Her ex-boyfriend was black, and even when we were dating I'd make fun about the "size" thing. Still she always said she was ok with how mine was. Usually after we're intimate, she'll hang out in the spare bedroom to watch tv, I just wasn't sure why - now I know!
Yeah, I'm a little hurt she's got it hidden there.. part of me is embarrassed she needs "more". The thing is HUGE. I can't sleep thinking about what I should do. Like, should I confront her about it? Or just forget it and play dumb? Where did she buy it from?? We share all our credit card statements, I think I'd have picked it up if she got it online. Sure, we'd kid around about her maybe seeing her ex if I allowed her to, am I supposed to be grateful it's just a toy instead of an affair? So my questions are:
Guys: what would you do if you were me?
Ladies:any thoughts on why you'd hide something like that from your boyfriend or spouse, instead of just being open about it? "
I had to admire his determination in trying to exorcise this specter that now haunted his marital bed, Slim admitted he wasn't as physically well-endowed but his devotion to his marriage was touching. In the almost two weeks that we traded emails, he battled with losing his self-esteem in the bedroom, even once writing me with a rueful admission of how he'd chickened out of the plan to discuss it with his wife further just as they'd made love. And as was her custom, she'd sauntered off to the spare room to consort with The Thing once more.
My emails to Slim were quite thorough, I spared no details in both my questions and answers, repeatedly reminding him she'd still chosen to marry him vs the ex, and that the Thing was at the end of the day, just a thing - devoid of personality and soul, and of all the other qualities making a life together requires.
Yes, it was important that he jump this hurdle, after all sexual intimacy is a venue unique in it's potential for honesty and bonding. It has far reaching implications on both the fulfillment and longevity of a partnership. Even if some people tend to pooh-pooh it as certainly not as important as compatibility and life goals, it's the kind of thing that can rear it's ugly head (sorry, inadvertent pun again) once it's been twisted into hiding. Mainly, as thwarting it allows it to continue to strike painfully at the heart of our desirability.
He questioned in particular, when The Thing had been brought in. He seemed to go over this issue the most, noting how obviously she never needed The Thing with the ex. Aside from how inadequate it made him feel, he felt betrayed by how it had apparated into the spare bedroom, like a back up man designed to finish the job he couldn't do, deviously lurking in the background.
So off we went, emailing almost daily. We discussed scenarios on how to open the topic, he thought of sending her an email, I wanted him to take charge and talk to her. We talked about her ex, I liberally shared my own experiences to help him push past fixating on the ex or The Thing. Naturally, we went into technique where at one point, I was so instructionally explicit that Slim admitted I'd made him blush. Probably because I was helping him break some taboos I felt were frightening him into inaction.
Then finally one day it happened. Slim emailed me, giddily reporting that The Thing no longer lingered in the spare bedroom, and had been put in its proper place in theirs. Specifically, in a bedside drawer, where Slim had taken it upon himself to commandeer the situation. He was comfortable enough to gush over the bits he found exciting, never once crossing the line to flirt with me. He rhapsodized over this new chapter of their sex lives, over the honesty previously tarnished yet now redeemed.
"I swear, it was like you were there, guiding me," Slim wrote, "every time I hesitated I just thought about everything you told me and I imagined how your voice would sound like in my head. You were kind of like our Ghost of Good Sex. Thank you, I just want you to know, I couldn't have done it without you. You should really consider becoming a professional sex therapist, you made everything I ever thought of or worried about seem ok." He continued to tell me to write him any time, that if there was any way he could return the favor, he would. Adding tongue in cheek, that I probably wouldn't need the kind of help he did.
I'd never discussed my background or my history, he never knew my real name. His need for resolution made theoretical discussions about trust, love and sex pretty moot. He had helped me by letting me come in and allowing me to turn the dark things I held into something better, into something useful. Maybe not for myself as yet, but he was the evidence I needed to see it could be transformed. He was one more way for me to hope.