Confessional: GUBA is just my sugar daddy and I don’t actually love him

This is hard for me to admit, and even harder for me to write.

Although it is clear his feelings for me are true, I have been entirely disingenuous. Each day I am confronted with this as he looks longingly into my eyes when we make love. I have learned to keep mine shut. The guilt is like white noise inside of my brain.

I want to, with every inch of my soul, love him. I want to love GUBA, but I cannot.

He works hard for me, day in and day out. I am in love with the way his warm hands press against the small of my back when I am making dinner in the kitchen. I love the way he gently whispers sweet nothings in my ear when we pass each other at work. He lovingly pays for much of our living expenses, and since our marriage, I have lived comfortably and well.

Each growing day I am confronted with the reality that this comfort is true and meaningful to him but for me it will always be a façade.

I am in love with the way he loves me, but there is a growing realization that GUBA is merely a placeholder for the one I really love.

I met Thunderbird on my high school grad trip to Puerto Vallarta. He was a striking indigo that caught my eyes almost immediately. He was from a high school in British Columbia, and our initial conversation was mere insults traded between which province’s mountains were better. More and more I noticed the broadness of his shoulders and the angular strength in his face. More and more I realized he made my heart soar.

We made love days later for the first time under the stars, and from then forward, we both knew the truth. Nobody would ever suffice, the jigsaw pieces of our bodies enmeshed perfectly and wholly. We knew also that we could never be together – Thunderbird had a betrothed, and much intensely as our passions for each other had ignited, they quickly had to be extinguished.

Thunderbird and I exchange letters still. I have him pretend to be my aunt so GUBA does not get suspicious of the mail. Every fibre in my being longs to love the man who could be my soulmate, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Home feels like the feeling of being embraced by that warm, azure wingspan that can never truly be mine.