This seemed to be a typical Saturday, with Mr. Dawson mowing his lawn and the boys playing basketball in the driveway. I loved the way the sun warmed my face as I stepped beyond the shadows of the house. I thought how this was a perfect day to celebrate our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Well, it would have been except for the fact that Dave had been called away at the last minute to settle a labor problem in their east coast branch—something about a pending strike. It was unusual for him to travel, but who am I to complain? Dave has always provided well for me and the kids. I've been blessed to have all we do.
The mail box was full. I sorted it out as I walked back into the house. The damp grass felt wonderful squeezing through my toes. Our mail mostly consisted of advertisers and some utility bills. Hmmm... what's this? A letter from David? Probably an anniversary card. He was always thoughtful that way. I couldn't remember him ever missing an anniversary or birthday for me and the kids.
I filed the junk mail in the trash compactor and poured myself a cup of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen bar, I started to tear open Dave's letter, when Robby popped his head in the door and asked, "Mom, can Rick and I go to the park? Allen says there's a pickup game."
"Don't you want me to fix you two some lunch?"
"Naw, we're good, Mom."
"Okay, have fun. No fighting and be back before dark." I truly sound like a mom, I chuckled to myself.
I smiled, thinking how Robby and Rick were inseparable. Even though they looked identical, they were fraternal twins. They've been such a blessing to me—my little miracles. I was told after their birth I needed a partial hysterectomy because of some abnormal growth. That meant I couldn't have more children, so it was a stroke of luck I had twins. Except for having to take hormones daily, I completely recovered.
I went back to the letter and pulled out an anniversary card. It was a lovely scented card. Inside was a note, hand written, that said, "Thank you for being the best wife and mother any man could dream of. I love you with all my heart. See you soon. Counting the days until I'm home. Love, Your husband, Dave."
Inside the envelope there was also a letter. I opened it and began to read. The first thing I noticed was the letter, like the card, was also hand written. I took a sip of coffee and began to read.
My dearest wife Jenny,
In almost sixteen years, I can't recall ever writing you a letter before. Why am I now? It is because every time I try to bring this subject up, the words just stick in my throat.
First, I want to say I love you and need you more than air. You are everything to me. I've never ever been attracted to anyone the way I am to you. I know I've disappointed you at times but you never make me feel anything but supported and loved, even in my failures. I watch other wives nag their husbands, but you never do that because we've always had great communication. I always feel your encouragement.
So, why this letter? I've been struggling with certain issues in my life that started about five years ago—things I just recently began seeing a therapist about. It started as a passing thought and has grown into a full-fledged obsession. My therapist said I should talk to you about this and God knows I have tried. That is the reason I waited until I was on this two-week business trip to share what he suggested. He says I am clinically what he would classify as a Wittol. Look it up. I don't know the exact definition.
We as a couple, click on all levels. Well, almost all. The only thing I have seen lacking in our relationship is our diminishing sex life. It's not anyone's fault and I'm certainly not blaming you. I think we have just grown too familiar with each other. Sex kind of went from hot and steamy to... functional....
You are probably the sexiest thirty-five year-old woman on the planet. Sometimes I watch you dress and find your body even hotter today than when we first married. So many women your age let themselves go, but not you, even after giving birth to two wonderful kids. Your total dedication to health and fitness have paid off big-time. I don't think you know how sexy you are. Which brings me back to why I wrote this letter.
About five years ago, when we used to go to the gym together, I was watching you workout in that skin-tight leotard. You know, the one you always wore to the gym that fit like a second skin. You were on the stair climber and I was using the bench press. I couldn't take my eyes off you. Your large breasts were swaying as you pumped the machine and your firm, shapely butt was perfection in motion.
I wasn't the only one that noticed you. The guy next to me saw me staring at you and said, "I'm seeing the same thing, mate. I'd give a month's pay to get her between the sheets. If she were my woman, I couldn't keep my hands off her."
For some reason, this stranger's lustful admission excited me. That was the first time I ever fantasized about you being with another man... but it wouldn't be the last. After that day, the seed that was planted started to grow. I began to regularly picture you with different men we know. I knew this was wrong, but I couldn't control it. The fantasies continued.
I would get angry at myself for thinking such deviant thoughts about the woman I loved, causing periods where I'd withdraw. At first, I just told myself it was nothing but a passing phase, but it grew into a full-fledged obsession. That's why I sought counseling. I figured you would find out about the therapy when you saw the checks I wrote to the therapist.
My love, I would never do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I just can't help myself. I truly have this hidden desire to see you with another man. There, I said it! I know when you read this, all kinds of things will go through your mind. So, to dispel any thoughts you might have that I want to be with other women, I have no such thoughts or intentions. I want none other than you. I've always believed your body is yours and yours alone. What you do with it is, always has been, and always will be your choice. It is an extreme privilege to be your partner in life.
I can't expect you to understand my feelings. I don't understand them myself. I would take little events and build them into my fantasy, like the time you were dancing with Carl at the Christmas party and he was getting fresh, feeling you up. I knew we all had had too much to drink and you eventually pushed him away, but not after a substantial groping. I should have got angry and intervened, but all I could think about was what was he whispering in your ear? What stands out to me the most about that night was when we got home, you almost raped me. I knew the stimulation you received from Carl sparked desires in you—desires I joyfully benefited from.
Then there was the time you were getting help from that personal trainer. I can't remember his name—the body builder. I gasped aloud when I saw him stretching you out. From the bulge he was packing, I'm sure he wanted to stretch more than your legs. I watched you giggle and flirt with him. When I saw his hands trace down your sides over your hips, I should have been furious, but strangely, it excited me and added fuel to my fantasy.
I can't imagine what you must be thinking at this point. I could keep hiding these feelings, but I wanted you to know the truth of why I'm going to therapy. I love you with every fiber of my being, and pray this does not harm our marriage. I shouldn't ask this, but have you ever fantasized being with another man? I know by the way you look, that you must be propositioned constantly. Are you ever tempted? Does knowing how I feel change anything?
After reading this, text me back if you want to discuss this. If you don't, dispose of this letter and I won't ever bring it up again.
Your loving, faithful husband, David After reading his letter the second time, I wasn't sure how to react. Should I be angry, sympathetic, disappointed or just shocked? Shocked was my initial reaction. I thought about his options and considered taking option two, to just shred this and never think about it again. However, I love Dave and I should be able to discuss anything with him. We'd always been able to work through anything.
I picked up my phone and texted him: I received your letter.
I waited for a response. About five minutes later, I heard my phone beep for a new text. It simply said: I'm in a meeting. We can talk at seven.
I tried to get back to my chores, but my mind was never far from that letter. It's not every day a wife gets told her husband wants to share her with others. I took out my tablet and googled "Wittol."
It said: "Noun: wittol (plural wittols) (archaic) A man who knows, condones, and even encourages his wife's enjoyment of coitus with another man or men: a contented cuckold."
That had to be one of the most bizarre things I'd ever read. It made no sense. What could a husband get out of his wife having sex with another man? Moreover, how could a loving wife do that?
I thought back to Dave's example of when I was dancing with Carl. I hadn't even been aware of Dave watching, but It's good that he didn't see everything: like when I went into the kitchen and Carl followed. I'd been a bit tipsy and Carl took advantage by kissing me and groping my breasts. I had pushed him away and slapped him... eventually. And yes, I admit I was turned on.
Just past noon, the doorbell rang. It was FTD with a bouquet of roses. I put them in a vase and read through the letter again. This whole thing seemed so weird and contrary to how I knew my husband of fifteen years.
It was about four-fifteen when my phone rang. I rushed to answer and tapped that little green phone icon.
"Hey, babe," I said. "I thought you were not going to be available until seven."
"It's after seven, my time."
"Oh... I forgot about the time difference. I miss, you. How's it going there?""Miss you more," Dave replied. "Happy anniversary. These negotiations are going poorly, but that is to be expected. There is a lot of blustering in the beginning. How are the kids?"
"They are still at the park. I swear they would sleep with those basketballs if I'd let them."
