So Bad, It’s Good; So Good, It’s Bad

 

So Bad, It’s Good; So Good, It’s Bad

He squeezed my hand as I was trying to leave.  My willpower is at moments down to a fiber.  I slowly pulled my hand away and kept walking without looking back.  I don’t know how long I can keep his vows. 

Our attraction and affection have been building for years.  So when he put pressure on my hand, I felt it elsewhere.  It’s that bad.  Or, it’s that good.

Yes it is.

I’m not looking for a husband, that’s for sure.  But that doesn’t mean I feel okay about being with someone else’s husband.  I don’t feel comfortable with deceit.  It feels too badly.  Being truthful is typically how I get into and out of trouble in my life.  It seems the only thing worth it.

I don’t even understand what many men mean by being married, why they propose, and why they feel the right to hold that status while making a mockery of it.  I’m not talking about people who are straight with their spouse where both are open to both of them having other involvements of a romantic nature. 

From the attitude I received from his spouse the first time we met, and then the nauseatingly phony like I receive to cover her genuine dislike, they do not have such an arrangement. 

Sometimes I feel like yelling to all of the mutual acquaintances who have decided I am guilty, “I am probably the reason we haven’t done anything, you assholes.”  He’s suspected of having a history of not letting his marital status stop him.  That’s not my history/herstory.  When I am in a monogamous relationship, I am monogamous.  If I don’t want to be, then it’s time to wo/man up and say so.  Yes, it is painful to hear, but it’s better than allowing someone to build his/her life on a loved one’s lies. 

 

I’m not in a relationship.  I’m the free one.  Still, from the looks, I’m held more accountable than he.  That’s just not right.

If he is ever available when I am also available (and I don’t mean 20 minutes between work and a dental appointment; I mean not in a monogamous relationship), I’d love to snuggle up to him and feel his warm skin on mine after a play, great dinner, and bottle of wine.  I believe he’d know how to inspire a woman’s body.*  His hugs are delicious. 

Oh this is bad ‘cuz it could be so good.

 

*Though it is 2013, I should not take this for granted.  I recently heard a man’s description of sex that so deeply disturbed me, saddened me, and chilled me.  My head dropped, my spirit sunk, and my voice locked.  It was as if the past century never took place.  There was zero acknowledgement of the woman being a human, never mind a sexually alive human with needs to fill and pleasure to have.  Sex was referred to as a price she pays.  I felt such compassion for the women before me and before laws against marital rape and for those who don't feel the right to use the law.  The effects of oppression go very deep. The description had nothing to do with pleasure for her.  No mention of a clit.  No mention of her orgasm or how to inspire one.  It was like a male porn flick – the kind that would make me cry and make my libido go back generations.  The kind where she'd be hurt (and not in any fun way). The kind that would make straight women ashamed of our orientation.  At this rate, between unavailable and unacceptable, my best bud and I do think it is possible I will die a born-again virgin.