No matter how perfect one’s marriage or relationship is, a little temptation (or a lot) must fall. A great marriage doesn’t make you suddenly less human, less urge-filled, less wanting. While most days, the decision to love is a daily one, sometimes it is a moment by moment thing, much like the decision to drink. Especially for someone who is the relationship equivalent of an alcoholic, always looking for redemption or fulfillment in the next person to walk through the door. That’s where the term “commitment” comes into play, but that’s a different post.
Temptation can come from anywhere, but most often it’s from facebook or other social media. In the days before facebook, I rarely saw anyone outside of my work environment. Once I stopped working, I was confined to the couch. Not many people to meet there, let me tell you. But facebook opens up the world at the touch of a fingertip (or ten fingertips, as I know how to type properly).
Temptation does not require reciprocation. Lust can be completely in one’s own mind. Yes, I lust. 99.999999% of that lust is directed at my husband, so I’m doing good, but every now and again there is a niggle of “what if.”
Fantasies of clandestine meetings, longing looks, “accidental” touches…they all run through my head. The idea of having someone for whom to dress up, put on makeup, and wear heels is an appealing one. Seeing that look of appreciation in someone’s eyes when I walk in the door and take their breath away? Yeah, I miss that. I do arouse my husband, but that’s not quite the same as making him breathless with my mere presence, panting with anticipation.
I miss the power of being an attractive woman. Don’t get me wrong, I am FAR from beautiful in any sense of the word. I was always cute, sometimes pretty, and finally settled safely into the realm of attractive as an adult. But I’m also witty and smart, quippy, sassy, and I know how to flirt. I can use my deep brown eyes, smooth shapely legs, full lips, and a ridiculous talent for innuendo to drive a man wild with desire without ever touching him. I’ve done it. Many times. But marriage deletes that power. To be fair, it’s not actually marriage’s fault. It’s really familiarity that breeds the contempt of flirtation.
The other day, I asked Ron who he fantasizes about and he said he doesn’t, because it would be disrespectful to me. While that’s incredibly sweet, I told him that I would not feel disrespected if he thought about some other woman while being the master of his domain. I think about Jensen Ackles on a regular basis, and I infinitely respect my husband.
I’m lucky in that my husband can still make my heart skip a beat. The touch of his lips on mine still sparks electric tingles. Not all marriages are so lucky. That’s where fantasy comes in, but it’s important to remember that it is just that…fantasy. Not reality.
Reality is the dishes and the laundry. Eating noises and bathroom smells. Sagging skin and stretchmarks, hair in places it shouldn’t be, razor bumps, morning breath, marks in underwear…all those things are real and part of any and every relationship. Nothing is perfect except for in our imagination.
However, none of that stuff matters when you see a sexy pic of someone on facebook. Reality slips away and fantasy takes over. Yes, I am having a hot, steamy, sexy affair in my head. Does that make me unfaithful? I don’t think so. I would never, ever act on it. I never even talk to the object of my fantasies. They are just that…the object of my fantasies. I have a lifetime of memories of the sexually charged start of plenty of doomed romances to fuel my daydreams; no need to add to the mix.
In a world where the nebulous”he” always knows what to say to turn me on, worships my body in ways that I literally can only dream of, touches me exactly where and how I long to be touched, whispers to me of all *his* erotic fantasies about me…that’s a world that does not and forever shall not exist. It does not make me love or want my husband any less. In fact, it often makes me want him more.
Fantasy is the food of the not so thrilling marriage, or the candy bar of the fulfilling one. I ask no forgiveness when I occasionally unwrap the corner of that secret forbidden sweet stashed at the back of the cabinet and take a tiny nibble.