How I Made My Husband Gay: Myths About Straight Wives. Bonnie Kaye

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and tearing away at my self-esteem by being married to a husband who is such a coward and cannot be honest with himself and live an authentic life. No, I have not moved on in regards to dating or relationships whatsoever. In fact, I haven’t dated at all.

      My concentration has been on trying to regain my self-esteem and be the best single parent-working Mom I can be to my toddler. It’s taking a long time to feel like I can finally truly talk about what has happened with my marriage. I pray that in the future I will begin to love myself and heal from the wounds this ordeal caused. I don’t regret meeting/marrying my husband, because I wouldn’t have my precious beloved child if it weren’t for him. However, that is truly the only good thing that came from our union.

      PROFILE #6: PATRICIA P., 58, Illinois, divorced, on disability. I am an only child. My father was an angry alcoholic, and my mother suffered from depression all of her life with two suicide attempts as far as I know. She also suffered from OCD, washing her hands countless times a day. Their Draconian drama was a battle for control. They played off one another like Laurel and Hardy except that it wasn't amusing. I spent all of my childhood with a knot in my stomach and walking on eggshells because I never knew who was going to drop the day's bomb first. One thing my parents did agree on was that they wanted a boy instead of a girl. Early on, I learned to put the FUN in dysfunctional or else go out of my mind.

      I have been married twice, and both marriages ended in divorce. The first ended because he had an affair and the second because I was on the rebound and married the wrong man for the wrong reasons.

      My father was Catholic. My mother was Jewish, but her family converted to Christianity in Germany (massacres and all). She attended a Lutheran church. I was raised Catholic but left the church in my 20's. Today, I am a non-denominational Christian and have been for about 15 years.

       Red Flags - Signs I Missed

      I first met Chuck when we were both sophomores in high school. There didn’t appear to be anything gay about him at that time. But then, I didn’t even know what “gay” was. After graduation we went our separate ways. He found me after 39 years after tracking me down on the Internet. He didn’t know it, but for all those years I was still in love with him. We were not married; we lived together. In retrospect, the signs were everywhere:

      

He told me hadn’t had sex “with a woman” in 18 years. I thought it was strange but, of course, rationalized that he was a man of high moral certitude. Yeah, right.

      

He has a brother who is gay. This is important since homosexuality tends to run in families.

      

He spoke like a hard-core homophobe, pontificating that homosexuality was a choice and that gays would burn in hell.

      

He deified his mother and his daughter to the point of extreme.

      

He had an overall negative view of other women. In fact, I would say he was a misogynist.

      

He had no interest in sex with me.

      

He paraded me in front of his family and friends like a trophy, repeatedly telling them that I was the only woman who could love him.

      

He constantly contradicted himself.

      

He claimed to have a “special” relationship with God in which God supposedly excused his behavior. That behavior entailed bashing and trashing me as a woman and as a human being.

      

He was secretive, angry and depressed. Oh look, he was actually my parents!

       Sex Tells It All

      Or should I say, “No sex tells it all?” The following are the reasons Chuck would give me for not wanting sex:

      

Premarital sex was a sin worthy of eternal damnation.

      

He did not find me attractive.

      

All I thought about was sex.

      

His stomach was upset.

      

His intestines were abnormal.

      

His ears hurt.

      

His back hurt.

      

His instep was off balance.

      

There were demons in the neighborhood.

      

He had a sore throat.

      

He was busy thinking.

      

His sinuses were clogged.

      

He wanted to sleep in his recliner.

      On the handful of occasions that Chuck tried to exhibit what I can only call sexual charity, he failed miserably. He could not maintain an erection long enough to have intercourse. Even if he could have intercourse, he only wanted to enter me from behind. He did not want to see my face. Sex, to him, was just that - it was sex with no intimacy. The most sex we ever had was me masturbating him. Yes, it was all about him. He was not in the least bit interested in giving me pleasure.

      

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