Although stylized for entertainment value, the first part of this story is based on actual events.
I'd like to thank Horrorotica for editing an early draft of this story. Any errors in grammar, syntax, characterization or plotting that remain are clearly the fault of the author, and no other.
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After twenty-five years of marriage, things were stirring and boiling...awakening between Shannon and me. New and wonderful things that neither of us would have guessed existed, were suddenly becoming self-evident as they percolated to the surface of our relationship. Long story short, I find it ironic that the discovery of a great truth in our lives was initially brought on by the tiniest of white lies.
********
It's late. Tired and thinking about going to bed, I was feeling the effects of a long day. Unfortunately, she's doing that foot kicking thing, which means, to paraphrase Robert Frost, 'I had miles to go before I sleep.'
She, is my wife Shannon. We've been married for over twenty years, and I've come to know most of her idiosyncrasies. The foot kicking was one of her more irritating quirks.
Whenever Shannon was mad or anxious about one thing or another, she would sit in a huff with arms folded across her chest, cross a leg at the knee, and then swing her foot it in small arcs. It always looked as though she was kicking some imaginary foe in the ass.
By the look of things, she was pissed in the extreme. Her leg pivoted like a metronome keeping
prestissimo
tempo—rapidly kicking someone's behind. By her silence, I knew it was my ass she was kicking. I just didn't know why.
"Okay, what's wrong?"
My words acted like a Starter's gun, sending her mouth at full sprint, "You're writing again, aren't you? Porn! You're writing porn again, aren't you? Just admit it. I want to hear you say that you're writing porn...and not for me."
"What makes you think that?"
She got off her chair and stopped kicking my imaginary ass long enough to hand me something she printed off our computer. I recognized what it was, immediately.
I've always been writing erotic stories for Shannon. I was out of town a lot due to my job, and I'd spend my evenings writing her stories. I liked to write, and I liked writing erotic fiction.
However, when I found
this
site, I began posting my stories for a wider readership. I still wrote her personal ones, but I also posted others she didn't know about. I enjoy having others read what I'd written, and I got a lot of nice compliments from readers, which fueled my ego. Some readers even requested I write a personalized story patterned just for them. More than flattered by the request, I agreed.
The paper Shannon handed me is a set of questions I had fashioned for the reader. The answers to which, I would incorporate into their story, making it more personal for them. Obviously, the questions were very explicit and targeted for specific responses. I thought I had deleted the file after sending it to the reader, but somehow a copy was saved, and Shannon found it.
The fact that she found out I was posting my stories to the general public didn't bother me that much. However, there were good reasons I kept it a secret from her, as I'll explain later.
What did bother me was that embedded in the series of questions I sent to the reader, was the specific name of this website and my user name. I hope she didn't go too far in her investigation.
"Okay, yes, I'm writing. I like to write. You know that."
"Yes I do, so why did you keep this a secret from me?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd take it that I was writing erotic stories for other people to read. I didn't want you to freak out."
"Keeping secrets from me freaks me out." Pointing to the paper I still held, she asked, "Like that. What's that, then?"
"I'm not having an affair, online or otherwise, if that's what you're worried about. A guy asked me to write him a story involving him and his wife. I asked him questions so that I could better pattern the story for him. That's it."
"I don't like you keeping secrets. Plus, if you have to write, why can't you just write romance novels?"
"Because, I don't like romance novels, I find them boring. I like writing erotic..."
"Porn!" she corrected.
"Whatever Shannon, I like writing it. Besides, I never heard you complain about it before. So I'm going to keep writing erotica, or porn, or whatever it is you want to call it. Writing gives me something to do at night other than channel surf when I'm on the road."
"If you want something to do, why don't you read instead?"
"Because I'd rather write the stories, than read them."
She knew I was telling the truth. Hoping I quelled her anxiety and that I could go to bed without her braining me with a club as I slept, I asked, "We good?"
She pursed her lips at my question, scrunching them up as if she just bit into something bitter. Then she snapped, "Not really. I can't keep you from writing, but I read your stories. All of them..." She hesitated for a moment, before finishing her thought, "Please tell me the truth...a-are you gay?"
I guess she did investigate further. Now we come to the central reason I kept some of my writing a secret from her.
I am bisexual by nature. I've known this ever since I took a camping trip with two friends in high school. When I met and fell in love with Shannon, knowing that she was the person I wanted to marry, I felt it necessary to tell her about my nature and about my past.
To say she freaked was an understatement. For a week after I told her, she wouldn't see me or return my calls. I finally confronted her outside her apartment building as she came home from work one day. There, on her front stoop, we talked for hours, and I was able to lessen her fears. Mostly, I reconfirmed my bisexuality to her, but prefaced my declaration by making it clear I was also monogamous by nature. Once I commit my love and devotion to a person, I always honor that commitment. We ended our talk by making love for the rest of the evening in her apartment. We were married two months later.
Just like that, I went from being a practicing into a nonpracticing bisexual with those two little words: I do.
I didn't mind. Not only did I love Shannon deeply, and still do, but our times making love were the singular, most wonderful moments in our marriage. As such, I didn't miss that other aspect of my life. Yes, I still had homoerotic fantasies, and I committed some of my youthful exploits to digital paper and posted to this website, but that was all.
However, given her previous reaction, I kept my story postings, particularly those dealing even remotely with my bisexuality, a secret from her.
Are you gay?
she asked, directly and with the tenor of surprise. I thought it an odd question given what she knew about me.
"What do you mean?"
"You're writing about...you know...gay stuff."
"I thought we settled this a long time ago. You know I'm bisexual, and even though I've never been with anyone else since we've married, I still have fantasies about it. So, I adapted some things that happened to me before we met, and posted them for others to read. It helps me to quell some of my feelings when I write about it."
