Deer in Headlights - 1. One

„All passengers on flight AC 841 to Toronto ..."

Here I am, standing in front of the check-in desk, ticket in hand, waiting to board the flight. Toronto is, emphatically, not my final destination, though. It was just the first available flight out of here. A mere step on my way to put a lot of miles between myself and what used to be our home. So, I took it.

Too many memories there. Not all bad, of course, but sometimes you try to escape each and every memory, not just the bad ones. Good memories can hurt more than bad ones if they represent that which you wish you still had have forever. It can make sense to get away and try to see things from a distance. Clear your head and determine the way ahead. Unfortunately, knowing what you do not want is not all that useful in that regard.

It seems like only a couple of moments later that I find myself sitting in my seat in the plane staring out the window when I realize that a flight attendant is smiling at me:

„What would you like to drink, sir?“

I am on auto-pilot most of the time. Have been ever since… It may seem weird, but by now I am quite used to zoning out and being brought back to the present somewhat abruptly.

„Chardonnay, please.“

Sipping on the glass of wine the flight attendant handed me, I am soon lost in thought again.

I guess it all started to go downhill eight years ago. Though, maybe it would be more accurate to say that eight years ago would have been the time for my ex-husband-to-be and I to really face our relationship woes, buckle down and work them out.

Naturally, though, we didn't. There never was much conflict or discussion in our relationship, anyway. Two people eager to avoid conflict, you know? But maybe that was the root of our problems.

Eight years ago, yes. That seems about right. That was when we turned from lovers to best friends. No more sex. Just hugs. When I tried to talk to him about it, he just shrugged his shoulders and said that sex, apparently, was more important to me than it was to him. That he valued the friendship and companionship instead. That he was content.

It is interesting, though, how only the reality of our relationship had changed back then. Not the label or how we presented ourselves to the rest of the world. On the outside, we remained the happily married couple. I wonder how often that happens? Were we the exception or the rule?

Then, about a year or so after we had stopped having sex, I met Gary, a guy I found ever so attractive. We ended up having a short but very intense affair.

My husband and I had been together for seven years at that point - yeah yeah, I know. The 7-Year Itch. What a cliché. But then most of the stuff that lead to me being on this flight had been a cliché.

Gary had been exactly my type: Dark-haired with bright eyes, a slim to athletic build and a nice hairy chest complete with a nice treasure-trail…

Sex with Gary was everything I ever imagined - we complimented each other's desires and preferences perfectly. We also just clicked outside the bedroom, and I was starting to fall for him. But he ended it. He had no intention of being 'the other guy'. And in retrospect, I have to say: more power to you, Gary, wherever you are - it was certainly the right thing to do!

We have not crossed paths since, but I never quite forgot our moments together.

When that affair ended, I realized that I was neither willing nor really able to continue a marriage without sex. On the other hand, I still loved my husband, I wanted a future together. So, after some soul-searching, I proposed an open relationship and my husband agreed.

„Did you enjoy your meal, sir?"

The flight attendant again. I try to force a smile, replying „Very much, thank you!“.

That was a bit of a white lie. It had been a well-prepared meal, true, but had failed to make any impression on my taste buds. How they manage to serve food on airplanes that looks (and often smells) nice, but tastes so dull, I'll never understand. Or maybe I should have opted for the pasta instead of the chicken? Honestly, though, they could have served the best food imaginable and it would still have tested bland to me right now. It would still have been disappointing.

Disappointing… How true. What I had never quite understood about myself: I do not really dig sex per se. Not if we are purely talking about the getting your rocks off and good bye kind of sex. I crave emotional connection. Without it, sex just is not really fulfilling for me.

So, a small part of my desires had been met by encounters outside of marriage, but I was not really content. Where the affair with Gary involved emotional attachment and had thus been fulfilling sexually, random hookups left me feeling empty and alone.

To make things worse, my relationship with my husband became more and more like two friends sharing an apartment. Not even particularly close friends at that. Even hugs had become rare by then.

Had he ever really been content with the open relationship situation? Had I? Had the life we shared been emotionally fulfilling for him? Or for me? Or had there always been something missing? But what would any of that prove? Or change? And why should I still care?

"Cabin crew, prepare for landing ..."

Eight years ago may have been the time things started to go downhill, but the real drama started about two years ago. That was when I met Dave.

Still deep in thought, I make my way towards the baggage claim.