Why do they call it the “green-eyed monster”? When I look into the eyes of my own jealousy, I see black - cold, empty, black eyes that reflect nothing back but the distorted vision of a face I don’t recognize as my own. I cannot own my jealousy, cannot name it. I regard it as a blister, a splinter, something that should fade away or work its way out, in time.

I have had affairs. I have cheated on my husband. At the beginning of 1999, I promised I would never cheat again, and I meant it. But I didn’t mean I’d never have sex with another person. I simply refuse to do it with deceit. My husband knows I desire this freedom, and he hasn’t yet granted it to me. I trust that, in time, he will. He must. I need it.

Or do I? Do I need that freedom, or do I just want it? If I knew my husband didn’t mind if I slept with whomever the hell I wanted to, would I even want to any more? It’s not often I’m attracted to another; maybe, just maybe, if the possibility were there, the reality would seem less appealing. (more…)