The Videotape

*** *** ***

There was silence in the room. I looked over at Margaret, and saw she had been crying. Then I felt the tears on my own cheeks. I expected Amy to be crying too, or glaring defiantly at me, but she was still just staring off into space.

I went over, sat on the sofa next to Amy, and gathered her gently into my arms. She looked at me, shocked, and when she saw I was smiling at her she started to cry. I held her, my face pressed into her hair, while she sobbed and shuddered.

While I held her, I remembered a conversation we'd had when we were first engaged. I'd told Amy we should talk about our romantic pasts, the people we'd been involved with, and she got a very strange, closed look on her face.

"That's all in the past, Mark," she had said firmly. "I don't need or want to know about your girlfriends, and I hope you won't make me talk about … the people I was involved with. Now that I'm with you, and we're so happy, can't we just have a clean slate?"

She had looked so intent and serious at that moment that of course I agreed. Now, I understood for the first time what painful experiences she had been shielding me from, and trying to forget herself.

After many minutes of crying in my arms, Amy finally calmed down. When she finally turned and looked at me again, I was still smiling. Her face turned hard, and she angrily smacked me on the arm with her fist.

"OK, Mark, you've done your duty. You've listened to my story, you've let me have a good cry, you've played the loving husband one last time—now go. Don't make me look at you any more!"

"Sorry," I said, still smiling at her. "You're stuck with me." Then I held her as she cried some more.

*** *** ***

Amy let me take her into the shower, where I lovingly shampooed her hair, washed her all over, then dried her and tucked her into bed. She slept for 13 hours, undoubtedly making up for a few sleepless nights.

I called her boss and arranged for some medical leave; then Margaret helped me find a therapist for Amy to see. I was a bit surprised when Amy balked at first, claiming she had nothing to talk about; but between me and Margaret we persuaded her to go.

We didn't make love again for nearly two weeks, but every night when we went to bed Amy snuggled up against me as close as possible, as though afraid I might sneak away during the night. Some nights she had bad dreams; once or twice I did. But when one or the other of us came awake with a shudder, frightened, the other was there with soothing words.

One Friday evening when I got home from work Amy was nowhere to be found, not in the living room or the kitchen, not in the basement or out in the yard. I searched around, calling for her. When I came into our bedroom she was sitting up in bed, smiling sweetly at me, not a stitch of clothing on.

"Honey, it's time," was all she said.

Our love-making that night was pure vanilla—and it was the happiest night of my life, or at least tied with the day Amy had agreed to marry me. We were slow and gentle, we kissed and cuddled, murmured love words to one another, and coupled sweetly.

After that things got better fast. Amy's therapist helped her understand what had happened in her relationship with Andy, all the ways in which she was not a guilty party but a victim. And she began to see that it was OK to be a fully sexual person, to let herself enjoy things beyond the "vanilla", without feeling like a whore.

Once Amy was back at work full-time, after about three weeks, life began to feel more normal for both of us. With each of us busy at our jobs, the focus wasn't exclusively, and painfully, on our marital and sexual troubles. We shared stories about work, colleagues, plans for the future. We took a long weekend to go hiking and canoeing. We cooked some good dinners, and got together more often with friends.

It was a while after that before we felt we were all the way back. But I knew for certain we were getting there one Saturday morning. I was vaguely aware of Amy leaving the bed early, but I fell back asleep.

An hour later she gently shook me awake, smiling broadly. I sat up and looked around the bedroom. There on a tray was breakfast in bed: toast, bacon, juice, and coffee.

And sitting out on the night table were a pink vibrator and a bottle of lube. I looked over at Amy, my eyebrows raised.

She grinned back. "I thought we could have some breakfast first, then stay in and play this morning. There are some things we've never done together that I'd like to try with you. How does that sound?"

I kissed her hard, and said that it sounded pretty good to me.