin sister Marilyn.

Despite being a twin, my dad always gave me special attention. I guess it was because he could see more of himself in me than he could in Sonja or Mary. He always spent a little more time with me than he did with my sisters; he always did special things for me that he didn't do for anyone else.

My mother disapproved of it of course. She had this idea of bringing my sisters and I up exactly the way she wanted. And she wanted us to be conservative, quiet, and ladylike so that we could one day marry rich and have everything provided for us; whereas dad just wanted us to do what we wanted and not have to depend on someone else for our well being.

Considering the way most families work that seems backwards doesn't it. Usually it's the father who wants his girls brought up to be ladylike and the mother wants them to be independent. But that's the kind of family I live in completely opposite to the conventional. Unfortunately, my mother ruled our house with an iron fist, so dad's opinion wasn't heard that much.

Sonja conformed exactly the way mom wanted her to and mom's favourable opinion of it showed. She ended up marrying a complete asshole that just happened to be a significant shareholder in a multi-national corporation. They have two children together and although I love my niece and nephew, I can already see what their father's opinionated, egotistical, and sexist views are doing to them.

Marilyn also did what mom asked; though in retrospect I think it was more out of spite for me than her actually agreeing with what mom believed. Compared to Sonja, Marilyn's a little bit more of a free spirit, but still very much under the thumb of our mother. Mary did what mom asked but only when mom was just about ready to throw the book at her, for lack of a better term.

Now, like I said, I was more like dad growing up and so I grew up the way daddy wanted me to. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, and I didn't care about the consequences, and my mother hated it. I would get a verbal reaming at home because I was out too long and didn't call, or some other matter.

The first time mom shouted at me my dad stepped in and started arguing with her saying that I was just doing what was normal for a teenager. As soon as he did, however, mom gave him a glare, and told me to go to my room. Once the door was closed mom let loose on dad and her barrage didn't end for three hours.

Three days after my mother berated my dad, I snuck out after dark to spend the night with my friends after my mother specifically told me I couldn't go. When I got back mom started shouting at me; after five minutes I looked towards my dad standing in the corner of the kitchen. He wouldn't meet my eyes, and I knew there wasn't going to be any more support from him. Ever.

So I did the only thing I could think of, I started shouting back.

I can still remember the look on her face when I talked back to her that first time. Complete and utter shock was written all over her fine features. Sonja and Marilyn couldn't believe it either. For a brief second I thought I had won. But once that brief moment was over mom came back harder than before, which only made me shout louder at her. And thus began the great verbal battles between mother and daughter in the Galawick household.

From that point on, whenever I did something mom didn't like, she and I would yell at each other for a good hour and a half. After which, when dad had finished calming mom down, he would sneak up to my room when I was still crying, give me a hug and kiss and tell me, "Good girl Jenny." And then he'd go back downstairs.

Nowadays I try to stay away from mom and dad as much as possible. About the only time I see them are holidays and family functions. My mother and I don't get along at all and whenever we get in the same room a fighting match always ensues. I have to say with all honesty, it's mostly mom's fault. Whenever I walk in the door she immediately starts criticizing me. Everything I do goes under the microscope. Dad at least tries to change the subject, but Marilyn always brings the topics back to me.

Marilyn and I get along even worse than I do with my mother.

We've been at odds with each other since we were born. She says I'm a spoilt little brat and I say she's an obsessive compulsive. She's too much like mom for her own good, always trying to control every little thing that happens in her life. When we were younger I tried to get her to loosen up, but she idolized Sonja. And since Sonja idolized mom, Marilyn became very much like mom.

She does have a rebellious streak in her though. A couple of times she broke mom's rules. Whenever she did though, mom came down hard on her. Nowhere near as hard as she did on me, but hard nonetheless. After a few times I was pretty much left as the only rebel in the family.

In any case, Marilyn and I actually fight worse than my mom and I do. It all really started in high school. To say that I was, and still am, "quite promiscuous," (Marilyn's wording) would be a gross understatement. Marilyn, however, is what you would call an "uptight conservative bitch," (my words). Since I was known for not being the most selective girl in the world when it came to sex, everyone thought that, simply because she was my twin, Marilyn wouldn't be either. Boy were they wrong.

It only took a couple of times of Marilyn publicly humiliating guys after they propositioned her to find out that she wasn't interested. And after someone had asked her, she'd come looking for me and give me an earful about how I should have a little more self-respect. I'd never listen, and I'd continue my "Carefree ways." So our fighting continued, and it always bothered me; but it never escalated to the level it's at now until she met Shawn in our senior year of high school.

She saw him first, I'll be the first one to admit that; and she fell for him straight away. Problem was, when she brought him home to meet the family and I laid eyes on him for the first time, I fell head over heels in love with him too. The fact that mom hated him was only icing on the cake. But that was when the real battles started.

Marilyn had him, and I wanted him… BADLY! Marilyn knew and she warned me, "Back off, he's mine!" she'd say but I didn't listen to her. She'd tell Shawn about my "unladylike" behaviour and he'd never believe it. He told me once that I'm too "pure" for him to believe what Marilyn told him. No one had ever thought of me as pure before. I'd always been "easy", a slut… dirty. It was at that moment I knew he was "The One."

It was then I tried to stop sleeping with everyone, I really did. I stopped hinting to guys that I'd give them blowjobs and quickies during lunch or after school. I started wearing less revealing outfits. I bought a vibrator to relieve the tension. I even flat out shot a guy down. Something I had never done before.

But after a few days I just couldn't take it anymore. Mom was always home so I couldn't masturbate. And even when she was away, a vibrator just wasn't the same and it didn't get the job done. Eventually, all the sexual frustration mounted and I caved. A wide receiver on the football team told me he needed to work off a little steam after a game so we snuck away and he fucked me silly.

After, I was so ashamed of myself. I went home, locked myself in my room and cried all night long. The next day I walked into school and saw that receiver give me that cocky little smile the guys always do and I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't stop no matter how hard I tried. So I did the only thing I could, I continued my sexual activities but made damn sure Shawn never found out about it.

I know there is a certain quality about the pure innocent girl that he adores. He's not a pedophile and it's not that he's one of those Asses who only want to have sex with children. It's not about sex at all. Shawn's one of those people that always has to help people, save them from the real world. He goes out of his way to try and preserve the innocence in people for as long as he can. Probably because no one protected him from it when he was young.

And if Shawn liked the thought that I was pure and innocent, I was going to play that card for all it's worth. Now Shawn is beyond a shadow of a doubt in my mind the most loyal guy on the planet. But when I want something, I get it. It took every trick in my bag to seduce him. I tried everything; from calling him up pretending to be Marilyn and cancelling their dates last minute, and then calling him back a few minutes later and asking him if he was free to do something; to trying to make him jealous by dating other guys. It took me a considerable amount of time, about a year, but eventually I got him.

Marilyn took it incredibly hard though; she didn't come out of her room for a week. My parents tried to comfort her telling her all the clichés about how there were more fish in the sea. But it was no use; she was truly, deeply, madly in love with him. And I had him; I stole him. That was when my sister began hating me.

When she finally came out of her room she went looking for me right away; she found me in the living room. I'd just gotten off the phone with Shawn and I was going to get ready for our first date when she walked straight up to me and looked me in the eye. It was in that instant that I saw how deeply I had hurt her. All of the pain I had caused I could see in her eyes. Tears were still falling when I felt a sharp pain on my cheek and my head snapped to the side. "I'll get him back bitch."

I didn't believe her. After Shawn had broken up with her he found me and told me why he and Marilyn broke up. We were talking for over four hours and he said there were many reasons from her needing to know where he was at every moment to his inability to tell her about himself. But there was one thing he told me that night that was the real reason why they broke up. I can't remember what happened after that moment, it's kind of a blur. But I remember him looking straight into my eyes and said, "I'm in love with you Jenny."

I couldn't breathe for a little bit after that. Those six words just kept playing over in my mind like a loop. It was only when I almost passed out due to lack of oxygen that I realized how long I had gone without breathing. Then I heard someone say, "I love you" over and over again. It took me a little while to realize it was me.

It was shortly after that we shared our first kiss, tender, sweet, and oh so passionate. I was as high as a kite for a week after. Until I found out why Marilyn was so confident she'd get Shawn back. Six months to the day after they broke up, Mary gave birth to Noah.

That's when I started hating her.

Marilyn used Noah every way she could to get Shawn to spend more time with her. He'd do it of course, Shawn loves Noah more than anything and he jumps at every opportunity he can get to spend time with his son. I knew what she was doing, and I tried my hardest to be there with him so that they'd never be alone together. But I was in university by now and my studies had to take priority.

I did manage to convince Shawn to move in with me. We found a small place near campus and that seriously obstructed Marilyn's agenda. We didn't really need to move in together though; Shawn was committed to me far more than he ever was to Marilyn when they were together. Still it gave me a deeper sense of security.

About one weekend a month Shawn would get Noah and we'd spend it living like a happy family. When I look at Noah I think life's not fair. I should be his mother; he should be

my

son, Shawn's and mine. I'm so jealous of Marilyn; she says I get everything I want. Well I want Noah to be my baby and I can't have that. It's not fair. But on those precious few weekends I'd bundle Noah up and take him out with me when I had to run a few errands. Walking down the street with him I could pretend. For a few hours out of a month Noah was my son. I was his mother.

I know that Shawn and I will have children some day. I plan for us to have a whole litter of them starting very, very soon. But I wish Noah had been our firstborn; he's such an adorable little boy.

But that's enough about my nephew. After six years of University I received a masters degree in psychology and began teaching at a local collage. I love teaching but everyone knows I don't have the temperament to teach young children or adolescents. I get frustrated too easily.

So that's where I am today, a chronic adulteress teaching psychology in New York.

As for Shawn… well he's a very private man, always has been, always will be. A large part of that has to do with his history and also his disability. You see, Shawn's blind. Well, color blind at least. There's nothing wrong with his eyesight, in fact he can track movement better than anyone I know; that's probably how he managed to get his way into the military academy. But he was born colorblind and an orphan to boot and it still haunts him to this very day.

Shawn comes from the wrong side of the tracks really. When he was younger there was never enough money to go around. His father Clint is an abusive alcoholic, whose addiction sucked up most of their money; and his mother Kelly is very much a timid woman who tries to avoid confrontation at all costs. This was a very bad situation for Shawn to say the least.

Several days a week, his father would come home drunk, and if anything at all wasn't to the old man's liking, he'd take it out first on Shawn's mother. Considering his father, I don't know where Shawn gets his moral core. Even at such a young age he never could stand for what his father did. So Shawn, barely six, would try to stop the physical abuse that his father inflicted upon his mother; which would only bring Clint's wrath upon him.

When his little brother Andrew was born things got even worse. What was once a couple of nights at the bar turned into every night; and money became even scarcer. If Clint came home and Andrew was either crying or started crying, which always happens with newborns, he'd get very agitated. When Shawn's mom Kelly couldn't stop Andrew from whining Clint would get physical; and he wouldn't stop until Andrew stopped screaming.

And Andrew never stopped crying.

So Shawn continued to play guardian for his mother and little brother. For seven more years this continued until Shawn was at the breaking point. Always getting beat up by his father and almost completely ignored by his mother who tried her best to look after Andrew, Shawn finally packed up a bag one night and ran. He's often wondered what happened to his little brother since he left home, but sadly he's never tried to get in touch with Andrew.

Now Shawn's a smart guy, even when he was small, but running away had to be the worst decision he'd ever made in his entire life. He told me as much himself. I've asked him about it a couple of times and he's told me a few shameful stories about it. Stories like how he had to steal money from single mothers who barely had enough to buy small Christmas gifts for her children; just so that he could get something to eat for the day. Or the several times he had to shoplift and sell items on the street for money.

I can tell there's more to it than petty theft though. I've pressed him on it a couple of times; he says he doesn't like to upset me with it. So we don't talk about it. It's very therapeutic for him to discuss it with someone so that he doesn't keep it all inside. I of all people should know. Someday, I'm going to sit him down and make him tell me all about it; not for a while though, I don't think he's quite ready for that yet.

After about three years of living on the streets someone finally took him in. As a matter of fact it was one of my University professors, Dr. Christopher Levy. Dr. Levy adopted Shawn and educated him, which was no small feat. Shawn had been out of the school system for three years and even when he was in school he didn't perform that well in academic studies. But the professor persevered and succeeded in getting Shawn caught up on three years of missed education in one. And that's how Shawn ended up in the same grade as me.

His life experience left him with some deep seeded scars; he's distrustful of everyone at first, and always keeps people at arms length. He routinely thinks that I'm going to leave him, which hurts. Leftover fears from his father's verbal abuse. "No one's ever gonna want a good fer not'in' disrespectful li'l bastard who can't see!" he told me his father would say. Well I do. I want him. Funny thing is if anything will ever tear us apart it'll be my extramarital activities.

I try not to think about that.

A lot of people over the course of our lives together have often asked how I can live with him. He's opinionated, defensive, pessimistic, stubborn, sarcastic, intense, insecure, distrustful, analytical, so honest that he's oftentimes rude, and always has to be right. He gets me so frustrated sometimes that I could almost strangle him. My mother can't stand him; Sonja hates him; my entire family is against us being together. The only person who's even remotely supportive of us is daddy, and that's only because he doesn't say anything.

What people fail to see is that Shawn is kind, gentile, considerate, loving, loyal, intelligent, calming, and grounded. He's always stood up for what he believes in and never backs down when a cause is just. He's the kind of man who'll fight for the underdog, even when the underdog would turn around and bite him in the ass. He's a man who cares about the world, even when the world cares nothing for him. So many people can't get past his faults to see that he's a good man.

I've told him that so many times over the past nine years. He doesn't believe me for some reason. All of our friends believe it but he doesn't. I know it has something to do with what's happened in his life. I can tell just by looking at him. His scars are physical as well as emotional.

You'll be hard pressed to find a time when Shawn doesn't have something covering him up. We've been married five years and the only times I've seen him without a shirt and boxers is when we make love. Those times bring me to tears, largely because he's fantastic in bed, but also because I can see the scared tissue on his back. Someone, at some point in his life, either his father or when he was on the streets, had lashed him with a whip. There're also burn scars where someone had set his skin on fire. I can never stand it when I see those marks, the proof that he didn't lie to me about where he came from, and I break down every time I see them.

Shawn would hold me when that happens, rock me back and forth, whisper to me, tell me that it happened a long time ago, and that he's over it now. Deep down inside I know it's a lie but I'd never fight him. Instead I'd sob on his chest, and my body would shake violently as my tears would fall. I'm so angry at those times. Angry at the world for his pain; angry that he had to go through whatever it was that happened to him; and angry that he wouldn't tell me the whole horrible story. But it's beneath the anger that you find the real reason I tremble those nights. I'm scared, so… so scared.