Ever since Julien and I last had sex, things between us haven't been the same. Although we still sleep together and occasionally copulate, our relationship has seemed to become...artificial.
I don't know how else to describe it. Everything feels normal. He's still the same loving partner I know him to be. He still holds my hand when we're out together, and he still kisses me when we greet each other. It just seems empty.
In all honesty, I should correct myself: the truth is that nothing's been the same since I caught him inside someone else. Gestures meant to be loving instead ring hollow--after all, it's not intent that matters but, rather, perception, right?
It's all I've been able to think about, lately. It screws with my head. When I wake up next to him, I wonder who he's been texting while I slept. When he kisses me goodbye as he heads off to work, I wonder if that's really where he's going. When he comes home, I wonder where he's been. When he climbs into bed with me at the end of the night, I wonder if he's thinking about someone else.
I wonder if I'm no longer good enough for him.
Even as I write this, I mentally shake myself, vigorously. I know I'm good enough. I'm smart and I'm loyal. I have a good job and I keep myself in good shape. He, the Adonis that he is, could be with anyone in the world, yet I'm the one he chose to marry all those years ago, and I'm the one with whom he chooses to stay all these years later. He loves me. I know he does.
Still, I can't shake the sneaking suspicion that he wants something more. Something else. Someone else. It's a suspicion undergirded by intuition. I don't have proof, but I know what I witnessed. It haunts me.
Sometimes, I dream about what I saw that night. In my dreams, I'm back in that moment, hunched by the door and peeking through the opening into our bedroom, rooted to the spot. Frozen. I can't look away. I can't look away from what's happening in our bed: Julien's muscular torso pounding away at the twink underneath him. The twink is moaning, lustful, pleading for more, begging for Julien's load. Condoms sit unopened on the nightstand. As Julien is about to climax, he looks up--and makes eye contact with me. Terror strikes my heart like a lightning bolt as he catches me watching him, but he doesn't seem surprised to see me, and he doesn't stop his thrusting. He holds my gaze, expressionless, as he cums inside someone else--and then I wake up. I always wake up with the most throbbing erection, and I almost hate myself for it, for this reaction to what should be the worst moment of my life.
I feel like I'm going insane.
I know I should confront him about it soon. Leave a wound to fester, and you'll wind up needing to amputate. The thing is, I haven't fully figured out how I feel about it. All I know is I can't stop thinking about it. The idea of him slamming into a twink, using their body to get off, taking his pleasure from wherever--whomever--he sees fit, I want to say I hate it. I want to loathe the idea. I should be angry. Certainly, it gets my heart pounding. But, I can't lie to myself: it also turns me on. In my head, I argue with myself about it, endlessly. It's soul-crushing; it's hot. It's betrayal; it's just sex. Do I like this? Judging by my body's physical reactions to even the thought of Julien fucking someone else, I'm afraid to admit that I might.
It's been a slow descent into madness.
Lately, I've also been thinking about something else that recently happened.
This past weekend was my friend Nick's birthday, and he wanted to celebrate at his favorite bar. Nick was my roommate in college and, knowing him, was more than likely to gather a group of our friends to celebrate, so I had decided to bring Julien with me.
"What should I wear?" Julien had asked me as we prepared to leave.
"It's not formal attire...just wear that plaid shirt you like," I had suggested.
Later, as we walked into the bar, I mentally pushed away any and all thoughts I was having about my troubles; for Nick's sake, I wanted to be in a good mood.
"Andrew! Julien! Over here!" Immediately, he saw us and called us over to where everyone else had already gathered.
We made our way over, and Nick pulled me into a crushing hug.
"Happy birthday! I miss you...how have you been?" I asked.
"Pretty good, pretty good," he replied as he reached around to shake Julien's hand in greeting. "What are you two drinking?"
"We'll have whatever you're having," Julien smiled.
As the night progressed, the bar only seemed to get more and more crowded. We matched Nick drink for drink, and everyone became pretty sloshed within the hour. I made small talk and caught up with people I'd known for years as well as people I just met, and overall I was having a good time.
In the midst of conversation, I turned to Julien to ask his opinion--but he was no longer by my side. Slightly confused, I turned back to ask my companions if they'd seen him and was met with shrugs. We continued our conversation, but I looked around every now and then to see if I could spot him, if only by the plaid of his shirt.
When Julien still hadn't returned after half an hour, I decided to excuse myself and go looking for him. The bar was packed with people, and the music was loud; in my slightly tipsy state, I pushed through the crowd from one end to the other but still couldn't find him.
I tried not to panic. There's a rational explanation for this, I told myself as I searched. He had to be somewhere nearby.
He was nowhere to be found.
I stopped to consider. He wouldn't have left without me, would he? I didn't think so; he's always liked Nick, he wouldn't leave me alone at Nick's birthday gathering, I rationalized. I was sure he was there somewhere.
As I looked around, a sign caught my eye. The restroom sign. Of course. I hadn't checked there yet. Maybe he needed to relieve himself; by then, so did I.
I ambled into the men's room, noting that most of the stalls were empty as I went to use an unoccupied urinal. When I finished, I headed over to the sink to wash up while staring at the stalls reflected in the mirror to check which ones were taken. A few men came and went, and I didn't want to seem as though I was acting unnaturally, so I couldn't really linger.
In the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something weird move from underneath the last stall. Curious, I walked over, nonchalant, to dry my hands at the dryer near that stall, wondering if I might be able to peer through the stall door cracks.
The bar's loud music reverberated even in the restroom, so I couldn't hear much, but I thought I heard a sort of muffled noise coming from that stall. It almost resembled a sort of moist sound...like a slurp?
Through the cracks, I couldn't see much. It was too narrow. But, for the briefest second, I thought I caught a flash of plaid. Plaid, in the exact same shade as the shirt Julien was wearing. And, the silhouette in that stall seemed too big to be just one person.
Was I imagining it? I was tipsy, so I could have been mistaken. In that moment, time stood still and my imagination raced. Was Julien in there? And, was he not alone? In my head, the silhouette I glimpsed easily became Julien standing in there, his legs apart and someone else in between, their head pressed into his groin. Was the shadow beneath the stall moving in a weirdly rhythmic way?
"Andrew!"
I looked around, shaken out of the moment. It was Mark, another mutual friend who was there for Nick's birthday.
"Ah...hey," I acknowledged.
"Nice birthday party, huh? But don't tell Nick I forgot to get him a present," Mark laughed.
I smiled back. I was done drying my hands, and I couldn't just loiter around, surreptitiously attempting to peek into an occupied stall, so I had no choice but to follow Mark as he left the restroom.
We made our way back to the bar for another round of drinks. I resumed my conversations with the group, completely on autopilot as I mulled over what I might have seen in the restroom. If I had indeed seen plaid, if that plaid was the same color as the shirt Julien was wearing, then perhaps Julien was in there. If the silhouette I saw was too big to have been just one person, then someone else was in there with him. If Julien was in there and someone else was in there with him, then...
The possibilities were limitless. Anything could have been happening in that stall.
My own groin began to stir. I shifted my stance so that nobody would notice. I didn't want to think about what it might mean that my body was reacting this way to whatever Julien might be doing.
As I chatted with our friends, I happened to look up as the restroom door opened. Out walked Nick, the birthday boy, making his way back to rejoin us.
About a minute later, the restroom door opened once more--
--and out came Julien, who was quickly zipping up the front of his jeans.