I have a lot on my mind, so this may be a long post. Or I may come back to it later, as my battery is set to run out in about an hour. Plus, how long can I sit in Panera?

There is one topic which I have never spoken of on my blog. Well, I'm sure there's more than one, but there's a topic which I have purposely avoided. I'm perfectly willing to talk about the ins and outs of my reproductive problems, my sex life, my crazy mother, but I haven't brought this up so far because 1. it's a bigass can of worms, 2. it makes me look like a bad person, and 3. I thought not talking about it would make it go away. This very scary subject, with which those of you in the know are undoubtedly familiar, is what happened last February in Florida. Basically, well, I cheated on Mark. There, I said it. I didn't sleep with the guy (how I will refer to him), we just kissed (and I let him feel me up) for approximately two minutes. I told Mark two days later (the most horrible phone conversation of my entire LIFE), he forgave me, I went to Confession the next day, all is well, right? NO. I mean, there's a lot more to it than just "I cheated on Mark".

First of all, the guy had been sexually harrassing me since Day One. Seriously. Grabbing me from behind and telling me how much he'd "love to get [me] naked...if I weren't engaged." Among other things. Seriously inappropriate stuff. And I certainly would've reported him to our program director if it had happened at the opera house (this particular comment was after hours, at the local sports bar). I didn't think that things that happened off-site would count--later, when I checked my contract, I learned that they certainly DID count. And I did report him, after the fact. More on that later. Anyway, I also thought that, as a modern, empowered woman, I could handle this on my own with a few stern words. And the night after the "get me naked" comment I did say something to him--which he basically tossed off. (Should've been my first clue.) Did I mention that this guy was totally slimy and completely NOT my type? All he had going for him was a thick head of hair. He's not even a particularly good singer.

Back on topic: So I thought that expressing my disapproval would change his behavior, but of course it didn't. I guess I just got complacent. Then it became flattering, and I started flirting with him--innocently, I thought. Mark and I had been together for so long, I guess it was just nice to get some different male attention. (So much for being a "modern, empowered woman".) It didn't help that we were together all the time--not only were we a married couple in one of the operas, but we had a particularly steamy scene together in the apprentice scene performances. (G-rated, I suppose, but with lots of subtext.) It'd be nice to blame it on the scene, but that wouldn't work, either. Anyway, one day when I was practicing alone I realized that the scene had been staged without any kissing, but it really required at least two (the scenes programs with this company tend to be particularly chaste--in fact, I think the artistic director even prohibits onstage cleavage for the apprentices, in scenes and in the mainstage choruses--which must be why the obvious kiss moments were staged differently). One day I mentioned this to the guy in conversation, and we decided to work the love scene out with the kissing added. At the time, it seemed important for the energy of the scene. I still feel that way, honestly (if only it had been with someone else!). This was supposed to happen at the opera house, in an empty rehearsal room, but when the time came there were no spare rooms. So we ended up getting together in his bedroom. (Bad idea, of course, but I suppose I was under his thrall--and I was dead set against him ever entering my bedroom. This should've tipped me off that something was wrong.) Anyway, this extra practice session, if you will, went okay, though I did get carried away a bit. I chalked it up to my lack of experience with stage kissing. (I've only had one official one so far--with a woman, in fact--and I was nervous about it but it went okay. I have tended to have very G-rated opera directors--my high school musical director put at least a dozen kisses in one scene in OKLAHOMA!, which thank God I didn't have to do with Jason P---zelski, ugh!) I think separating fiction and reality can be difficult with something so seemingly intimate. But I thought I was cool with it. I even told Mark about it beforehand, and he was wary (I had mentioned the guy before, and he didn't like what he heard) but okay with it. He trusted me, and I ought to have been deserving of his trust.

This happened to take place about two days before Mark came down to visit. The visit was wonderful--though he did order me the wrong sandwich at Subway, which brought on a temper tantrum from me (why do I remember this?)--and when I saw him off at the airport (on a Tuesday morning) I remember thinking how I could certainly manage to survive the next five weeks before I saw him again. (It had been a rough time before he came--almost two months apart!--and I spent a lot of time pining. Or drinking. Sometimes at the same time. :>) Then the next day I made this joke at the guy's expense--there was something about an ugly-ass blonde wig on a Latino that I just couldn't handle--and I jokingly asked if I could make it up to him somehow. One of us suggested (I can't even remember who, months later) that he be allowed to touch my ass as consolation. So that happened, and I did let it go too far. I can't describe what was going through my head at the time. Probably nothing. Someone was having a birthday that night, so there was a customary cake/beer consumption going on. It's hard to explain what I was feeling--I felt like everything was dark around the edges, kind of like right before you faint, but I felt this weird energy and a constant humming in my head. I don't remember what my thought process was, but whatever demon was in my brain made me call the guy over and tell him, "I'll give you two minutes." We went to his bedroom, we kissed, I let him feel me up but stopped everything else, all the while looking at my watch. Then I stopped and left. I didn't call Mark that night--I guess I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. I didn't feel guilty yet; I was just really confused. The next day I regretted it, and asked a few people I trusted what I should do. I had to tell him right away, I realized, and called him before the Friday night performance. And again after the performance, for a total of about four hours. We cried, I hyperventilated. He wanted a blow-by-blow description of what exactly happened. I couldn't even give that to him. "I'll give you two minutes"? How could I tell him that I'd said that?! It was impossible. How Mark was able to remain mostly rational I'll never know. He came out with these matter-of-fact statements like, "Well, I'm sure all married couples face things like this, but I didn't think it would be so soon..." He acknowledged that the guy was "an evil fucker" (his exact words!), and that I needed to report him. Don't get me wrong, he got very upset at times (I'll never forget when he said, sobbing, "You went to his BEDROOM?! With my ENGAGEMENT RING on?!" That's what sticks with me the most...) but he was much more rational than I was. He was the one who said I should go to Confession the next morning. The worst part of it all was that I still needed to work with the guy (oh, did I mention, by the way, that I also had to perform both of my apprentice scenes the next morning, including the one with the guy? Great timing.), so I needed to tell him that our relationship would be just professional, period.

So the next morning I went to Confession (I'll also never forget the cute little Polish priest saying, "But is that not the sexual harrassment? Next time he try something, you slap him."), which made me feel better (laugh all you want, I'm apparently Catholic to the core). I spoke to our program director after the scene performances (the most serious I ever saw him), emphasizing that what had happened was consensual, but I wanted to let the company know for the future. Then I had to talk to the guy. He got pissy, as Mark predicted, saying that I was the one who initiated it, etc., but I basically told him that I didn't care who started it, but it was over and as we had to see each other for the next month we would keep things professional, that's it. Then I walked away and got upset, because I hate being yelled at. I cried a lot that weekend.

So that's the part of the story that the select few know. Here's the part that nobody else knows. In order to avoid the guy, I had to avoid almost all social interaction (very difficult). One night when I was in bed he and his, um, female companion came to talk to my roommate; just hearing his voice was enough to provoke a nightmare where I dreamed he came into my bedroom. This was not working. So I made up with him, sort of. One night, as he was getting his wig put on, I came up to him and said that avoiding him wasn't working, could we just be friends? He laughed and we shook hands. I had no intention of being friends with him, of course--I just wanted to be able to be in the same room with him. It was still hard--there were times I wanted to puke--but I tried to make it work. But then things started to slip into the old pattern. Even though I knew how dangerous he was, I started flirting with him again. It was in public, certainly, but it was wrong. I kept doing it even though he made my skin crawl. We even parted on good terms. Then he started sending me emails. I even told Mark, and I blocked his address from my email and from Frienster.

Now, months later, I still feel the need to deconstruct this. Which I will do tomorrow...