Something's changed in my wife, I know, and not too long ago did it change.
I've been married to Anna for seven years now. Anna's always been a gracious woman, kind, friendly, supportive. She and I grew up together in the church, studying the bible and worshipping together. Our families were always close. She and I have a smattering of siblings each—plenty of uncles and aunts for our two darling girls, Lilian and Esther. Our kids are rambunctious but they honor their parents and bring us plenty of joy. Our parents had been wondering if we were going to try for a third, maybe a son, but we've just demurred.
Right now, the girls are pretty consuming of our attention. They have a good love of the Lord, they like to hear stories from the Bible, they behave... decently... in church, and they're both so creative. What more could parents ask for?
Anna's father, the girls' grandfather, George, passed away three years ago. That didn't mark the change in my wife, but it was a trial. Her mother has been leaning on us quite a bit, spending weeks at a time in our home, at first, but last year and this year she's spent the summer with us. She prefers the cooler northern climes in the summer and who could blame her? I'm not saying that Hannah (that is, my mother-in-law) is a burden—she's not. But our little two-bedroom house gets a little cramped in the summer.
It didn't help that the AC went out this year. It was sweltering. Maybe it was at some point around then that she started becoming withdrawn. Her change manifests in small ways that I don't think anyone else would notice. She still honors our family and does everything I expect of her, but at times it... how can I put it? At times, she seems to be acting guilty. Not just guilty, but maybe ashamed of something.
She's pulled away from me at times, staying on her own during her free time when she'd spend the time with me and the girls. I haven't given her any grief for it, the girls are easy enough to keep an eye on, but I don't have a good idea of what she's doing with that free time anymore.
I worry for her. I'm something of a meddler in the affairs of my friends and family, and my wife is no exception. I love her more than any other creature on God's Earth, with the exception of our children and really I'm not sure I don't love Anna more than them. It pains me to say it and it feels like confessing a sin, but it is what it is. I worry I've given my wife too much of me, but if I hadn't: I wouldn't have noticed this change.
It all came to a head one afternoon. I hadn't seen her for hours. I'd just conned the girls into sitting down with a pair of coloring books I'd gotten on Amazon when I crept back to our bedroom to snoop. I was just going to try to get a read of where she was. What she was doing.
What I found was surprising to me.
Anna was there, all sprawled out on our bed with her nose in her phone and her other hand stuffed down in her underwear, her legs splayed out and writhing, her toes clutching the bedsheets.
I was taken aback. Masturbation? The reason for my puzzlement wasn't due to naivety, I knew that men and women have needs—lately, I'd noted that she hadn't been terribly interested in sex but I wasn't going to bring that up to her. I was thankful for the sex life we'd enjoyed and just assumed that, even though we were both twenty-five, adult life was making us slow down a bit. No, my puzzlement was because she was a woman and, I was under the clearly erroneous assumption that women had an easier time holding their amorous thoughts captive.
I weighed my options and decided on a course of how I could best help. It was with determination that I let myself in the bedroom.
Anna stopped, staring at me, clamping her legs shut quickly. She had a blush of exertion all the way down to her cleavage and she had worked up a sweat.
"Hey," I said gently. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed hard, then... nodded.
"The girls are coloring," I said. "Do you... need some more time?" I asked.
She shook her head. I could tell that she was embarrassed. I realized then that there was a lot we could talk about.
"Anna, I'm sorry—" I started as she gathered herself up and stood. "I didn't mean to upset y—" she pushed past me into the hall. I was stunned. Anna's always been so gentle, but this wasn't something I was prepared for.
She hurried into the restroom and started washing her hands, up to her elbows.
"Hey," I said leaning against the doorway to the restroom. "Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked.
"Nope," she said, agitated as she dried her hands.
"Because if you want to—" again, she cut me off by pushing past me. I was starting to become a little frustrated, but our opportunity to speak privately was done. The girls had noticed that their mother was out in the thoroughfare and so they wanted to capitalize on her attention.
My concerns would have to wait.
That night, we didn't get to bed until late. The girls didn't want to, but we were exhausted when we poured ourselves into bed.
There was a silence between us, but that was it. The clock ticked, the crickets chirruped, the house settled loudly. I looked over at her.
"Do you wanna talk about it now?" I asked.
She rolled over. "Nope," she said firmly.
I rolled over to lay against her back, putting a hand over her hip. "You can talk to me," I said.
I could see her clench her fists in some emotion that I couldn't read. Was she angry? Was she ashamed at being caught?
"Hey..." I attempted to start soothing her, but she just pulled away from me.
"Don't touch me," she snapped.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Just don't."
"Okay," I said. "Why?" I asked. "Can I ask that?"
Her shoulders lurched in a sob and I was even more confused. Why was she crying? I was concerned for her, but I wasn't sure what to do.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"I shouldn't be doing this," she said. "I'm just... I'm just really tired and stressed out and horny I guess?"
I propped myself on an elbow and smiled. "We could fix one of those pretty easy," I suggested.
I was trying and get a laugh out of her, but again, her reaction defied my expectation.
She covered her eyes, her face pinched with pain.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said.
"It's okay," I told her. "You can tell me anything. I'll understand," I offered.
She took a deep breath and let it go. She was shaking. Her body was trembling. I moved to comfort her and she slapped my arm.
"No!" she snapped.
I was shocked at her anger.
"Anna, I'm here to help you. Let me."
"I... I can't," her voice was suppressed with emotion. "There's something wrong with me," she claimed. I was doubtful.
"You can tell me," I said. "Whatever it is."
She shook her head.
"Anna, please," I said.
She closed her eyes and shook with a shuddering sigh. "I've... been having evil fantasies," she said. "Foul things that I shouldn't be thinking about."
I blinked in some confusion, but tried to keep an open mind. "Like what?" I asked.
She looked up, her eyes red and puffy. "I... I fantasize about illicit relations," she says.
I could think of maybe a million different kinds of illicit relations, so that didn't narrow anything down.
"Who?" I asked, wondering if she was talking about wanting to have sex with any number of men we knew.
"... Not of any one person... just a... kind of relationship that I—oh forget it!" she groaned, rolling over again and covering her face with a pillow.
I put my hand on her back gently.
"It's wrong!" she exclaimed, muffled by the pillow. It came out a little funny, but I wasn't about to laugh.
"What kind of relationship?" I asked.
Her body jerked in a spasm, then stilled. "... Just... I need to get these thoughts under control," she whispered.
"What kind of relationship?" I repeated.
"Don't make me talk about it," she hissed. "It's evil. It's abusive and wrong and I know that."
I held her back, feeling her tremble against me.
"I won't judge you," I said. "I promise you, Anna."
She relaxed a little against me. "I've been thinking... about..." she seemed so reluctant. I held my breath, waiting.
"... I've been imaging what it would be like to be a victim," she said. It didn't seem like the whole story, and now I was doubly confused. Did she have a rape fantasy or something? I've... heard from some guys that it was common, but I thought that was just a justification bias for evil thoughts.
"Okay," I say. "A victim of what?"
She swallowed hard. "... It's not right," she says again before sighing deeply. "Abuse," she says.
"I don't understand."
She looked away, biting her lip. "I've imagined being taken advantage of... but not me, you know? Just... being a girl in that position."
I was starting to lose patience, though I didn't want to. This was Anna, my wife, my life's partner.
"How?" I ask. "If you just say it, it'll make it easier," I finally prodded.
She sighed again. Her hands were shaking and I could see her jaw clenched.
"I've been imagining... how a man could take advantage of his situation. To convince... a girl, to persuade her into having sex," she said.
My eyes widened. "That... doesn't sound unusual," I admitted.
She seemed exasperated that I couldn't just read her mind. "The man taking advantage of her would be in her own home," she said, "and he could get her alone and undressed and... I can't bring myself to say it," she looked ashamed and embarrassed. "I can't stop!"
"... So, like..." I was struggling to try to come up with something. "... A family friend?" I asked, not making the pieces match.
"No," she grimaced. "A girl and her father." She shuddered. "I can't stand it!" she cried.
I stared at her, surprised. I'd heard of... well, incest fantasies, but this was a pretty extreme one. I'm not totally ignorant to the world, I know it happens. I know that some people have... well, those kinds of fantasies, but Anna? Her relationship with her father was so normal. There's no way that—
"Anna," I said with sudden urgency. "... Did George ever...?"
She looked up and I saw her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow. "You're joking," she said.
"No, I mean... did you...?"
She smacked my shoulder. "No!" she said, angry.
"Sorry! Sorry," I apologized, watching her. My arm under me was getting a little tired. "So what happens in these fantasies?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Well," she begins. "In the beginning, the girl is just curious about things. Maybe her father will give her a little kiss on the cheek, or maybe... just a little bit more. Then they start talking about sex. The daughter wants to know all about it and she asks questions and... eventually she starts to feel a little excited about it."
"But she's your age," I said. "Not some... child, right?"
Anna looks over at me. "I know that I should be disgusted by it, but... sometimes when I imagine it being me as the girl, I get turned on. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it."
I felt my face flush. "So... Huh," I say. It's the safest thing I can say without accusing her. So much is unspoken. Is she thinking about being a child? I... just don't know.
The house settles loudly.
"So how can I help you?" I ask, leaning toward her.
She looks admonished when she looks up to me. "You don't hate me?" she says, a hint of desperation.
"Hate you?" I laugh. "Why would that even be possible?"
She smiles and relaxes against me.
"So... Do you wanna try to work this out?" I ask.
She nods. "I think it's best to talk about it, yes," she sighs wistfully
I nod. "I was... actually wondering if you'd tell me a bit about some of the things you were imagining."
She stares at me with an expression I've never seen on her face before. Some kind of... wide-eyed desperation.