But not with me.
L, you may recall, was the impetus behind this blog. When I first started writing it, she and I were something of an item. That was almost exactly three years ago.
In the time since then, our little affair ran its course, but we’ve remained good friends. We typically meet for breakfast or a late drink once a month or so, and catch up. Since she and I stopped doing what we were doing, she’s been a faithful wife, reconciling herself to a monogamous existence.
Now, suddenly, things are a bit different for her.
I’m jealous. I’m envious. I want a piece. And yet….
This go-round, she’s not out in the open. When we were together, there were no secrets. This affair she’s having is a more conventional one, a secret from all those affected. And I must confess, I’m not particularly envious of that. What’s more, there’s a part of me that’s, I don’t know, disappointed, sad.
I really value and treasure the openness, integrity, and honesty that I’ve been lucky enough to stumble into late in marriage, late in life. And, if I’m honest, I don’t just treasure it – I think it somehow superior to people’s more normative forms of monogamy, the ones in which so many sexual and sensual desires are either denied, suppressed, or worse (?), acted out in secret.
Seeing L opt away from me, twice – first, for a guy who’s not me, who’s nothing like me; and second, for the more conventional, secret form of non-monogamy than the one I’ve stumbled into – stings. I shouldn’t judge, and judging isn’t quite what I’m doing. But there’s a certain – sadness – that I feel on seeing her head down this path.
(And yes, I’m man enough to admit that a big part of this is, simply, jealousy.)