The Eliot Spitzer spectacle was uniquely American. War in Iraq? Failure in Afghanistan? Global warming? A garbage cluster in the ocean the size of the lower 48? Historic highs for oil prices? Implosions in the financial system? Nah...puritanical posturing on sex.
People watched "poor" Silda stand ashen-faced by his side and asked, "How can she do it?" Maybe she wants to keep her family together. Maybe she wasn't that interested in sex anymore and knew. Maybe she loved him. Nobody can look inside a marriage and really know what it's about.
My marriage collapsed on infidelity. But of course it was deeper than that. He was disappointed that I couldn't bear him children, and he couldn't express it honestly. I was disappointed that the passion and desire of our courtship seemed to die so quickly. The nights he would fuck me against a wall, the nights he would fuck me four times and still want more, and read me poetry.
I've told you a bit of the break-up. In fact, the first time I went to my husband's office and met his new assistant, Rachel, I knew he would fuck her if he wasn't already. One of those women intuition things. It wasn't just that she looked like a younger version of me, but there was that lust vibe that is so obvious between two people.
Oh, I could be a jealous, psycho bitch back then, especially since I wasn't getting any. It's not that my thoughts were always pure. How bad did it get? I started following him, and I know a thing or two about surveillance. How bad did it get? I followed him after work to Rachel's cute little garden condo, hopped the wall (dressed all in black) and watched as they kissed and she made him a martini. He kissed her like he used to kiss me, and yet it was different. It was somehow more urgent, as if he understood his mortality better and thought he might stave it off for a little while with this young flesh.
How bad did it get? I huddled in the bushes, glad she didn't own a dog, and watched them fuck. Jon was always a turn-off-the-lights-and-open-the-blinds kind of guy. I could see everything. It ripped me apart and made my pussy drip. Sex is a mystery, what can I say? I had denied him nothing with my body, but it wasn't enough. And here he was fucking Rachel, who naked was not quite a clone but prettier, lithe and luminous -- I had to admit it. She was loud when she fucked, too, but different, too...almost like a wild creature once she got going. I had never seen him look so happy. I finally leaped the wall again silently, then threw up in the alley and bawled for an hour in a darkened car.
I got my revenge. But might I have stood with him at the podium if he had ever come clean, not just about the infidelity but about what he really needed, his bottom line? Maybe. Probably. The worst thing about the divorce wasn't losing a husband or even a love. I lost my best friend.