Trust Issues

Many people believe that trust is essential for marital harmony. What if getting your partner to trust you turns out to be essentially impossible because of their inherent personality, shaped by a childhood that was tragic? What do you do?

My husband (I'll call him "Greg") is a great guy -- except that he is paranoid; I believe that the clinical diagnosis is Paranoid Personality Disorder (PPD) only I found out much later that his is a rare type. He is smart, good-looking, and empathetic, but his paranoia gets in the way of him enjoying life to the fullest and has hurt his advancement at his white collar corporate job with a Fortune 1000 company. As far as I'm concerned, however, the highest level of his paranoia relates to me.

Greg is jealous if any other man pays even the slightest attention to me which often results in an invidious reaction by others even though he has no violent tendencies. You would think that I was the sexiest woman in the world (I'm decent looking and slim and slinky but anyone thinking that I'm super sexy is delusional) based upon how concerned he is about my effect on the male of the species. If I were to consider the other alternative -- that he thinks I'm a closet tramp just looking for an excuse to slut around -- that would piss me off enough that I might dump him despite the love that I have for him.

I guess considering the way Greg grew up, with a mentally unstable mother and a philandering father, it is understandable that he has some paranoia. However his insistence that he doesn't need help to deal with his paranoia is not understandable -- at least not by me.

For the purposes of this story my name is Allegra (no last names necessary in this basically true tale that I have trusted my friend Amy to present to her fans on Literotica) and at the first incident described in this tale I was 24 years old and had been married to Greg for two years. I am a party planner by profession and if I say so myself am very good at my job because I have a good sense of style in all things, and exceptional organization and inter-personal relationship skills. Greg's corporate job does have significant stress; I hope that his job isn't exacerbating his paranoia, but it might be.

*************

I was working a Friday night party that I had planned in a city about an hour and a half drive from my house. It was a retirement party given by family and friends as well as co-workers of the honoree who I got the impression was a BFD at his company.

Chad, one of the attendees, was a really good-looking guy in an expensive suit who was very solicitous of me. Every time that I wasn't fully engaged in some activity he chatted me up. When the event was over he stayed around -- even offering to help clean-up, which no one ever does -- and ultimately as I was getting ready to leave said "Say, Allegra; I'm planning a big blowout celebration for my ten year old niece in the coming months. Is there a time we can meet to discuss it?"

While I don't normally do kids' parties I have no real objection to them so I said "OK." I gave him one of my business cards (not the one with my personal cell phone number on it), not knowing if he would follow up.

Chad called about 9 a. m. the following Monday -- I barely had time to get a cup of coffee before my company's land line rang. He wanted to have lunch that very day. I had nothing planned so I met him at a restaurant in the local Four Seasons Hotel (not landscaping company) which had a restaurant that I considered too upscale for a meeting about planning a ten year old's birthday party.

Chad had perfectly coiffed hair and another expensive suit on when he met me. His greeting was too familiar for me, but I let it pass since it's not wise to alienate a potential client. During lunch we spent very little time talking about his niece or her party - it seemed to me that he was treating this more like a date than a business meeting. After we had finished eating he asked me to meet him for drinks the next night; I declined. I told him that if he wanted to pursue a party for his niece that the next time we met -- during the day at my office -- he would have to give me a $1000 deposit and he would have to sign a contract with at least some specifics so he better have them in mind.

I skillfully stiff-armed his attempt to give me a big hug goodbye and had my phone set up to call me an hour after I arrived so I pretended that I had to take my fake call and walked out of the restaurant with the phone to my ear.

I was pretty sure that he was trying to hit on me and probably didn't even have a ten year old niece (he looked to be my age). I mentioned it to Greg at dinner that night and was surprised by his reaction. He didn't exhibit any jealousy but did give a little laugh. Knowing him like I do I knew that that particular laugh was a nervous tick of his, but at the time I couldn't imagine why he had that reaction.

As expected, Chad never called again -- I apparently gave out no encouraging body language or other tells.

***********

Over the next three years I had at least three more encounters with guys who I humbly considered to be a level above me in the looks department but who really seemed to be intensely flirting. I didn't give them any more encouragement than I had given Chad, but two of them were particularly persistent and I finally had to be very direct in discouraging them.

Over those same three years Greg's paranoia seemed to be getting worse, not much different when it came to me, but in general, especially as it related to his work. Unfortunately this had a negative psychological effect on him which had a corresponding negative effect on me. One of my hobbies had always been psychology -- especially as it relates both to business and sex -- and one of the things that I had heard repeated many times was that the brain was the most important sex organ.

I had always been skeptical that the brain was the most important sex organ, but two things decidedly changed my outlook.

The first was a scientific article I came across in a magazine I never read before but for some reason was at my gynecologist's office when I was waiting for my appointment. The major thesis of the article (which I admit to tearing out of the magazine and putting in my purse because I didn't finish it before I was called into the doctor's exam room -- so call the cops on me) in layman's terms was the brain is the operating center for a complex network of neurotransmitters and neuroendocrine systems--nerves, hormones and other chemicals that are responsible for, among other things, sexual desire and response. For example, the brain transmits signals that start a cascade of reactions leading to genital arousal. Therefore it is no surprise that it is the main center for sexual arousal.

The second thing that happened was that the worsening of Greg's paranoia was reducing my libido.

I was thinking more and more about sexual arousal when at a party at Greg's company Justin, one of Greg's co-workers -- a corporate attorney about two years older than me who is very bright, personable, successful -- and cute -- said that he was planning a party for his fiancé and wondered if we could meet for lunch so that he could get some tips. He wasn't really thinking of hiring me -- he just wanted some ideas. I said "sure," and we planned to meet at an appropriate place for a business casual lunch the next Wednesday.

The first five minutes of the luncheon was what you would expect; then things changed dramatically. With a dour expression on his otherwise handsome face Justin said "Allegra -- I have to be straight with you. I've always liked you and I feel really shitty about coming here, but I have to come clean."

"Say What?" I said aloud, and to myself said "what the fuck?"

"Greg sent me here to hit on you to see if you'd have an affair with me. I don't know what his problem is, but this is the third time he asked me, and he just did a really big favor for me by giving me a glowing report to management regarding a contract dispute with a customer, so in a moment of weakness I agreed," Justin spoke while unable to make eye contact.

Then I really did say "What the fuck?" out loud.

Justin sighed and said "I know this isn't the first time that he set you up with others, but the fact that you passed his tests apparently hasn't relieved his trust issues -- which I consider paranoid. So I just wanted..."

He didn't get more out because his phone buzzed. He looked at the caller ID and said "It's the chief legal officer of the company -- I have to take it."

After a two minute conversation that put a frown on his face Justin terminated the call and said "I'm sorry I really have to get back to the office and right now."

"No you don't bastard," I said standing up and grabbing his arm. "Call me on my cellphone as soon as possible -- I have to hear more." With that I gave him the version of my business card with my cellphone number on it -- one that I don't often give out -- and he promised that he would.

As I stumbled back to my office -- fortunately it was a relatively short walk because my mind's preoccupation with what Justin had just told me wouldn't have allowed me to drive safely -- I thought back to the other times when hot guys had vigorously hit on me. Were they all doing Greg's bidding? My emotions ranged between rage, confusion, and melancholy.

While I was stewing at my office later that afternoon, not really able to get much work done, Justin called me. When I saw his name and number of Caller ID I answered the phone "You have to give me all of the details, Justin."

"Hi to you too," he cackled. I was starting to get pissed off but he continued before I could scream at him "I know that you're anxious Allegra, and I'll get right to the point and tell you what I know. Greg told me that he had four good-looking guys test you over the years and that you didn't bite."

"Yet he still doesn't trust me?" I snarled.

"Welllll...." Justin started to say and then stopped.

"Well what? Give it up!"

"I kind of got the impression that he was kind of disappointed because that meant that he was imagining things and that kind of shook his confidence, or self-image, or something," Greg retorted.

"What the fuck!" I said to myself; after a pause what I said to Justin was "I guess that I can't avoid it; he has a screw loose, doesn't he."

"I'm no shrink, but I'm afraid so," he deadpanned in reply. "If there's something else I can do, let me know."

I thanked him for the information and hung up.

***********

My discussion with Justin really disturbed me. I tried again to get Greg to talk to a professional but as always he pooh-poohed it and if I persisted he got angry. I finally decided that I needed to go see a shrink

myself.

I got a good recommendation for a psychodynamic therapist, the professional most used to dealing with paranoia, by the name of Mary Wilkerson. I explained the situation to her as best as I could and since Justin had offered to help I gave her his cellphone number, but asked that she not call him during business hours. I called him myself and left a voicemail for him to be expecting her call.

It only took only until the end of the second session with Mary before she had a recommendation -- and a weird one it was. After she gave me the two minute version of her plan and I agreed that I might try it she said: "I think that Greg needs a shock that will either start him on the road to recovery, or at least cause him to come see me or another medical professional since I think that he needs prescription medication not just talk therapy. You'll need Justin's help for this."

"OK," I said, "when do I get details of your plan?"

"I need Justin with you. Find a time convenient to both of you and even if it's after normal hours for me I'll fit you in," Mary told me before we ended the session and I paid her.

Three days later, when both Justin and I were available at 5:30 p. m., Mary extended her hours and saw us. Her plan was very detailed -- I'll only provide the highlights. Justin had to tell Greg that I was willing to sleep with him at a particular time when I normally would be at home but when I would give Greg some lame excuse about what I had to do. Instead, Justin, me, and at least two reliable friends, would go someplace where we could clearly establish a time and date and make a recording of the entire two hours all of us would be together, including on the video telling Greg that we were doing this at the therapist's recommendation and that he needed to see her.

After we made the video and I did some suspicious things when I got home -- such as immediately taking a shower and putting my panties in the wash and starting the washing machine up -- and Justin told him the next day that I had fucked him, we would see what Greg's reaction was. This would tell Mary exactly where Greg fell on the paranoia spectrum and if there were real consequences we could show him the video.

I couldn't believe it but Justin and I pulled it off, with the help of three friends in an abnormally quiet bar where it was clear what was on TV and with the bartender providing support for our statements about time and date. Greg seemed to be trying to hide a smile when I got home that night, and didn't try and have sex with me although as part of the plan I was going to turn him down if he did, in order to enhance his suspicion.

Justin called me about 9:30 the next morning. He was so excited he was actually hard to understand so I told him to slow down. The salient part of what he related was "I told him that we slept together and he seemed really happy. 'I knew it,' he kept saying over-and over with a smile on his face, then continued with 'I told her that I'm not paranoid' and a little chuckle; a fucking chuckle."

After some more discussion I asked "How did he leave it?"

"He said 'You might as well nail her again; with just once she might still think that I'm paranoid,'" Justin reported.

I thanked Justin and hung up. I was as pissed off as I ever had been and was wondering what the fuck was going on. I then called Mary and she was able to see me for a half hour at 4:30 that same day, a Wednesday.

After I revealed everything that Justin had told me the news from Mary was sobering. "Unfortunately, I was afraid that this might happen. He has a special type of paranoia that I have only seen twice before in my twenty five years of dealing almost exclusively with paranoid people. His is a special type of delusional disorder that I call 'reinforcement necessity disorder' although that term is not recognized by the AMA."

"What does that mean?" I inquired.

"It means that it is more important to him to have his paranoia reinforced rather than deal with reality. It means that you can never show him the video because even if he normally isn't a violent person the chances are that he will react violently. It also means that you should prepare yourself for divorce because I know of no one with this condition who I have tried to treat -- or who other therapists I know well have tried to treat even though they don't call it the same thing that I do -- who has ever gotten one iota better. In fact they all ended up ultimately committing some destructive act."

"Oh shit," I mumbled more than once.

"If I were you I'd take advantage of the situation and make him happy by fucking some other guys while you plan your divorce," Mary concluded with a mischievous grin.

That statement just about knocked my panties off. I said some glum thing, which I can't remember, in reply, and gave her $200 cash for the session and exited in a stupor.

***************

The really old saying "when it rains, it pours," is the only thing that can describe what happened next. When I left Mary's office I turned my phone back on. There was a text from the paranoia king himself: "Hi Allegra: I just got sent to Boston on an emergency at work in the Hyvee acquisition. Your cell was off when I tried to reach you. I'll get there late tonight and be back early Friday night. Take care, Love, Greg."

The Hyvee acquisition was his recent major project at work which I was worried was stressing him out. I sighed, went home, and for the first time since I was a sophomore in college got rip roaring drunk.

When I was about three-quarters potted the doorbell rang. It was Justin. I hadn't invited him over but he probably knew that Greg had been sent out of town and he undoubtedly wanted to know what Mary said. Since he had been so helpful I let him in.

Justin drank a little -- I drank a lot -- while I related my tale of woe. Even potted I could tell that his eyebrows almost jumped off of his face when I told him Mary's concluding remark "make him happy by fucking some other guys."

It wasn't too long after I reported Mary's last remark -- which I actually had no desire to follow -- when I was completely drunk that Justin started to put the moves on me. At first I laughed, then asked "What would your fiancé say?" His response to that question was unexpected to say the least.

"I don't have a fiancé. I made that up since it seems that people advance better in the company -- especially the legal department -- if they're committed. I get my cousin to come with me to events where a committed partner is required. Actually, I'm commitment-averse -- but you don't want a commitment from me anyway. I'm happy to provide some passionate sex, however," he leered.

I normally hate people who leer. I normally don't like commitment-averse in general. I normally don't fall for bullshit. I've always been a faithful partner. However....

I'm normally not drunk. I normally haven't just been told that my husband is a hopeless nutcase. I normally don't let myself get into the situation where I'm alone with a good-looking guy in what could be a compromising position.

I think that I said "No" at least a couple of times when Justin started mauling my tits. Even though his tit mauling felt really, really good I know that I said "No" at least a half dozen times when Justin started sticking his fingers in my twat. Unfortunately, after those "Nos" I was too out of it to ever say "No" again.

I think that the bastard fucked me three times. The only one that I vividly remember was about eight o'clock the next morning because by then I wasn't actually drunk, just confused. At the time I enjoyed it because he had a nice cock and knew how to use it, but when I became completely aware -- and he was gone -- after 9 a. m. I was pissed because my pussy was loaded with jism. The bastard hadn't even used a condom and I had told him "No" many times.

I wasn't worth shit at work that day -- when I finally arrived almost two hours late. Fortunately there was no bad time crunch on any project so I could make things up.

Justin had the nerve to call me that night hoping to set up another liaison. He was sorry he called. He finally hung up after my tirade was about ninety seconds old and I had called him a spineless motherfucking rapist piece of shit at least three times.

I now was in a quandary as to what to do. After work I took stock of my life. Looking back on things as objectively as I could I concluded that I had made three bad mistakes.

The first mistake was marrying Greg. With the benefit of hindsight I knew that his paranoia was a real condition and was not likely to get better -- I was just unrealistically "hoping" that it was going to.

My second mistake was listening to that quack Mary Wilkerson. I reported her to the state licensing authorities and would follow up with a formal complaint.

My third mistake was letting Justin in the door when I was already drunk and feeling sorry for myself. I should have realized that the guy was a predator.

Now the question was what to do about it.