If you truly love me Ch. 01: David

To my mind, the dictionary definition of doubt is rather wishy-washy. I mean; 'a feeling of uncertainty about the truth, reality, or nature of something.' Really? How did that adequately convey its devious and treacherous character? How did those words and phrases show its crippling nature?

At its origin, doubt could be likened to a vine that sprouted a few seemingly spindly branches. That was where it fooled its victim because those few seemingly flimsy branches were anything but fragile or weak. They were sinewy and strong, elastic-like in their ability to bounce back from moments of belief. One wrong word or look, or even the absence of a needed word or look, was all it would take to prove that the vine was not only strong and resilient, but also laying down deeper roots and sprouting more treacherous limbs, limbs that threatened to overrun. Unchecked those flimsy branches turned into a jungle that would make the Amazon proud.

Doubt flourished in the dark recesses of my mind, the parts I barely acknowledged, even to myself. It thrived in the night when sleep was elusive. It weakened my captive mind, holding it hostage, leaking its poison even as it strangled, until me, its victim was crippled. Unable to act. Unable to reason.

Why was I riddled with doubt about Holly's sincerity? Why, when every day, several times a day, she told me she loved me? She phoned me, sent me texts. She whispered it to me when she thought I was asleep. And I wanted to believe her, my god, how I wanted to believe, but doubt niggled at me like a pebble in a shoe; small but impossible to ignore.

It wasn't the fact she was bisexual; it was that she'd kept it hidden from me for twenty-six years, and I'd not suspected a thing. Never. Not once. It scared me just how adept at concealment Holly was. It begged the question: what else had she kept hidden? Or had she not kept it hidden and it was just me? Had I been guilty of not seeing what was right under my nose? Had I been blind? No. Surely not.

Trust. That was my other stumbling block. Her lie of ommission brought my ability to fully trust her into question. Could I believe her when she told me she loved me? And if so what form did this love take? Did she truly love me as a woman should love her husband; solely and passionately? Or was I merely comfortable like a pair of old slippers? A favoured armchair? When I made oral love to her was she fantasizing I was a woman? When she was with me was she really with me, or was she substituting some girl's face over mine?

So many questions. So few answers.

On day ten, when I walked in the door I knew Holly had a big talk planned. She set the scene with flowers, candles, and wine. Take-out from my favourite Italian restaurant was being kept warm in the oven. I had to smile at that—Holly was a terrible cook. Caitlyn, in her colourful way, had always joked that her mother's cooking made eating charcoal seem tempting—her culinary skills were that bad.

I'd barely shrugged off my jacket when she handed me a chilled glass of white wine. She leaned in, looking for a kiss and while I stood, undecided as to whether to give a kiss on the lips or to aim for her cheek, she quickly pressed her mouth to mine. Resting her forehead against mine, she sighed in what I thought was relief. It was the first time in ten days I'd kissed more than her cheek or forehead. I didn't know whether to laugh or protest when she took the wine off me, placed it on the hallstand, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me again. Properly this time, as she would say. She wouldn't be the Holly I'd known and loved my entire adult life if she didn't press her advantage.

"Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that," she whispered, placing one last kiss on my lips.

We made small talk while she dished up our dinners but once we were seated at the dining table she didn't take long to get down to brass tacks.

"Sweetheart, I love you. It's always been you. You're the only man—" at my raised eyebrow, she immediately amended her sentence. "You are the only person I've ever loved. The only person I want to spend my life with."

"Holly, it's not the bisexuality; you have to know that. It's the fact that you hid something important, a huge defining part of yourself, from me. And, you concealed it so well. So well it frightens me. I never suspected a thing. It makes me wonder how well I know you at all."

"Baby, nobody knows me better than you do. It wasn't so much that I didn't want you to know as, for me, it became a non-issue because all those urges disappeared. In a blink of an eye. I saw you and that was it. I was a done deal."

I looked at her, studying her intently. I wanted desperately to believe her. I wanted to tell her to forget about it, to not worry. I wanted to pretend I wasn't hurt and feeling deceived and uncertain of our future.

But that would have been a Band-Aid, not a cure.

"I was a done deal too, Holly. And I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. I gave you that trust. I handed it to you on a platter. You never had to earn it. And now for the first time I truly realise just how incredibly easy it is to lose. All it takes is one act, one lie."

"I didn't lie, David."

"Yes, you did. You lied by ommission."

She frowned, not happy with my insistence. I watched as she wrestled with her conscience.

"Okay. Yes, you're right. I'm sorry, David. I am so very, very sorry. I never meant to hurt you by not telling you. I didn't set out to deceive you. I can't tell you how much I wished I'd said something and how I'm cursing myself that I didn't."

I could hear the anguish in her voice. It broke my heart, but she had to know the blow she'd dealt me. Dealt us.

"Apologising is all well and good, and I do thank you for it, but you must know it can't magically erase the break in trust that your ommission created. I mean, what else are you concealing? What else don't I know about?"

Holly shook her head. "Nothing. There's nothing else. I understand. Truly, I do. I know that what I did was wrong, however unintentional it was, and that had you done something similar to me, I'd be feeling upset and betrayed too. I know what I did has hurt us both, hurt our relationship, but if you truly love me then you owe me the chance to rebuild that trust." She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze. "God, baby, don't throw away our life together over one mistake. Please."

With Holly's words I came to a decision. I let it go. The way I saw it, I could choose to hold on to my fears and my sense of betrayal or I could look beyond them. I chose to look beyond. I chose to remember all her actions as my wife, my lover, my friend, and the mother of my child.

"Just promise me you'll be completely honest with me from now on. Even if you think I won't like hearing it. Okay? Promise?"

"I promise."

The words were no sooner out her mouth and she was taking the wine glass out of my hand and leading me to our bedroom.

"I need you to make love to your wife. Dinner can wait," she told me as she proceeded to undress me, kissing each and every bit of flesh she revealed. "Baby, I've missed you so much. Please don't ever shut me out again."

"I love you, Holly. Always have, always will," I whispered.

She groaned at my declaration, the first time in ten days that I'd spoken words of love to her. And, as we made tender love, I prayed I'd made the right choice and I was the only person in her thoughts.

*****

FOR A FEW weeks Holly and I were so caught up in reconnecting we managed to ignore the elephant in the room. Those weeks reminded me of when we were dating and we couldn't get enough of each other. It was like she didn't want to let me out of her sight. She surprised me at work, turning up to take me out to lunch. She even encouraged me to call in sick one day and we spent the day in bed, snuggling, watching movies, and making love. If she wasn't with me physically, she was phoning me, texting me, emailing me.

But elephants can be ignored for only so long...

Since her confession, I hadn't performed oral sex on her. She hadn't asked and I hadn't offered, and so it came as somewhat of a surprise when I expected a quiet and early Sunday night to have her gently push my head south.

I pressed my face into her belly, resisting her subtle pressure. I didn't know what to do or think.

"Please, David," Holly asked quietly.

I resurfaced from under the covers. She was reclining on the pillows, eyes closed.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to be fantasizing that it's another woman licking and sucking on your clit?"

Holly averted her face, avoiding my eyes. "Probably."

A painful lump formed in my throat. I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow it away. "Someone specific or just some generic female?"

Holly hesitated and still wouldn't look at me. "Um, generic."

I nodded, not that Holly noticed. Generic, I decided, was better than specific, but still the lump in my throat grew, making it difficult to speak. "Is that what you imagine every time I—" suddenly I couldn't say 'make love' and a little of my heart broke. "—have oral sex with you?"

Holly looked at me, her face a mask of horror. "No!"

I had to ask, I couldn't let it go. "When? How often?"

"Only when its dark and you pull the covers over your head and I can't see you at all."

I hung my head.

Within moments Holly scrambled from the bed and was on her knees in front of me, clasping my hands. "It's just fantasizing, David. It doesn't mean I don't love or desire you. Haven't you ever imagined I was someone else when we were making love? Maybe a celebrity?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No. Never. All of my fantasies you know about. They've always been more about coming up with and planning some sexy thing for you and I to do like making love in a risky place like the restroom at a restaurant or at the cinema. Or tying you up and teasing you with feathers or coating you in chocolate and licking it off you. They've always involved you."

"I'm flattered, sweetheart."

"Guess, I must be boring and unimaginative, huh?"

"No. You're anything but boring." Holly kissed my hand, then placed it on her cheek. "You're a wonderful lover."

"How often do you feel the... um, urge to fantasize you're with a woman?"

Holly looked uncomfortable. I watched her wage an internal war. Finally, she met my gaze. "I'm sorry I hesitated. I promised you honesty and so honesty is what I'll give you."

She scrambled to her feet and then sat on the bed beside me, her body angled toward me. She kept a tight grip on my hands, stoking the back of them as she spoke.

"Since the urge came back it feels like I have a fever. When I'm with you, and I don't just mean physically, I mean just being around you, talking to you, texting you and so on, its like I've taken medicine and the fever calms and recedes but when I'm away from you it takes over. Then I'm fighting a losing battle not to think about it. I spend my time trying not to look at... um, other women, wondering what they look like naked, or what they'd taste like. Its kind of overwhelming."

I closed my eyes. I felt sick. It was worse than I imagined. Much worse.

"So all of your, ah... enthusiasm of the past month or so has been more about dealing with your, ah, fever, than because you were so hot for your husband?"

Holly dropped her gaze to our linked hands. Her lack of answer was an answer in itself.

I don't know what made me press the issue. Was I torturing myself or punishing Holly for dealing me another blow? I honestly didn't know.

"I see... so, I'm your 'medicine'. Something to distract yourself with and, um, a thing for you to work your 'fever' off with and when your resistance is low you can get me to lick you under the cover of darkness and pretend I'm a woman."

"It isn't like that, David."

"Really? Well, that's what it sounds like to me."

My tone was curt. I couldn't help it. My emotions were a jumbled mess like the skeins of half-used wool that used to fill my grandmother's knitting basket to overflowing. Strands of fear and anger and pain so tangled I couldn't separate one from the other.

My whole being deflated. For weeks I'd walked around with a strut in my step after our sexual drought because I thought my wife was back and still enjoyed having sex with me, when, in truth, all I'd been was a tool for her to work off her demons. No wonder she'd been so desperate to get me back on board those ten days after her initial confession—she needed her 'medicine'.

How I wished I could be like umpteen men I'd heard in bars and locker rooms over the years who boldly declared they didn't care how or where their wives worked up their 'appetite' as long as they 'ate' at home. I realised in no uncertain terms, I did care about the 'where' and 'how'.

Instead of feeling happy to have a wife with some 'hunger' to work off, I felt used. I felt demeaned.

I pulled my hands from Holly's and stood. "I need a shower."

"David, please try to understand."

"I am trying. You have no idea how hard I'm trying."

"David—"

"What, Holly? What?" The words burst out of me. "What do you want from me? I need to think. I need to get my head around this, around being some sort of substitute for what you really want—"

"Don't say that, David. It's not true. You're not just a substitute. I want you too. Actually, I want you more."

"Holly, think back on what you've told me tonight. You've admitted that when I was making oral love to you I was some nameless, faceless woman. No man wants to hear that. You pretty much admitted that the last month or so hasn't been about you still being crazy in love with me, but rather that you were using me to fight your demons. And you told me that I'm medicine for your fever. Call me all kinds of stupid if you want but that sounds to me like I'm a cross between a surrogate and cough medicine."

"When you say it like that it sounds awful. I sound awful. I love you. I love making love with you. I never meant to make you feel like I was using you."

The fight went out of me.

"I don't want to fight, Holly. I really don't, but what are we going to do? Even if I can handle being little more than a... a tool for your, ah, other passions, I can't be by your side 24/7."

"I know."

"And I guess with what I've learned tonight there is another question that has to be asked: how long before the fantasy itself is not enough? How long before you want to try the real thing?"

"I don't know, David. I just don't know."

*****

YOU THINK WHEN disaster strikes the whole world, or at least your corner of it, will come to a grinding halt. Not true. Work still demands your attention. Bills still have to be paid. Deliveries accepted. Groceries need to be bought. Lawns mowed.

Then, of course, there's family and friends. They're still going to phone and invite you out to dinner or over for a BBQ. They're still going to want to chat and maybe gripe about their day job or argue politics.

I wanted the world to stop. Not that I wanted to be stuck in my current predicament— I didn't—but I wanted a chance to think and evaluate without outside pressures. I was exhausted by the need I felt to put on a brave face and pretend to the world that everything was A-OK in David and Holly land.

It wasn't.

Not by a long shot.

At least, for me it wasn't.

Holly did her best to reassure me. She was loving and attentive, kind and affectionate, both physically and verbally. By unspoken agreement we stopped discussing her bisexuality and its implications. Whether her silence on the subject was due to sensitivity or merely wishing to avoid another mini meltdown from me, I wasn't certain. For my part, I had no illusion as to why I was silent on the subject. Cowardice. Pure and simple. The foundations of my world were shaky enough. Neither it, nor I, could handle another blow just yet. I needed time to regroup.

We still made love to our old routine. The 'play' sex wasn't anywhere near as playful as previously, and our 'loving' and 'greedy' sex were also pale shadows of their former selves. Knowing I was only the vehicle to satisfy her 'fever' robbed me of the ability to let myself go and just enjoy our lovemaking. Where once I felt safe to be uninhibited, I now felt wary and cautious and as if I was being judged on my performance.

The biggest difference, however, was emotional. Now, I searched Holly's eyes, I analyzed her touch, her words, her tone, even the wetness of her pussy and loudness of her climax. Everything about our lovemaking was measured and weighed and compared in my mind. Was she truly aroused? Did she come or was she faking it? Was she with me or was a fantasy lover filling her mind?

And I never went down on her. After her admission, Holly tried once more to encourage me but I resisted. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to again.

We didn't discuss that either.

And so our life continued, one week limping into the next. I trod water, waiting... waiting for the other shoe to drop.

*****

AND DROP IT did.

Holly asked me for permission to explore her sexuality.

She pleaded. She cried. She explained, and she reassured.

But it didn't change the fact that generic had become specific and specific had a name—Sophie Mitchell.

Holly's words echoed; If you truly love me...

*****

AS SOON AS I realized I was repeatedly clicking my pen I made myself stop. At least being alone in the office there was no one to witness my anxiety-inspired action. Had Ben been present he'd have taken one look at me and the interrogation would have begun. I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes. Ben was due to arrive in ten minutes, and generally he was punctual.

Could I do it? Could I really confide in him about his sister's bisexuality? About Sophie Mitchell, the lesbian editor she hired nine months ago (giving rise to more doubt and trust issues) and what Holly was asking me to contemplate giving her?

*****

BEN WAS SPEECHLESS. It was a state I'd seldom seen him in but my current situation robbed me off the ability to enjoy the rare event. He stared and I returned it, unflinching. The silence lengthened, stretching my nerves along with it. Ben finally broke it.

"Are you insane?"

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it, Davey. Crazy, and playing with fire."

"You don't seem surprised to find out Holly is bisexual. Did you know?"

I had to ask. I had to know if I'd been as blind as I feared.

"No, I didn't know, or even suspect, but next to what you're contemplating that information kind of pales in comparison."

The level of relief I felt at Ben's words surprised me. But my relief was tinged with fear—Holly had managed to fool her own brother as well. Was there more about my wife that I didn't know, more that she'd hidden?

Ben tapped the back of my hand, bringing me back from my thoughts. "Have you heard a word I said?"

"No," I admitted.

"Have you considered she may be having a midlife crisis. Women can have them too. They might give it a different name, but, to my mind, its essentially the same thing. And, have you considered the possibility that she'll like it so much she wants to continue?"

"She says she knew she was bi since her teen years. It just went dormant for a while. Maybe Caitlyn leaving home triggered it. Empty nest and all that, but she didn't just suddenly become bi; she's always been that way," I said, replying to only the first of his questions. I deliberately ignored the second; I couldn't face the idea of sharing, let alone, losing Holly to another woman.

"Just because she's always been bi doesn't mean she can't be having some sort of midlife crisis. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Granted, but she's not doing all the other things associated with that sort of thing. She's not changing her hairstyle, or how she dresses. She hasn't gone and bought herself a whole new wardrobe. She doesn't suddenly want to go clubbing or partying. She—"