I am filled with regret and shame but decided to share my story anyway.
Hopefully, I can help some women to avoid making the terrible mistakes I made.
I met my ex-husband in London 15 years ago. We can call him A. It was love at first sight. He was a tall, dark and handsome immigrant from Jamaica. He was well built, had pink lips, and the consummate gentleman.
I remember the massive surge of electricity that ran through my spine the very first time A smiled at me.
Being new to the country, he randomly stopped me on the street to ask for directions to a decent barber shop. I made up my mind within seconds of meeting him! I was going to make him mine.
Of course, my next step was to offer to take him to a barber shop nearby. I also offered to take him to lunch and gave him some general advice to help him transition to living in England.
I went out of my way to see him daily. I’d bring him food and take him to football games as often as I could. I savoured every second I was with him.
Within a few weeks, our relationship shifted from being merely platonic. We made love constantly. It was magic! I felt so happy to have such a lovely man in my life.
Our relationship continued to blossom and by all indications, he was the perfect guy. Faithful, loving, communicative, a stallion in bed, a hard worker and very respectful.
We eventually got married, had two beautiful children, and our own home in a nice area. The only thing missing was the white picket fence.
My family members all loved him and I also enjoyed hosting his family members from Jamaica who would visit from time to time.
Life seemed perfect, like nothing could go wrong.
At least that is how I felt until I got myself into a nasty love triangle. I’ve oftentimes heard it said that women get bored very easily with the ‘good guys’, and sadly that was the case with me.
Despite being the perfect guy, I simply got bored. He no longer made me tingle with excitement. I began yearning for a new thrill. And you know what they say, if you keep looking for something, you’ll eventually find it.
I began frequenting a gym nearby because I knew there was always a plethora of attractive young men there. They constantly flirted with me, and I loved it! Being a very fair woman, I always had a thing for dark skinned men – I love the contrast – and there was one in particular who religiously visited the gym. Let’s call him J.
I was sooooo weak for J. I made sure my visits to the gym aligned with his and started making sexually suggestive gestures regularly.
He eventually offered to take me out but I let him know that I was a married woman and that would be inappropriate. I told him this despite quietly fantasizing about him all the time.
He continued to ask me on dates for a few weeks until I finally agreed to go see a movie with him.
This was the beginning of the end of my marriage! We went to see a movie and later went back to his place. We were in bed almost instantly! He was the itch that I needed to be scratched, and oh my, scratch he did!
I began making excuse after excuse to leave the house. A became very suspicious and asked me if I was seeing someone else. Prior to meeting J, my husband and I would be intimate on average once a week or so. But after I began cheating, I only wanted J. So I constantly came up with poor excuses to avoid sleeping with my husband.
I meant the world to my husband and I knew his life would have been shattered if he found out I was being unfaithful to him.
I tried my best to be discrete with J, but I just could not get enough of him.
One day, my husband trailed me on a visit to J. I told him I was heading out to the grocery store, but my plan was to stop by J to get something else before getting the groceries.
J gave me a succulent kiss just outside his doorway before guiding me inside. My husband was hiding behind a large shrub across the street. He saw everything!
I can only imagine how he felt in that moment. When I got home, he greeted me with the most furious stare I have ever seen, and before I could utter a word. He said “Hoooman -Get the f*ck out a mi house! You is a damn wh*re!”
Whenever he got really angry, he would curse in Jamaican patois.
I felt so scared and ashamed. I ran out of the house, jumped into my car and drove to my sister’s house a few miles away.
I’m not sure exactly what happened, but a switch was flipped in his brain. Shortly after, he stopped going to work, and burnt everything inside the house that reminded him of me.
He began blasting love songs on loud speakers day and night, and became a nuisance to the neighbors.
Not long after that, he was brought to a high-security psychiatric hospital because he was deemed a threat to the safety of others, following an incident where he attacked a passer-by.
He remains there to this day. I am somewhat fortunate that I still have my two children, but the guilt I feel every day is overwhelming.
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