You Do The Math

This week much time was spent on my HOW group reading and of course writing – I cannot help myself. And there have been some threads that keep trying to come together, though I just cannot envision the final tapestry yet.

There are some simple facts in my existence. I love my wife, she is my best friend, my ally in life. Simply put, it is a land of emotional gratification. But while we can still enjoy sex, it would be disingenuous not to qualify that with the truth: I enjoy sex with men even more.

And I am not exactly hurting when it comes to sex with men. I have a boyfriend and we usually get to see each other every week. We are friends, he reads this blog so there are no secrets, and we have wonderful dizzying sex. Simply put, it is a land of sexual gratification. But while we are good friends, it would be disingenuous not to qualify that with the truth: neither of us would give up everything to be together.

So I have the home life, I have the sex life. Most would think the problem is that Carrie would not tolerate knowing of Sam. But no: it seems that I have found Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, complete with Carrie’s signature. And what a ticket it was: see your “friend” discretely, have occasional sex with me, present a unified family to the world. It did come with a caveat: do nothing to embarrass her and the children. That should not be so hard – I am conservative in dress and manner and devote many waking hours to my profession.

So I sit here on an early Saturday morning and need to ask myself why are things spinning, devolving by the day. I have written of last weekend, watching Cold Case, the “Kiss”, of Carrie’s response, of the subsequent hurt, jealousy and anger. But that was just the trigger: it seems the gun was loaded long ago and the trigger was jimmied to take only a fleeting touch. Yes, the foundations for this week were set long ago.

I could go back and blame it on my upcoming trip to Chicago: it is hard to fit a weekend into a lunch hour. Carrie never knows if and when I see Sam: it is hard to ignore a weekend away. But that begs the question – defining a “disease” by its symptoms.


There has been a question floating around, a sub text to what am I looking for: am I trying to force Carrie to kick me out, if not literally, figuratively. I was struck by a comment on my blog from a gay man who I have come to greatly respect:
Welcome to the real world... I think that in your mind this is what you wanted and expected all along...

But what is it that I so clearly want; that everyone else seems to see so clearly yet to me is still shrouded in fog? Maybe of greater import is the fog borne of not being so smart or I am so engaged that I have lost the picture in the pixels? Or did Dylan say it best – I quoted this a few weeks back:
When the truth's in our hearts and we still don't believe?

I keep checking the word count, hoping that I am at the magic 850 level when I can say the post is going too long, time to end and save some thoughts for another day, but I am only at 600, plenty of room left. The thing is that I do not want to finish this post because I can feel where it is going and it hurts so much, too much. I write with tears in my eyes.

I consider myself a rational man, not one to say as in the old accountants joke, how much is two plus two: what do you want it to be. So I do not need to go back and re-read what I have written here. Carrie has suggested I re-read my whole blog and I will, but it is not necessary. I know where she is going, where she is steering me. As the old saying goes: you do the math: it seems that I have all the pieces yet am unable to finish the puzzle.

Therefore something is still missing. Is that found in simple self acceptance? Maybe in the Holy Grail for married men – a full night in the arms of another man – or simply found by borrowing Thom’s boots and kicking down the closet walls?

I can hear my therapist saying time’s up, see you next session. And so you will.


(And never having been one for inside jokes, Thom is a bear of a man on my HOW group who has used his boots to kick down his closet walls and I am sure would be happy to lend them to any others ready to take down their own walls.)