Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

Don’t mind the clattering of those skeletons, will you…..

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During the process of our post-apocalyptic life, I of course, have dragged open the closet door and had a thorough clean out. Every second of our twenty-six years together has been retrieved, polished, inspected and re-filed.  There are still some files lying about. Not quite sure where they belong yet.  

I have a story to tell before I go on with the sordid little tale of this life.  When we had been living together maybe three years, Roger’s best mate was getting married. This mate and him have been “besties” since they were ten or eleven years old.  He lived in a city a few hours from us, but still had ties to our town, as he was a partner in a family business that had their head office in our town.  They held a stag party in the big smoke.  I sent him off to have some fun, knowing full well what some of these guys get up to.  Although I haven’t done any sleeping around, I am no prude.  I just gave him the “safe sex, it would be preferable if there was no sex, but PLEASE if there is any shenanigans, SAFE sex” speech.  I had no real dramas about it.  We had talked often.  Roger had told me he had never found strippers and the like really his thing, a bit amusing maybe, but “dirty,” or sleazy. Look but don’t touch.  I could see this with him, too. Not his turn on, and he has no time for porn and the like, just doesn’t really do it for him. However, I know mob mentality, of a bunch of mainly single, moneyed (these boys were young corporates and professionals mostly – I felt many of them were a bit “entitled”) lads, a lot of booze and a leave pass for the weekend, hmmm, I’ve watched enough movies, 😉 !  They had a great night, and yes, there were shenanigans.  I got the run down of proceedings on his return, who made a dick of themselves, who went home early (the groom, he got shit-faced early and snuck off) and where they went, what they did.  He told me they ended up at a brothel.  His first time in a real brothel, he’d never had cause to visit one, and the strippers he’d seen were of the “hire me and I’ll come to your party” variety really.  No problem.  He shared (without me asking) what went down.  He told me many of the guys had partaken of the wares, and how gross it all was.  He was a bit sickened by the whole thing.  Just as grubby as he’d imagined.  He then confessed that he had run out of cash, and the boys had organised a “girl” for him.  In his drunkenness, he ended up in the room with her, and he told me he had received a hand job.  He was pretty disgusted.  I wasn’t really that phased.  I had kind of expected something silly to happen.  I just said, “just a hand job, really? Was it any good?”  He said, “no, I was drunk, ‘having trouble’ – brewer’s droop no doubt – and it was gross.  Took ages, felt disgusted and wanted to run out of there, but was drunk and kind of weirdly fascinated in a really gross way, like I was having an out-of-body experience, this couldn’t be happening, yuck, moment.”  We moved on.  I was really okay with it.  Of course we talked about it properly, he said he had experienced that now, and never had any desire to do it again, it was every bit as bad as he’d imagined. The story for nearly twenty years went this way. 

Well, you all know what’s coming next, right?  Sometime in the new world order of my life, I revisited this old chestnut.  It was literally at least two years after D-day that this little lightbulb went off in my head, and I thought, hmmm, I think there’s more to this.  I asked.  I think what led me to this was the fact that I asked him about what it was like staying in the same house as his ex-GF – this was months after he went to the lake with her and fucked her (unbeknownst to me) for the first time, and he told me a story about taking her a cup of tea into her room in the morning, I had interrogated him then – and I had immediately gone over that little gem of a lie post D-day, to discover that it was all a crock of shit.  I then thought about all the other potential lies he could have told, how many others? Female friends, what was the REAL story, that night you went to blah, blah, blah, that kind of thing. Well, when I asked him about the two decades old visit to a brothel, he looked at me and then I almost saw the moment hit.  “Oh, shit, yeah!”  He had completely forgotten that incident.  He then asked me what I needed to know.  I repeated the story he had told me all those years ago.  Then I said, “is that how it really went down?”  He replied, “oh hell, I had forgotten all about that.  No.  No.  That is another lie.  Shit!  I had completely forgotten.”  I looked and waited.  “I had sex with that prostitute.  Fuck!  Fuck!  OMG.  I had sex with that prostitute, and it was terrible, I had trouble getting it up, and it was so fucking disgusting.  I have NEVER done that before, or since, or WANTED to do that.  I think it was just morbid curiosity that made me go through with it. OMG, I’m so sorry, I should have told you about this at the start of this shit.  Fuck!  I forgot.”  I then asked who else did, and why did he lie, especially when I was so fucking COOL about it all.  He told me about a friend of ours who I have adored and respected for years.  I stayed with him and his wife and young baby in the UK for a week.  He was one of them who fucked that night, and he was the only married one there.  He loaned him the money. Apparently Roger had to surreptitiously find him at the wedding a few weeks later and repay him.  Holy shit! Who the fuck are you even?  

To this day, he doesn’t understand the way this is problematic for me.  I told him, “who cares if you came in her hand, or in a condom inside the prostitute? (See that’s the thing, prostitutes INSIST on condoms, not unpaid whores like skankola, who just share their filth around FOR FREE.) Really, who cares, what is the difference?  I can’t understand why you would tell me a different version, it’s ALL bad, there are no DEGREES of bad here!”  It wouldn’t be that bad to me if it was an isolated, young, drunken mistake that he had told me the truth about from the beginning, and then he’d never cheated again.  That was a drunken, paid-for transaction. I really think I would have been okay with that. I didn’t WANT that, but I GET that. If you look at our early history, and what he did within weeks, I think there is evidence that points to me reacting in the way I imagine I would have, had the truth been told.  I have told him time and time again, “it would have been forgiven if you’d told me the truth and this hadn’t then happened twenty years later, can’t you SEE that?”  No, he can’t.  Not really.  “That was a separate thing, and I never repeated it, or intended to repeat it.” WHO FUCKING CARES WHAT YOUR INTENTIONS ARE?  LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!  You set a precedent.  You cheated. And you lied.  The lying is worse than the deed in this case.  And it has become EVEN worse because you cheated.  Why can’t you see that?

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3 thoughts on “Don’t mind the clattering of those skeletons, will you…..

  1. Oh, those stag parties…the right of passage for many men. I think I’ll ask J what has transpired at the ones he attended!

    Should make for an interesting chat 😉

    • Tempted, I know my post made it sound like I was condoning sex with whores during these. I don’t. But I am a realist. And my fear of STIs always makes me talk about “safe sex.” I am pretty sure it was a one-off and he made bad calls because he was young, drunk and peer pressured into it. I think he is (still) the kind of guy who would never book a prostitute for himself (or anyone else, as I said, not really his thing) but when they paid and pushed him into the room, he didn’t have the wherewithall at that stage to stop the ball rolling. He was best man at that wedding, and had huge misgivings about the bride. So he was a little tense about the whole thing really. He didn’t sleep the night before. Our fears were founded. We loved her, but we “knew” she wasn’t a keeper! She cheated, as it turns out, and left him for the other guy within seven years, two small children. Turns out it wasn’t the first time, she had cheated only a couple of years in, as well. Two longish term affairs in less than seven years.

      Let me know what you discover 😉

  2. Pingback: Why, oh why, didn’t I start this when I was kicking arse? | Tearing at the Fabric

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