What did I mean? Those were not you? No. Only the bikini one. That’s why I like it so much. But there was a problem there too...sure it was me, but about twenty years ago. What? What happened to truth? What else is not true? All of it. Everything you think you knew about me was a lie. I didn’t work in an office, I didn’t even have a job. I wasn’t twenty-nine, I’m forty-seven. I’m not a lesbian, I’m married and to top it off, I have six children. There were some truths ... Yes, I play tennis and yes, I’m good at it. And most of all, yes I really like the stories we exchange.
Silence ...
I waited anxiously for the chat box to reappear with his writing ...
Finally, he had to digest this, he wrote. Everything was a lie? How could I do that?
Why not? Or was he the only one allowed to have a fantasy with a hot chick? Why was I not allowed to have a fantasy playing that hot chick?
Fair enough. So now, tell me about the real you ... and so the chatting continued, but now with more of a real sense to it. I told him of my terrible marriage, how I had been cheated on numerous times, how I was often times treated as if I was just another piece of the furniture, how I was given the silent treatment for days on end, and on and on.
How could I stay in something like that?
It was easier to do that than to walk into the world, into the unknown with nothing to hold on to. I had six children, some still in high school. Heck, I was a grandmother too! I had a son-in-law! I had to stay to make sure my kids would become something in this world. I figured that in five years when the youngest went off to college I would leave. Besides, I had no education. I had prided myself on being able to be a stay-at-home-mom all these years and to be there when my kids got home from school and to have dinner on the table by six. I never thought of any other kind of future for me. I never looked ahead to make sure that I would be happy later on. Everything revolved around them. Leave now? And do what? And live off what? I felt safer staying and putting up with stuff that just rolled off my shoulder anyhow. I had become numb to it all.
So...would you stay and be my fantasy? Be my shoulder to cry on? Be the one who made me wet at just the thought of you? Yes he would. But he had a confession to make as well. He was not the forty year old he had said he was. He was a forty-nine-year old, frustrated with his life. Yes all the things about him were true, except for his age.
So for a while the chats continued and the stories got hotter. I even sent him real pictures of me in lingerie and even a close-up of my privates. The pressure was on at home though.
No longer could I sit and chat for hours, typing away at my computer, minimizing pages whenever my husband walked by; he became suspicious. What was going on? Nothing. Nothing I insisted for about three weeks. When I finally thought to myself that I could leave this, I could start out with absolutely nothing, I told him. I was chatting with someone online. It was great. He made me feel like I was wanted, like I was sexy, like I was worth something. And that the marriage was over.
He was crushed. Was I leaving? Please don’t. Tell me what I need to do to make you stay. He even cried. But I said nothing. I felt nothing for him.
