What Sex With My Best Friend and Her Husband Taught Me

How losing myself helped me find my way to my voice and to a more satisfying life…

It was late. We were drunk, hanging out in their dated Fishtown row. We were 19 or 20, and she was my best friend from grade school.

“So…” She started off. We sat on the edge of her bed. There was a big cheshire smile on her face. I knew what she was going to ask. There had been talk earlier in the night about threesomes. She and her husband were thinking about finding someone to hookup with.

I’ve always been accepting of everyone and everything, provided it doesn’t harm anyone of course, so I was supportive. I wished them luck. I thought it sounded fun. I didn’t want them to ask me, though.

“You know we were thinking…” She continued.

I chugged the rest of my Yuengling, my heart pounding against the fizz in my throat.

“But… what about Sammy?” I asked. Her daughter was 2 or 3 at the time and asleep in the next room.

“She’ll stay asleep. She never wakes up.” I didn’t know how she could be so certain.

“Oh… Okay… Well… what about Rob’s mom?”

She laughed, “C’mon, Mare. She doesn’t care what we’re doing. And she’s asleep too!”

I could feel my face burning. My whole body was on fire. I felt faint, couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get the thoughts of the past few months out of my head. I hadn’t even been tested yet… what if I have an STD… what if I have HIV for Christ’s sake? I could give it to them… you have to tell her, Mary… just say it… just say it…

As I spoke, I began to cry…

“Oh Mary, you’re fine!” She insisted none of it mattered and reminded me that she was raped by her cousin when we were eleven. But I didn’t feel like none of it mattered. I felt like all of it mattered… I felt like this was the end of the world and I needed to jump off. I wasn’t ready to have sex with anyone, regardless of STD’s which were a real possibility.

“C’mon…” She slid her soft hand over mine and led me back downstairs. Rob was sprawled on the brown burlap couch with a Lager in his fist. Batman was the TV.

“Hey! So… Everything okay?” He was trying to act as if he didn’t know what we talked about, but he clearly did, and his face had hope and excitement written all over it.

“I need another beer…” was my response.

He sprang up, “Got it!”

“Or two!” I called after him.

When he returned, he sat beside me instead of his wife, who was sitting on my other side. My first beer was gone in seconds. Things were finally starting to get fuzzy, thank God, because regardless of anything I said upstairs, this was happening.

Somehow, I was on the floor… naked… Julie between my legs and rob kissing me. I had this overwhelming feeling of Holy Shit! Like the floor was about to open up and swallow me whole. “Hang on! Hang on!” I said as I sat up, grabbed my beer, and chugged. That’s where most of my memory cuts out. I remember reluctantly having intercourse with Rob, going down on Julie, kissing her breasts… but, thankfully, I recall only a few blips of each moment.

Over the next couple of months, we continued the affair. Each time, the scene looked much like the first. I tried to find value in it, though. I told myself that I special, lucky, because I was in this exotic relationship. We’d walk down the street holding hands, or with Rob between us, his arms around us, or in our back pockets. I knew that, ultimately, I was just a body, just a prop in their relationship. But when it ended, I felt this dual sense of relief and loss.

I had fooled myself into believing I had value because of this relationship… fooled myself into thinking I wanted it because I’m bisexual and finally had the opportunity to be with a woman. In reality, though, it was only hurting me. My friend was more of a sister to me, and I had absolutely no attraction to her husband. Plus I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for any relationship, and I knew it. Everything about this situation was pulling me further and further from myself. And for what? For acceptance?

I felt so devalued, so worthless and shameful from my previous experiences, that I was willing to fall further down the rabbit hole. I was willing to put myself in this unhealthy situation, devalue myself more, because I was unwilling to sit with the emotions of my reality.

When we feel stuck in an emotion. When we haven’t gone through it and dealt with it, it replays over and over like a skipping record. We don’t realize that we can step outside of that experience and have new ones.

In my case, I had trauma to deal with, but many people even without trauma find that they lose themselves to what others want. We develop a false sense of self that stems from what we perceive others want and what we allow ourselves to accept. We put a wall up that provides a false sense of safety because we tell ourselves it gives us control. It’s a boldfaced lie, though. We can only control ourselves. And that wall, is actually doing more harm than good.

I followed this same pattern in every relationship I’ve ever been in, whether friendship, familial, or romantic.

As a young grade-schooler, my best friend was a boy who “thwacked” me on the back to get my attention and took my left over lunch money every day to buy himself an ice cream. As a teen, I had a boyfriend who was obsessive and controlling, but he gave me attention, said he loved me. At the same time in my life, my closest friends regularly belittled my intelligence and took me for granted. “Mary doesn’t care,” they’d say. I stayed with all of them because I didn’t think I’d have anyone if I spoke up. I thought my only value was doing what they wanted.

When I entered my marriage, I was still stuck in this frame of mind. Whatever he wanted was what I wanted. I prided myself on being great at sex because it was important to him and because I thought that was the way to make someone love me. I had no idea what I wanted in the bedroom, and when he’d ask, I’d get angry. Just the thought of trying to be someone independent of others, the thought of being myself, scared the hell out of me.

As a result, I was miserably depressed. I was an active alcoholic starting at age 19 and didn’t get sober until the 5th year of our marriage. I was trying to make myself invisible and numb.

Once I took away the alcohol, I had to feel it all. No one can maintain that amount of pain and stay sober. Something had to give. I considered suicide regularly until my daughter brought home a book that saved my life (story below) and erased that thought from my mind permanently.

Without numbing or running as an option, I had only one choice left. I had to do better. I had to be better. And in order to do that, in order to have a fulfilling life, I needed to feel free to be myself. I needed to step out from behind that wall or at least build a draw bridge… maybe a few bay windows.

At the core of it all, I needed to learn what I want, who I am, what I believe, and I needed to believe I deserve it; I needed to believe I have value because of it, not in spite of it.

Life is an experiment. There’s a saying, live life like a loose garment. I was living my life life like a straight jacket. Too many of us live that way, overwhelmed by the past and the present… obligations, work, family, friends. We lose sight of joy. We loose sight of what makes us who we are. We loose sight of all the possibilities and live our lives in a tunnel afraid to venture off the path.

Life doesn’t take us from point A to point Z. It’s not straight forward and there is no destination. There is only better.

I’ve since learned to live life like a poem. It’s all a big jumble of words, possibilities; I get to choose where they all go, and there really are no rules to the game. I can be who I am, honestly, authentically. And if someone isn’t happy with that, I can let them have their feelings. It’s really none of my business.

Recently, I’ve allowed my husband to read one of my stories (below). It’s a story about a topic I’ve wanted to be honest about for a long time, but have always been afraid to bring up. Being honest and authentic, doesn’t mean we’re no longer afraid. It just means we’re willing to take that leap and face that fear. It means acceptance… of self and of others.

Since that sad relationship with my friend and her husband, I’ve worked hard to rise up into that realm of acceptance. And while I’ve come a long way, there’s still so much more to climb… with others like my husband, but mainly, within myself. I’m the only one I have any control over. My real struggle is with me.

Soon, I hope to share another story with him (below). It’s one that we’ve discussed at length, but having him read it will surely put a different spin on it. I’ve told him about the threesome. He knows I’m bisexual (and not interested in threesomes). But what he may not be aware of are the subtle thoughts and feelings that I have surrounding these things. The thoughts and feelings that make them personal and real. I’m scared as hell… but now, I’m more afraid of going back to that bound up, muted, life. And I think he is too.

I know I can’t predict what will happen. But that’s the point, I guess. None of us can… and that’s the beauty of it, the beauty of life, of us. After he reads that piece, I’m sure we’ll have a lot more to talk about. I’m also sure that this honesty, this acceptance of reality no matter what pain it may cause, is the surest path to our best life. I may have lost myself, falling further away with each past relationship, but now, in this one, I’m finding my way back… to my voice, to my strength, and to a life billowing with an open and honest heart.