When Ryan and I first started dating, I told him that if he ever cheated on me, I would leave him. I loved him hard and I loved him and only him. I was clingy (I mean super clingy), jealous, and loved his attention, and in return, he would get someone who would do anything for him. Back then, I had a very no-nonsense attitude about relationships and my opinion about cheating was very black and white. If you have sex another, girl – definitely cheating. If you kiss another girl, even drunkenly at a party – still cheating. I mean, if you put yourself in a situation where there’s alcohol and you have the opportunity to kiss someone else, that’s just not very smart. And if you even talk to another girl – yes, still cheating. There was no in between, semi-cheating, “I-cheated-but-it-didn’t-mean-anything-to-me” – I must not mean anything to you if you decide to any of the above-mentioned to me. Simple as that.
I carried a lot of my high school jealousy into my marriage. Actually all of it. And Ryan knew this, so if there was ever a time when jealousy came out, he was very, very good at allaying my fears and insecurities. That’s what good husbands do. He has never purposely tried to hurt my feelings or make me jealous about anything. He never brought up his past, other girls, etc., no matter how mad he got. He trivialized every past experience – kiss, touch, etc. – to the point where he was disgusted by anything that didn’t involve me. It made me feel really good. His job as a man and as a husband was to keep me from succumbing to my weakness. Some people need a workout partner, some need an AA sponsor, others need support groups. Ryan was my support group, and yes, I needed it…for a long time. It’s as if he was engineered to handle my jealous, clingy personality.
Am I proud of my old self? Not really. I certainly didn’t set out to be the way I was. It’s just how I was. Ryan’s personality and sensitivity complemented my clinginess and qualms. If we were Tetris blocks, he’d be the square-block to my inverse L-block. I can’t imagine how excruciatingly tiresome it must have been to be this 24-hour lion tamer, well lioness tamer, always having to keep me fed, happy, calm, from attacking everyone in the circus, figuratively speaking. I just know I couldn’t do it.
Now, fast-forwarding 15 years after we said our I-dos and it’s difficult to imagine myself how I used to be. I recall how I felt, but I can’t imagine being that way. I empathize with the old me, but now I just see myself as plain silly. I would refer to myself now as the “adult” me, but being an adult means more than just reaching age 18 or getting married, having kids, or being in a long-term relationship. It’s about emotional maturity and the capability to reason. THAT is the adult me.
However, I often wonder: where did all my jealousy go? It didn’t go away overnight. It was a very gradual change which took a lot of work on both of our parts. I no longer rely on threatening to leave Ryan if he cheated on me, because it was really just an empty threat. We’ve spent half our time on Earth together and in that time he has proven that he had no intentions on cheating on me (by any of my definitions). It took years to earn my trust and it shouldn’t go unrewarded. In return we talked in-depth about threesomes, open relationships, and of course, dealing with our changing outlook on our marriage.
Since becoming more receptive to conversations never-spoken as little as five years ago, we’ve change fundamentally the people we’ve been. We’ve been closer, we argue more communicate more, which can lead to debates and arguments, but like passing gas, it feels so much better to let it out than to keep it. We talk like how we used to when we were young and in love and trying to get to know each other more. And we’re doing it again, finding ourselves and establishing our roles in our marriage and relationship. Only the jealousies are near non-existent. Because I’d be lying if I said I had absolutely no traces of the old me. It’s this little bit left that Ryan smiles at when I blow up his texts, when he gets 5 missed calls from me, and when he kisses me on the forehead after finally coming home from…wherever. The foundation that our relationship was built on, i.e. my jealousies and his nurturing, remains, and everything that’s built up on it over time is supported by it.
How can anyone be guilty from having a spouse that is so giving?
Freaky search terms, where we post our most outrageous search terms that people used to find our website. Ryan and I will then share our own thoughts and hopefully entertain you guys or at least make the search term make a little less sense.
Years ago, when Venice and I were still dating, we explored each other’s bodies daily. I had never really touched my body, my testicles, and as I already mentioned in a previous article, I 
The doctor, an Asian lady that resembled Lucy Liu, asked if she was interrupting something. Like two shamed school kids, we both looked down and shook our heads no. She then asked me what my reasons were for coming in that day. I explained to her that we found a lump in my testicles and wanted to know if I was dying. She asked me to stand up and remove my pants so she could have a look.
Not to be a pervert, but I can see why Seargent Tucker seemed to be having so many penis problems himself. This doctor was adorable. I started counting sheep in my head trying not to think about anything sexual. I was extremely embarrassed about exposing myself to a doctor, as the only person that had ever seen me nude was Venice, but I guess you can say I have this thing for Asian women. Doctor or no doctor, I said a small prayer asking the Lord to please help me control my penis so it does not make any sudden movements. I pulled my pants down and watched the doctor eyeball my penis and testicles. She fondled me for a few moments and couldn’t find the lump. I asked if I could show her where, and she nodded. I put my finger on the area of the lump and she placed her hand where I was pointing. She confirmed she also felt a lump and asked me to lay down. I still had my pants halfway down to my knees and wobbled my way to the patient table. I looked over to Venice, who was making her tongue poke out the side of her cheek inside her mouth, to suggest a blow job, and gave her a dirty look. As I laid there naked, exposed to the doctor who was fondling my balls, with my girlfriend watching, I wanted to disappear from earth. I hated every second of it. I really felt even more stupid when I found out there was nothing wrong with my testicles and it was merely a bent vein in my sac that hardens (when my testicles are not fully sagging) when I stand up.
The other day, Ryan (Mahal) and I were looking through his box of memories. It was filled pictures of me through various stages of my life, movie stubs, receipts from local movie rental stores, postage from care packages, candy wrappers, and letters I’d written to him while he was away at college. Sometimes on a roll of cash register paper that he’d have to unfurl to read, sometimes on cardboard packaging, and sometimes on college ruled paper. We spent most of that night looking at his memories. He cried a few times as he remembered how in love we were, and still are. It’s like we blinked and we went from being giddy teenagers without a care in the world to being married, raising our young, and spending our days together doing yard work and taking vacations and caring for each other.
