Pornography 101 may involve "virtual" sex but it is "actually" Not a "Victimless" Sex Crime

The wives, spouses and girlfriends who share their personal stories on  Not the Life I Chose speak about the bone deep pain of Betrayal. Some of us whose children were molested struggle with the silent and not so silent accusations of others. They say, we are the "actual" betrayers of our own children. "She knew. Of course she knew! How could she not have known?" As their wives, as their mothers, we failed to prevent "it."

And we too, even while knowing we did not "know" still wonder how could we not have known? Why didn't we stop the insanity? Were we that stupidly "in Love?" Did we  put our faith in the "sanctity of marriage"  to such an extent that we pushed all else aside? By and large why do women  fail to realize, fail to Know that they and their children are being betrayed?  Why not? Especially if we ourselves were molested as children?

We find ourselves forced to engage in the blame-game, the back and forth, the "Did so!" / "Did not!" with "professionals" with police, with our children and with our consciences while we feel increasingly guilty, helpless and hopeless,. And many of us struggle with depression, anger at being so betrayed, so fooled by the very people with whom we once hoped to share the rest of our lives. People we thought we knew and loved. Before all this happened.

Many of us believe the myth of motherhood, the all powerful myth-of-love in relationship. We believe in the "sanctity of marriage," and we believe the power of our love could redeem.  When things go wrong we have been taught to blame ourselves.  So we believe we are at fault. Seduced by the myth of the elusive power of our love, we agree to believe that our "love" should have, could have prevented, can now cure, might still redeem "our" sex offender. Make everything like it was "before."

When they are found out, arrested,  they weep on our shoulders and get mad when we fail to perfectly understand them.  We can't make it all better, can't make what they actually did do all go away just because they suddenly "need" us. Appealed to, we try damage control, as though we did indeed have special powers to "make it all go away." We are supposed to make reality go away for someone we love,(even if that magical power doesn't "work" for us) This belief in "love" is all too obviously, all too, too "actually" NOT true.

But we do try.  Perhaps we can re-brand, call "it" by another name. But perhaps we can re-classify what "our" offender did, maybe shift the words and shift some of the censure, tell ourselves there are "worse crimes." Hope others will play the "relativity" game. Maybe we can classify the crime as "Victim less." WE hope he will agree to therapy. But then he might be required to list all the actual crimes he has committed. He resists. But all "this" is getting to us. Where will we find or afford a therapist for ourselves? And what about the children? It was just pornography, even if  he was "getting caught up" in child pornography, should watching "it" really even be classified as a sex crime? Is "trolling" chat-rooms so bad? Who says things escalate? What do they know? He is special. He wouldn't do anything like that. Or has he already?

After all if  "nothing actually happened" (no actual sex with a 14 year old met in a chat-room) how could "it" be so bad? Shouldn't the husband, boyfriend, brother, father, son just be ordered into therapy. He only committed a "virtual" crime.  But what if he used your lap-top to surf pornographic websites? We don't even want to know whether that means that he hoped we, not he, would be arrested if and when the cops showed up. It certainly led to a whole lot of uncomfortable police questions. Doesn't that mean he thought he might need to shift the blame, somehow? But onto us? We were all set to champion him. And when will we ever get our own laptop back from Evidence?

Since "it" is only a victim-less crime, should "it" be considered "actually" criminal at all? Shouldn't we just call "it" a private matter, like adultery? An online romance with sex-acts and a virtual mistress. Shouldn't a good wife just have overcome her prudish reluctance and participated in re-enacting the "stuff" on the screen ? (Many women are embarrassed to admit they actually tried that, at least until he kind of went over the edge and started in on the hard core/the rough stuff/ the hurting/ the "dabbling" into child porn "that stuff" anyway.
And if we tried and if it just felt too, I don't know, demeaning even in the privacy of our own homes, must "it" not have also "actually" been demeaning also to the "virtual" no-bodys which our antics were supposed to be emulating, to please our husbands of course.)  The poses felt awkward, even silly. It was all too too embarrassing. He got angry, impatient and... maybe we just left him to "it," his harmless "virtual"hobby. After all we had to look at him over the breakfast table the next morning and "know."

What if we, if she just decided to look the other way? If she didn't confront him before, stop "it" all before, shouldn't she forgive and forget now? But whose responsibility was it, really? To stop trolling. Even if, as he says he didn't really (actually) have sex with that 14-year-old he met on the inter-net and went to meet at the mall... (anyway that 14 year-old wasn't "actually" a 14 year-old was she? "She" was just a dirty minded police officer with a high voice who ran a sting on the respectable (until-his-arrest) hobbyist? Doesn't the law have anything better to do than victimize innocent offenders?)

Wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't  a good wife have been able to satisfy her husband? If she had, would he have "had to" go on-line at all?  If she had lured him away from his growing obsession with porn, somehow made him go to a therapist, regardless, (she knew he wanted to but was too shy to ask) if she had just been more loving, paid more attention to him, been less focused on the children, wouldn't things have been different? If he just hadn't felt so ignored, If she hadn't ignored him...well?

Still I have a confession. I Do think pornography is nasty (in the old fashioned sense of the word: filthy, indecent, obscene, harmful, even dangerous.) I DO think engaging in pornography should be considered a sex offense. I "actually" believe that pornographic web-sites are to sex offenders what flight simulators are to pilots-in-training. They help those so inclined to fly, to fantasize dominance and then actually learn the skills necessary to take off and fly straight into the World Trade Center. In my view, pornography websites are not harmless. The websites whet the appetites of those so inclined, they teach them that it is eminently possible to actualize their own personal sexual obsessions. To take pleasure in demeaning and degrading others.

But setting aside my own negativity, there is still the claim that pornography is virtually harmless, that even child pornography, is victim-less because it is virtual. (But aren't, those real children who eat and sleep and really live somewhere really, actually being photographed performing sex acts?) But I digress. Never mind, tell yourself  those children "actually" are "virtual," they are "no-body" only momentarily alive looping on and on up there on your computer screen.

So if we agree not to think about even virtual pornography. Can we turn our attention to the very real flesh and blood wives and mothers and girlfriends.   We are "Actually" Pornography's other victims. Even if the children in our own homes have not "actually" been victimized (yet.) We already have been.  We are loath to admit this one shameful reality: We are ashamed to admit that our own husbands/spouses/boyfriends actually preferred  virtual pornography to sex with us. Or, if we insisted they pay us sexual attention, they wanted us to re-enact the pornography they desired instead of making unscripted messy, laughing, sweaty love to us.

So, we waited in our real beds night after night for our flesh and blood husbands, lovers and spouses to want to have sex with flesh and blood us. Why didn't they come to bed and make love to us instead of getting off watching a Computer screen? Face it, they are obsessed with virtual sex acts some of which make our skin crawl when we stumble across all the pornographic web-sites they have set up on our computers. What's wrong with us? That they don't love us? Ah, the power of love. The magical delusions. If we were only slimmer, prettier, sexier, if we weren't so tired after dinner, we imagine we could compete with the virtual sex objects on the computer..

But we tell ourselves it's only pornography. It could be so much worse. We just need to be more sophisticated about this. Not such prudes. After all he's so good otherwise. Such a good provider, a good husband, a father, a grandfather, a coach, a teacher, a pastor, a Cub Scout leader. Everybody likes him. Maybe we could convince him to try couple's therapy with us? Maybe buy more sexy negligees? Just wait, hope and work this problem out in the privacy of home. Meanwhile we wait up-stairs. Why can't he get off the computer? Why can't he just come up here to us? Make love to the real us. After all we are the one person who really loves the actual him. At least we think we love the person he has led us to believe he is. We tell ourselves "It could be so much worse."

Then it does "get worse."  He gets arrested. And for a victim-less crime. Like pornography.

And we suddenly realize that we have been victimized by his victim-less crime. ("She knew. Of course she knew! How could she not have known?" and more-over why didn't she make him stop? Before he got in over his head, before "it" was too late.) It is a shock to realize he/we have been living his lie. We also have been demeaned and victimized. The boyfriend, the spouse, the watcher, hobbyist, the internet-stalker-of-children has betrayed not only those victims, but has victimized us and in a very real (very "actual") way.

Betrayal is the bone deep hurt we feel (on a very personal level)  when we and our needs as real people are set aside over and over in favor their bone deep obsession with pornography.  When did we first realize that they preferred  watching, fantasizing, getting-off  with virtual men, women, and yes, small children performing ritualized sex acts over and over? It was indeed humiliating to realized they liked "it" better than making love to real flesh and blood us? Then their "actual" crimes are "discovered." The police raid our home and, there in full view of the neighbors, he is actually arrested. Taken out in hand-cuffs.
Things got much worse.

We cry and rage and "forgive" and understand, and vow to help them and we blog and try to find other women who "know" because they too have been through "it." Hoping they at least will recognize all the ways we too have been victimized. Betrayed. We need to find somewhere where we don't get judged. Where we can say whatever it is out-loud. Somewhere, where we don't need to explain ourselves all over again. We can tell it like it is and be understood. Where are recognized as real people in real pain reaching out, helping each other.

Sooner or later we find courage to know our first duty is not to help him, somehow. But we have a duty to ourselves. We are on a journey and we are not alone. There are others telling their stories, blogging, commenting, ranting, snapping, being snarky, laughing, crying, telling us ways we can heal because they too are healing. They too are focused on creation instead of destruction. Others are willing to share what happened. How they survived. They give us hope that since they are making a new life, new lives for their children, new futures for themselves, maybe we can to. Even if we decide to visit him in prison. Even when our phone bill goes up and up, all those angry, all those begging calls from the jail. Whatever our choices. Other spouses at least know what it's like to be torn apart inside but healing. Somehow.

But it takes time to work through to a new reality. In the meantime we all deal with another painful reality: who in their right mind wants to admit he wanted pornography more than he wanted them. They are victims. Who wants to see themselves as "sooo lame." One of those women. Still we mourn what has been done to us, to our lives We pray, and hate and pretend it's "all OK now" and we mention betrayal on this blog over and over. We did, we do suffer the reality of  "actual" Betrayal acutely. Because Pornography is not a victim-less crime. Pornography actually has many victims. We too were victimized.

We deserve our love and attention. One of the first "taking care of myself" things I did was to ask myself what would help me when I woke up at 2 in the morning and could not go back to sleep, when it was dark and I was scared and felt so alone. I bought myself a magazine, some book I really wanted to read but waited until some 2AM to treat myself. I created some little stash of comfort, some special bath soap  and when I woke up I'd have a warm bath and read until I was so sleepy I could fall asleep. As time went on I got more imaginative in taking care of me. It helped. Have you noticed that many blog comments are posted late at night? We search the internet for others who know.

In this increasingly "virtual" world we are told we cannot claim to be victims.  Just like the virtual children in the victim-less crime of pornography, as wives and mothers we think we don't have time to take care of another "victim" especially not ourselves. Where could we find the money to take care of ourselves anyway? We have children to raise, jobs to find, court dates loom, and there are social workers to please. We cannot have been betrayed, demeaned, degraded right along with his virtual victims. We are just lucky they didn't decide to arrest us also. Therefore the pain we feel so acutely isn't Actually Betrayal of the love and trust, of the life together, the life we actually thought we were choosing when we fell  in love with the "virtual" husband we actually thought we knew, back then...

Before the knock on the door. Before he called from the jail telling us to make bail. Before the arraignment, before, before. Back before... If we could only get back to before from here.

But we have to move forward. Things have changed. We change. We are changing for the better. 
             

We laughed at first . . .

The following story is from Marie. 

"It was 6:30 in the morning, when I paused in the shower. I couldn't figure out what that sound was. Shampoo still in my hair, I turned off the water. Down stairs someone yells "Police! Put your hands up!" There's no time to run across the hallway to grab my robe. Quickly wrapping myself in a towel, I walk to the top of the stairs. "I'm coming down. My hands are up!" I descend the first couple of stairs and I can't count the number of police in the dark. They cuff me and take me outside into the apartment complex. My husband is already kneeling on the ground.

After searching the apartment, they take us back inside. I'm finally escorted back up stairs, and allowed to dress while being watched by two officers. They bring me back to my husband and sit me on the couch with him. I smile at him and he smiles back. We laugh a little bit. What a story we're going to have.

A crazy neighbor had called the cops on my sister just a couple of weeks before. We were going to have a much better story, we thought.

But it was only the beginning.

My husband was charged with “luring a minor for sexual exploitation”. I didn’t even know what that meant. No one would tell me anything. I was only able to speak with him for a moment after they questioned him and placed him under arrest. That night he called from jail, again we spoke briefly. I told him that I was going to love him no matter what. The next day I read about the arrest in the news. How was it that the reporter had more information than I did? I posted bail as quickly as I could. When I picked him up 3 days later, I saw that his wrists were bandaged. During the questioning the cops had lied to him, telling him how angry I was with him. The guards at the jail laughed at him when he said that I would bail him out. He was hopeless, so he tried to commit suicide.

Six months prior my husband had an online conversation with a cop posing as a minor. He never showed up to meet. But it didn’t matter, it was the conversation that was illegal.

He’s serving time in jail right now, after agreeing to a plea bargain. I made a commitment for better or for worse. And I do love and treasure him, I just never thought it would be like this."

In an update email from Marie:

 

"My husband has been out of jail for 2 months. It's been hard for him, but he found us a home church (some place without kids). Through that he found a job and a marriage counselor for us. But most importantly he shared his story with the group. He only shared the details with a few of the men, but it's the honesty that strikes me the most. He hid his problems with pornography and all the related issues for years. Finally he's being honest and I believe that if he can continue to be honest then we can heal and that there is hope. That's where we're at right now." 

Marie is at the beginning of a long journey we all recognize. But let's not predict where this story is going. I am tempted to jump to conclusions, as I'm sure many others are out there. However, Marie's husband is not my husband, so I can't say what kind of man he is nor how this will affect their marriage. This is Marie's life and her choices. God bless you, Marie. Be strong and wise. 

February 16, 2011 (Part Two)

(This is the sequel to this post.)

I think it was two hours after he had called that a local police officer showed up at my door. I was glad that Elise had fallen asleep on the sofa in front of a movie, so she wouldn't ask me any questions. The officer asked to come in. Honoring Jake's agreement to cooperate, I let her in.

My mother-in-law had been driving by to check on me at that very moment, so she came in behind the officer.

Kay and I stood for a moment, expecting the officer to ask us questions, but she instructed us to sit on the sofa. She sat at my dining table in the next room. And we all just sat silently for over an hour with zero explanation. Kay would look at me periodically as if searching for an answer. I would just shrug and sniffle (I had been crying on and off all afternoon). Finally, I grew annoyed with the awkward silence and asked the officer what was going on.

She said, "I don't know. I was instructed to watch the computers and wait for more instructions." So we waited a little longer.

Suddenly, my yard was full of cop cars. I looked out the front door to see my husband signing some paperwork. I had enough presence of mind to move Elise to her bed before they all came in. When they entered, I hugged Jake and asked him what was going on. He said they just needed the computers. He had one personal laptop and a business laptop (the one he had been erasing).

It turns out that they didn't just want the computers. The paperwork he signed outside the door gave them permission to search his personal things. They took apart his office and bagged every storage device they could find. They also bagged a few playboy-type magazines (they really had to dig for those because I never knew he had any). This process took hours and it felt like our house was flooded with police. They even asked for permission to view my computer, which was in a different room and I agreed since I actually had nothing to hide.

Meanwhile, a social worker showed up. Let's call her Umbridge, shall we? She seemed nice enough at the time, but it was also midnight and I was in emotional shock. She took Jake to the kitchen to talk and the police chief sat with me on the sofa. She asked me a few questions, like if I knew what was going on. I related the little that Jake had told me about the situation. I really had very little to tell her. But while we were talking, I could hear what Jake was telling Umbridge. He was saying something about running his hand down the girl's front. That was the first moment I realized that I was being lied to by my own husband. That is really when the seed of my anger was planted.

The police chief left me then with Umbridge. She smiled and said sympathetic things that I wanted to believe, but I could tell she was just going through the motions. She basically asked the same questions as the chief and I repeated my words, but by this time I knew that I was just repeating the lies Jake had told me. I felt like a fool.

Umbridge asked me if my husband had ever been in trouble for anything like this before. It popped into my mind that he had told me that he had been investigated for improper behavior toward a student at the first school he taught at. He had reassured me that it was just rumors. After all, the investigation found nothing, not even a student to claim that he had acted inappropriately. (This is one of the many pieces of information I had in my life that I never put much stock in, but maybe if I had put all the pieces together . . .) I mentioned this to Umbridge and emphasized that they investigated to no end.

She asked, "Do you believe that he has done nothing wrong?" Her tone was clearly judgmental. I was speechless. I couldn't give her a straight answer.

I think I said, "I believed him earlier today. I'm not really sure what to think right now."

Umbridge explained to me that Jake would have to live somewhere else during the investigation. Amidst sobs, I asked her how long that would take. With a little pout that I suppose she thought was sympathetic looking, she said, "Oh, sometimes a few days, sometimes longer . . . " She also said she'd be back in the morning to talk to Elise. She had Jake and I sign an "action plan" agreeing to some basic conditions and then she left.

Almost immediately after she left, all hell broke loose. An officer found a book in Jake's office that apparently had pictures of nude children in it. For the record, I had never laid eyes on it until that night . . .  but I knew about it. This is the point in the story where everyone freaks out and says, "You knew about this book!" and it starts all the shitty feelings all over again. So please, for my sanity hold yourself together for one more paragraph.

Jake got it in his head one day to buy rare books on eBay to resell on Amazon. This is one of many hare-brained schemes that I just rolled my eyes at and thought This will last ten seconds and be forgotten with the next project. Jake proceeded to find a rare book and he described it to me. I nodded with disinterest and went on with my life. I never heard about the book again. So in the moment that I heard the officer explaining to the investigator what was in the book, I recalled Jake's description of the rare book he planned to buy and resell: "a book from the 70's to teach children about their body." I knew it had to be the same book. I walked numbly to the office and looked upon the cover of the book. It was simply bound in black velvet with only the title on the front, "Show Me".

I just about puked when I saw it. Of course, I thought, of course this is child pornography. Why else would it be bound in black velvet? I should have been furious that he had bought such a thing and brought it in our house, but I was so horrified that I could feel no other emotion. I wondered to myself if he knew what it really was at the time he bought it. But I couldn't yet bring myself to think that way about him - not quite yet. Instead, my horror was slowly replaced with a feeling of guilt.

I said to the investigator, "I knew about the book." The whole world turned upside-down for a moment as the investigator turned on me. I tried to explain, but he just seemed to be yelling about how I had participated in buying child pornography. Finally, Jake convinced him that I had never looked at or really known what it was.

Jake had looked at it. He admitted to that. The investigator went crazy again. I remember standing there in my kitchen holding my precious 3-week-old baby, sobbing, while the investigator yelled, "We will take away your children! Neither of you will ever see them again!"

Suddenly, I straightened up and stopped crying. I had been passively listening to the investigator ask Jake the same questions over and over. He was grilling Jake, wheedling for confessions. I said something to Jake like,,"He's just trying to get you to say something damning. You should stop talking." To this day, I can't believe I said that, but part of me wishes I had said it long before the police entered my house and created the recurring nightmares I have about that night.

The investigator was mad at me. He said, "I'm just trying to help." Then he gathered everything and everyone up, including Jake, and they left.

It was 2am. I was left alone, watching through the window as the car lights faded away into the night. I just stood in the dark, silent house with my ears still ringing from the accusations of the investigator. I let out a few sobs, but then found that I was too tired to even cry. I went to the bedroom. Elise was asleep in her little bed, just opposite ours. I curled up next to her. I left the lamp on and lay there with my eyes open. I might have slept, but not much. I was scared that someone was coming to take the kids and I had to be ready . . . Ready to fight? Ready to run? I don't know, I was just holding on to them, like they were my only lifeline. It was a long night.

By the way, the book never showed up in the evidence against Jake. I was told that it really was a collectible book with the aim of teaching children about their bodies, but that it was edgy in an artistic way (it was the 70s, after all). Still, if you ever come across a book called "Show Me" in black velvet, walk away. Or better yet, throw it in the burn pile and take a picture for me. It represents too many horrors from that night.

February 16, 2011 (Part One)

I remember quite clearly the moment my husband called to tell me that his boss, the principal at the high school, had sent him home because a student had reported him. Recalling that moment is so clear that I can feel the blood draining from my cheeks now just as it did on that day. 

It was a lovely day in February. I was still running on a birth-high since I had Sabrina just three weeks earlier. Sabrina was so perfect, so calm and content. Elise, my first daughter, was happily playing. She was content, too. It was a good day until he called. 

I had a visitor at that time. She worked with a local non-profit that provided developmental information for parents. I was enjoying her visit. But her presence made the situation so strange. I answered the phone, knowing from the caller ID that it was Jake. It was odd that he was calling in the middle of the school day. He said he was coming home and his voice sounded strained. I can't recall the exact words he said. He was babbling a little. His words were muffled, soggy. Was he crying?

I was just staring at my visitor while I was still on the phone. Normally, I'm a bit over-dramatic when things get stressful, but not that day. Some part of me that I had never met before said, Act normal, Evie, and send her away. This is not something you want to share with outsiders. This is something you protect and bury as fast as possible.

           
Before that moment, I thought I'd be the type of person who would turn my own mother into the police if she stepped out of line. I'm such a believer in rules. And yet, when the moment came, I instantly put up the shield of protection - at least for the moment.

        
I told Jake that we'd talk when he got home and hung up. With smiles and apologies, I sent the visitor away. I turned on the television to distract Elise from the serious conversation that I anticipated.

Jake arrived home with a red, tear-streaked face. I hugged him. I wanted so much to take away whatever bad situation had just occurred. I wanted to protect him. I know that seems ridiculous because he is the one who broke the law, the one who was in a position of responsibility - he was to be blamed, not pitied. And yet, he was the one I knew and the one I loved and he was in distress.

           
He was babbling still, through a runny nose and tears. He seemed so much like a confused child. I tried to listen to what he was saying. He said the girl had told him that she had a crush on him. She had tried to kiss him, but he had stopped her. He told her that he couldn't risk his family and career. She had gone to the principal to report him.

        
 It was so hard to understand him. This was not the man I was used to. Jake usually took pride in being calm in any stressful situation. He never let his cool down. It would have been a relief to see him so sincerely emotional, except that it meant a whole world of hurt was coming down on him.

           
I told him to take a moment to calm himself and we would talk after. For just a minute, he sat at the dining table. Then he got up and went to his office, saying that he had to do some things. I was perplexed that there was anything he needed to do that would come to mind in such an awful situation. But then, stress always drives him to work hard and keep busy. I just comforted myself that he would come to me when he was ready.

           
I was worried, but it was easy to find things to distract myself with. For God's sake, I had a three-week-old baby and a two-year-old! The next thing I knew, Jake was sitting on the sofa with his business laptop in front of him and the television turned to one of his favorite channels. It was like it was any normal day of the week.

        
I sat down with him and asked what he was doing.

        
"Scrubbing the hard drives." That answer challenged my not-so-technical brain a little. I took a second look at the laptop. I noticed, as I looked closer, that it was hooked-up to a portable hard drive that he used as a back-up sometimes. I realized he was erasing it and that made me a little uncomfortable.

But then, I thought about how he liked to look at porn on the internet sometimes. He's just scared and trying to make himself look better in case the school investigates him, I thought. I felt a sense of relief as I convinced myself that he was overreacting. [Now I look back at this moment and think I'm an idiot. A very trusting, lovable idiot].

I said, "Don't you think that will make you look guilty?" He just shrugged.

As the day wore on, I convinced myself that this was all just a misunderstanding. A teenage girl had misplaced emotions for her teacher. The school Superintendent would see that, right? They would clear it all up and he would be back at work the next day.

Later, he had a meeting to go to. It was a community business development group that he had recently joined. He was unsure if he should go or not. I encouraged him to go, live life as normal. "Nothing is likely to happen tonight, right?" So he went.

It wasn't a half hour later that I received a call asking for Jake. The caller, a woman, didn't identify herself, so I was a little on guard. I told her to call back in a few hours. Ten minutes later she called again and identified herself as our Chief of Police. She said it was really important that she talk to him. I told her where he was and his cell phone number.

As luck would have it, Jake's cell phone had a technical issue where it would regularly shut itself off, so he never knew that the police were calling him. As he left the meeting, he called me and I told him to just drive to the police station. As I mentioned before, I am a rule follower. I was so good at "obeying" that fascist dictators would have loved me. I just had a lot of faith in the system and law enforcement. I still do to a degree, but I won't jump so quickly to cooperate anymore.

I didn't here from Jake for hours. I paced aimlessly around the house, holding Sabrina in my arms, trying to keep my mind busy. I called the police department a few times, but they would only tell me that he was there and nothing more. I called Kay, his mom, to see if she knew anything different, but she didn't. At one point, I was so anxious that I begged her to go to the police station, but she said that he didn't need his mother watching over him. In hindsight, she was right, he needed a lawyer to tell him to be quiet.

The police talked to him about the girl. He was open with them. He told them more about the incident than he told his wife. He admitted that he had been talking with her for a while (weeks, I think, but maybe longer). He admitted to friending her on Facebook. He even explained to them how he had run his hand down the front of her chest on the outside of her clothes when she had tried to kiss him (he conveniently left that part out when he told me). They had him write a letter of apology to the student. When I heard about the letter months later, I really wondered at the intelligence of this man - did he not see that this was just a ploy to get a written confession?! Maybe I have watched too many cop shows.

They asked him for permission to view his computers. He agreed and called to forewarn me that they were coming. Just thinking about what comes next raises my pulse and my temper . . . But that will be Part Two of the worst day of my life.          

All About Him

The following things I have learned directly from my husband, Jake, through my experiences as his wife, through my own personal research (i.e. snooping), or in open court. I will not put anything here that has been told to me by Jake's treatment provider or lawyer.

• He is a sex addict. His main addiction is porn.
• He has visited prostitutes, massage parlors, and bath houses during our marriage.
• He used online social networks to seek out affairs and had sex online with at least two women during our marriage, but likely more than that
• He had an inappropriate relationship with a student before we were married, but I don't know the nature of it or what lines were crossed. No charges have been brought on this, but the authorities know and, since Colorado has no statute of limitations on sex crimes, he will have that hanging over his head forever.
• The act that caused him to be arrested was the inappropriate touching of a student's breast and torso on the outside of her clothing. This followed a month-long flirtation between the two of them. 
• After being arrested, a search of his computers uncovered child pornography.

Now that I have written that down, I have come up with yet another reason why other blogging wives aren't describing their husband's crimes: It is painful.

And I now feel like I am selling him out to a world of strangers who will condemn him all over again. That is not my agenda, so tomorrow I will give you a balancing perspective from the part of me that loves him, that sees value in his character, that still has a lingering hope that he can reform.