I sucked in my blubbery midsection and attempted to shield myself with our black satin sheets as the red blinking light atop our dresser sent shivers down my spine. The camera’s watchful eye stared expectantly, urging me to embrace my role in the sequel to Paris Hilton’s X-rated film debut. This was my time to perform, and the show was my husband’s to script, direct, and produce; I was merely an actor, playing my part.

When I signed up for the role of wife and mother, I didn’t realize being an unpaid adult film star in my husband’s risqué home movies was an unspoken job requirement. Yet, here I was with my muffin top and cellulite on full display, dressed in a slutty Halloween costume that tried to turn a believable cop into a sexy hooker and failed massively at both. I didn’t look sexy or authoritative; I looked exactly how I felt: embarrassed, degraded, and incredibly uncomfortable.

Bringing moral depravity to law enforcement for my husband’s idea of a fun* (*correction: awkward) date night was just one of the many requests I obliged to please my new master…I mean partner. However, I’ve been my husband’s slutty cop for the last time. If he expects me to engage in one more filmed escapade, he’ll have to pay me my hourly rate — and I won’t come cheap. Here are 9 things I will never do to please my husband…again.

. . .

1. Role play

I’m not talking about the sexual kind — though I’m through with that as well. The role from which I’m retiring as of now is that of the perfect, compliant, socially-acceptable wife who’s only purpose is to uphold an artificial spotless reputation for my husband and his company.

I’m not a pawn in his publicist’s marketing strategy, and I won’t be dressing, acting, talking (or rather, keeping quiet) solely to elevate his status, while abandoning my identity completely. I’ve spent 16 years being the “good” wife — the one you’d imagine a politician would kill for, and I’m done.

I’m tired of wearing knee-length church dresses to grab a coffee at Starbucks. I’m tired of biting my tongue when a controversial or political conversation arises. I’m tired of pretending that my opinions and preferences don’t exist or matter. They do, and for the first time in over a decade, my husband just may get to meet the real me. I hope he likes what he sees…then again, his preference is no longer the top of my priority list.

2. Sex while he’s on a business call

When your husband calls out the name of another female during your “intimate” activities, that could be grounds for an uncomfortable conversation or cheating accusation. In my case, he’s just dictating requests to his assistant. Yes, that’s right: My husband likes to multi-task, which can materialize in business calls during our “sexy time”.

Oh, and it’s not a rare occurrence. Truth be told, I think he likes the adrenaline rush of secret muffled sex on mute, while hashing out business deals and hoping he can skate by without his conversant catching onto his escapades.

For me, it’s just plain awkward.

Role playing a sexy business call-turned-hot date to spice up your intimate life is one thing, but actually listening to deal negotiations while attempting to get in the mood is completely different. No thank you — from now on, I’ll pass.

3. Be his unpaid porn star — and let him own the movie rights

The neighborhood gossip pervading my community these days includes speculation about which wives have secret OnlyFans accounts and which of our daughters have turned their IG into lucrative modeling gigs. It seems like everyone in stripping down for the camera and making it rain in return.

I, on the other hand, shy away from the cameras and stay off social media to protect what’s left of my privacy — and at my husband’s company’s request. Well, with one exception: The incriminating amateur pornos hubby makes us film when he’s feeling frisky.

I can’t blame him entirely, as my tacit compliance could be seen as consent. However, the more I realize the library of X-rated home movies he’s accumulated, the more I begin to feel like an unpaid porn star living with the pimp who owns all the rights. I’m not suggesting he’d ever use those videos against me — they’d be equally incriminating for him — but I also don’t feel comfortable being his adult actress without a contract.

If I were smarter, maybe I could have pulled a Kim Kardashian and turned those tapes into my very own lucrative career and entertainment empire. Instead, I feel trapped by a husband who perpetually maintains the upper hand. No longer — I’ve starred in his films for the very last time.

4. Let our neighbor have his way with me

When your neighbor is a world-class cosmetic surgeon to the stars, surgical enhancements, injections, and every procedure under the sun suddenly open up like an “all you can eat” buffet menu, tossed in your lap. That doesn’t mean you instantly want to jump on the operating table and let your neighbor have his way with you…but apparently, that’s exactly what my husband wanted.

I understand the idea of “taking one for the team”, but inviting a surgeon to slice me open for unnecessary procedures to better fit my husband’s aesthetic preference is taking things a bit too far for my liking. I drew the line at his request for liposuction and a facelift. I may not be Angelina Jolie, but I don’t feel called to risk my life in a doomed attempt at inching closer to her enviable physique or high cheek bones.

5. Turn a blind eye to his addiction

My husband’s addiction doesn’t leave empty pill bottles strewn across our bedroom floor or the suffocating stench of stale alcohol on his breath. There is no breathalyzer nor lab test to confirm or deny his condition. In fact, it’s nearly undetectable on the surface — hence why I’ve been able to turn a blind eye for so many years, pretending the elephant in the room was never really there.

But she is there. And she isn’t just one elephant — she’s many. His elephants — or the symptoms of his addiction — are the throngs of virtual playmates among whom he’s divided his attention and our income. His addiction isn’t sex itself; it’s merely the chase.

A pricey private detective granted me indisputable proof in the form of $460,000 of hubby’s receipts marked as “entertainment” spending, funneling cash straight from our bank account into the hands of 50+ virtual strippers. Now that I’ve seen the cold, hard truth and the monetary proof, I’ve overlooked his indiscretions for the very last time.

6. Let him believe this ludicrous lie

It’s not the lie that he’s good in bed — I’ve never tried to perpetuate that myth, as he hasn’t really asked. There is another lie I’m guilty of perpetuating, and it’s far more damning than his bedroom performance.

I’ll admit that he’s a high-earner and capable provider — but that doesn’t make him a good husband or companion. Not in the slightest. Nonetheless, I’ve smiled, nodded, and tacitly agreed to the praises bestowed upon him by friends, strangers, and his family members on a regular basis.

Isn’t he the greatest?! He’s the picture of a perfect husband. He’s the man every woman aspires to marry — and I’m lucky to have won the relationship jackpot.

False. They’ve said it all, and I’ve complied, allowing their compliments to sink in and transform from opinion to fact — at least in his mind.

In truth? Being a high-earner may be the only skill he’s ever mastered…but Heaven forbid I let that slip. Though on my way out, divorce papers signed and alimony in hand, I just might…

7. Engage in a ménage à trois

Or any other kinky fetishes that have everything to do with quelling his bedroom boredom and little to do with my desires or enjoyment.

I’m not a prude, but I’m also not a circus animal or professional acrobat — though that’s exactly how I feel engaging in the sexual gymnastics he requests.

• Chains.
• Swings.
• Toys.
• Special effects.
• A full audio-visual surround-sound experience.

Our “intimate” activities have often felt like strange, cringe-worthy out-of-body experiences in which he seeks to push the limits to reach higher highs, fully disengaged from any emotional connection a partner might expect.

Seeing that he’s exploring his X-rated fantasies with more than the few partners he’s invited into our bedroom, I’m fine to leave the kinky experimentation to his virtual playmates. Wham, bam, no thank you ma’am.

8. Sign legal documents without my own counsel

As a quick public service announcement to any single or engaged women listening: There’s no such thing as “our” lawyer when you’re on opposite pages.

The day I got married, I started using the term “our” lawyer. “Our” lawyer is the one who drafted “our” iron-clad prenup — the prenup that’s meant to protect his many millions from a threatening, untrustworthy predator…someone like me? In a show of good faith, I shut up and signed the papers — all of them.

I signed the NDAs, the Non-Competes, the Reputational Risk Acknowledgements, and many more. I did it all under the assumption that “our” lawyer was looking out for “our” best interest.

Now, as I navigate the waters of separation, a triggered infidelity clause that should grant me substantial compensation, and an imminent divorce, I’m fairly certain “our” lawyer is no longer “ours”. Sadly, I failed to realize that he really never was.

9. Give up on my own dreams to support his

Among the countless mistakes I’ve made over the past 16 years of marriage, the most embarrassing, life-altering one wasn’t sexual, legal, or financial in nature. It hinged upon one word — and that word dampened the trajectory of my entire life: Later.

I allowed the promise of “later” to stifle, stunt, and silence my dreams and aspirations, until they were all but forgotten, and galaxies out of reach.

• Forget that job interview — my friend knows Anna Wintour — I’ll introduce you later
• You can’t start out a career pregnant — later, once the kids get older, you’ll have plenty of time to pursue it
• We’re so busy this year — between the press tour, the boys’ sports, and our daughter’s confirmation — you can always revisit the fashion thing later

Today is later — much, much later, and all I feel is deflated and conned. It seems hubby ensured “later” would never arrive. After a decade and a half later, all I’ve done is given up on my own dreams to support his. Sure, I took one for the team — but it doesn’t feel good. It feels empty. Later is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, and believing it is my biggest regret. I’m through allowing the excuse of “later” to rule my life and delay my goals.

Later is over, and I haven’t got one excuse left for my empty, accomplishment-starved life.

. . .

You’ll wish you read this sooner

At 22, I thought I knew everything I needed to embark upon a fruitful relationship and successful marriage. Now, at 38, I realize I didn’t have a clue — and in many ways, I still don’t. However, if I could get a do-over, there are a few stakes I’d put firmly in the ground.

3 compromises you should never make for a relationship:

1. Your dignity: I let mine die with our first Paris Hilton-inspired “home movie”, and I fear I’ll never live it down.
2. Your enthusiastic consent: There’s tired, worn-down, begrudging consent, and then there’s genuine, excited, enthusiastic consent. Decisions based on type #1 will always leave you with a pang of regret and disgust. No man is worth that.
3. Your independent goals and dreams: A glitch in our marital merger rendered my former independent, autonomous dreams null, void, and forcefully forgotten. Once you start to lose yourself in another person’s world, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever get “you” back.

Relationships may require sacrifices and compromises, but they’re also a two-way street. If you find you’re simply a character written into your partner’s novel, left with no free will of your own, you may have walked right into a prison cell and handed over the keys. You shouldn’t be a caged animal, circus performer, or scripted actor in your relationship. If you are? Run.

—

This post was previously published on Hello, Love.

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