When my Husband Asks Do You have a Boyfriend?

I don’t lie. I just don’t answer the question

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I can’t lie. But I certainly can’t answer head-on. It’s not a lie when I respond with, “What good would that do?”

Do I have a boyfriend?

Well, let’s see, I am out salsa dancing 4 to 5 nights a week, often coming in after 2 am even on a work night, sometimes closer to 4 am.

Do I have a boyfriend?

I occasionally don’t make it home at all. I stay over with Blanche, who has been gracious enough to let me crash at her pad — even though she knows nothing about it.

I live in dread of my husband and I running into Blanche and him thanking her for all those (non-existent) times. And knowing him, he would go out of his way to thank her.

Do I have a boyfriend?

I’m in a Palo de Mayo dance troupe. We’re gearing up for a big performance at Bimbo’s 365 Club in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco.

Palo de Mayo is a lively, sensuous fertility dance from the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua. There’s a whole lot of hip rolling going on — in the middle of our living room where Ricardo and I practice. He’s the troupe leader and a very, very, very close friend.

Do I have a boyfriend?

No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

I’ve had a series of affairs over the past year and a half, Mario being the first and Ricardo being the last. Ricardo, it turns out is also married. So there’s a double lie going on. Right under both spouse’s noses.

No, I don’t have a boyfriend.

I have a disease. It’s called sex and love addiction and I need help.

The fact that I know I have a disease and I know it’s called sex and love addiction and I’ve read a 275-page book all about it, and yet I am still out at the clubs, dancing, and cruising and ‘acting out’ like gangbusters should tell you something.

It should tell you I’m out of control.

I’ve had a series of affairs, so many I lost count, and yet, I’m not ready to quit.

But I’m not going to admit it, either.

Cause if I admit it, I have to own it. And if I own it, I have to do something about it. And I am not about to stop.

If I stopped — notice that is an if, not a when at this point…If I stopped, I’d have to feel my pain.

I’d have to feel the pain of being in a marriage where neither of us own, honor and share our feelings.

I’d have to feel the pain of being in a marriage where each of us is busy in our own worlds — so deep that we no longer bring nuggets back to share.

I’d have to feel the pain of being in a marriage where we don’t have a language to talk about what’s happening which fluctuates between a numb holding pattern and a slow but steady dissolve.

I’d have to feel the pain of being in a marriage where we have grown so far apart neither of us remembers what it felt like to be in love.

So I medicate my pain with these lovers. They aren’t boyfriends.

They aren’t really lovers either. Yes, we make love or have sex, but we don’t do love. We have quickie encounters where we get naked and connect physically while clinging to a fantasy that this is real and exciting and meaningful and might perhaps lead to something magical.

I had that with Mario.

But by the time I get to Ricardo, who I know a lot better than Mario, I know it’s not going to lead to anything. He has a wife and a small child.

I may be the other woman but I am not a home wrecker. I keep my emotional distance and he senses this and does not like it.

But he too has no solution.

I am about to leave my husband. He is not about to leave his wife.

I am so grateful for this because a part of me knows what I want is freedom.

Unencumbered freedom.

I sense but do not know for sure that when I break up with my husband, I am not going to get more involved with Ricardo.

I start fantasizing about having my own place, my own bed, my own life, with no entanglements of any kind.

This is a step forward.

I somehow make it through the Christmas holidays two-timing everybody. The façade takes the fun out of the holiday. I vow it will be the last time I do that.

Then our roommate moves out.

I’ve written about that elsewhere. The day the reality of the loneliness of an addicted wife hits me right between the eyes. The day I went to my first meeting.

The day I admit to a room full of caring strangers that I, as harsh as that sounds, and as hard as it is to admit, that I might, not am, yet, mind you, but might, be a sex and love addict.

Keep coming back, was all they said.

Keep coming back is shorthand for, “You are right where you belong, and the more you participate, the more you will realize that and the more willing you will come to do what we do to have what we have, but don’t worry about all that — yet. Just keep coming back.”

I do, thank God.

And I eventually tell my husband. I tell him on an Easter Sunday in April of that year. On a walk in our neighborhood.

I tell him I am now going to Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.

(Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous is a program of men and women who use the twelve steps and twelve traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous to stop acting out in their own personally defined bottom-line behaviors, one day at a time.)

By that time, I am switching drugs from live sex in the big city to a fantasy addiction closer to home. You can read about that here.

But I don’t tell him that. I can’t.

Cause that would be admitting I had all those boyfriends. So I tell him I go to the meetings but I am not ready to tell him any details.

But in so doing, I have told him a lot. I have admitted that the answer to the question is yes. If he figures that out on the spot, he doesn’t let on.

He nods. We walk.

A year or so later, I do my ninth step with him, making amends for all the harm I have done. While I am prepared to give him any specifics he asks for, he doesn’t ask.

The conversation goes off in a whole new, grace-filled direction, which I have also written about, as it amazes me to this day, and is such a miracle, it deserves to be shared. I even got his permission/blessing before publishing.

So, do I have a boyfriend?

No, actually. Not now.

But I have a program, new-found dignity, deeply connected friendships, a close walk with a Higher Power, much joy, and a new addiction (Medium).

In short, I have a life.

If you found this valuable, here is my related story on making amends:

Marilyn Flower’s a sacred fool who writes fiction, poetry, and blogs, inspired by the practice of SoulCollage®. Her books: Developing Characters: Fun Ways to Cast Your Fiction, Creative Blogging, Bucket Listers. Follow her Sacred Foolishness or SoulCollage® for Writers, and Stay in touch!