Why I Turned the Other Cheek

"It's not fair," he said.
"What's not fair?"
"That you've been with so many guys already. I lack experience!"
"No, you don't."
"Will you be mad at me if I sleep with someone else? It would be sex, only sex. You know the difference, right?"
"Hmm, maybe it would be okay. I don't know." I sighed. "How many times do we have to talk about it?"
"I just feel...insecure.Would a blow job be okay?"
"Yes, I guess...maybe. I wouldn't know what to do until it happens. Besides, it's not my fault that I've been around and you haven't!"

* * *

The bubble burst about a month ago. I was in the kitchen, puttering around. It was a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. I exhausted after a night around town, and expecting Thomas home after spending a week at his dorm near his University, 300 miles away. I called him last night. There was a distinct tone of indifference in his voice as he inquired into how I've been, what I've been doing. It made me upset, and decided to drown my sorrows at a local bar, immersing myself in loud music, a mug of Radler beer, and in the company of Anna, a new-found friend.

He emerged from the door, freshly shaved and showered, wearing very nice clothes. Unusual from the unruly-haired Thomas I knew.

"Hi sweety. I have good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?"

"What's the bad news?"

"I got a blow job from another girl."

My insides froze. But the news was not unexpected. Call it woman's intuition, but I knew when I heard his voice last night that something was up. I steeled myself, sucked in breath, and asked, "What's the good news?"

"You're better."

Doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

* * *

In a broken narrative, he related what happened. A week-long seminar at school. A new girl in class from Slovakia. Had the hots for him. Last night of the seminar, a couple of Slovakian boys and he got together for a beer at the hotel where the Slovakians were staying. She came along. He got drunk.

Is that all? I asked. I would have readily accepted an accident of inebriation. It happens to the best of us, after all. It happened to me.

No, that's not all. He stayed the night at the hotel. Can't drive home. The girl offered her room. She has a double bed, after all. Woke up together that morning. Pillow talk.

Bang.

* * *

In my mind's eye, I saw Thomas as an eight year old. "Mommy, Mommy, look what I've done!" in a proud, lilting voice, as he leads me into a room, introducing me to his masterpiece, his handiwork: A mural of dirt on the wall.

The fool, he didn't see the logic. The story reeked of pre-determination on both parties. He said it was an accident. The fool, the fool.

* * *

In between tears and anger, I explained, as mightily and as lucidly as I could, why it was not cool. Why it was not okay.

It's so hard for me, who's at the other side of the sexual bridge, to explain to somebody from the other end that when you get to where I am, all you'll want is what you already have: A safe place for the soul.

In the end, he realized why it was not okay, how much it hurt. I felt that I loved him a little less. Thomas is mature in a lot of ways, but very immature in others. Ask anybody who knows him well.

* * *

People tell me that I should be glad, because he saw the merit of telling me about it, that he wanted to be open and honest enough, not to lie about it. I carefully weighed it in my head in the days that followed. Was it a deal-breaker? Should I let this mistake overshadow everything we have, and everything we fought for? Was it worth it?

For days I mulled on the fact that we have set about common goals. We want to build a family together. Do I still want to pursue this with him? Do I still see this clearly, in my mind's eye? Am I still willing to make this work?

And that's why I stayed.

I wish I could show him the consequence of his actions. How, even if he said it hurt him as well to see me so wounded, did not make the bodkin any less sharp. But revenge is pointless, anybody who's tried it in real life knows that.

Thomas knows that I am, in a financial, personal and career standpoint, in a better position. I am an emotionally stable woman in my mid-20s. I have the resources to find a better man. I have the money to go back to Manila to pick up where I left off. He himself said it. However, the older I get, the more morally and emotionally ambiguous things become.

Life is comprised of the choices we make. I hope I made the right one.