SEXUALITY & RELATIONSHIPS
Jerry Falwell Jr. is a Cuckolded Husband and Boy Does That Bring Back Memories
How I made cuckolds of both my husbands in an attempt to heal my developmental and sexual traumas.
Two of my three husbands were cuckolds. I didn’t go out of my way to date or marry men who were excited by cuckoldry, and I don’t think either man had ever willingly experienced it before. It was a relationship state that just happened, and I loved it. In both instances, I was the breadwinner in the relationship, with one husband who didn’t work at all, and another who worked rarely. This gave me complete financial control over our household and fueled my inner dominatrix. What I said was law, and if either of them didn’t like it, they were invited to leave. After all, they always placed second to my lover.
As the news came across the wire that evangelical leader Jerry Falwell, Jr. was stepping down from his station as the president of Liberty University amidst a sexual scandal involving him, his wife, Becki, and a former pool boy, Giancarlo Granda, my ears perked up. According to The Washington Post on August 25th, “The latest allegations about Falwell come from Giancarlo Granda, a young businessman who met the Falwells at a pool in Florida years ago and has been involved in business and social dealings with them for much of the last decade. Granda alleged this week that he had a years-long sexual affair with Becki Falwell and that Jerry Falwell sometimes watched their interactions, including video calls where Becki Falwell was naked.” Upon hearing the news, and as much of social media made jokes about the Falwell’s fetishistic lifestyle in contrast to their staunch evangelical Christian values, I was reminded of my personal cuckoldry experiences and the events of my life that lead me to the lifestyle.
I Craved Power
My first sexual experience at thirteen years old was a rape. Kidnapped from a local mall, I was held captive and assaulted repeatedly for three days before finally escaping from my captors. My first sexual experience robbed me of my power before I ever had a chance to learn that a little brown girl from the Caribbean possessed any, and I began my young womanhood at a deficit. By the time I was in my twenties, my sexual experiences had become more about reclaiming that power and less about love and togetherness. I became aggressive in my sexual proclivities, aroused by emasculation, and the stripping away of the male power and rage I felt destroyed me as a girl. It was like sexual osmosis or transference; I was a sexual vampire, draining men of their power and drinking it in as a way to replenish my own.
I Married the Powerless
My attraction to powerful men began shortly after high school. This was when I realized how easily I commanded the men other people feared or worshiped. As a young woman still reeling from sexual abuse and assault, I saw powerful men as wells of confidence from which I could drink, and orbs of energy waiting to be transferred. Still, the quest to reclaim my personal and sexual agency wasn’t being fulfilled by these larger-than-life figures. I had no problem dating them, but I never wanted to be with them. They were all so formidable, and with their clothes on, uncontrollable. Instead, I sought relationships with men who didn’t have much, men who may have done well for themselves in the past but were now down on their luck. I wanted to date men who excited me but marry men I could dominate in and outside the bedroom. So, that’s just what I did.
I Gave My Cuckolds a Choice
My lover and I were involved in a torrid love affair for the better part of a decade. He was the love of my young life, but he was one of those formidable and uncontrollable types, in and out of the bedroom. He injected me with his bravado and confidence. He willingly gave me pieces of power that I’d desperately weld together to create a barrier between who I was forced to become as a girl and who I wanted to evolve into as a woman. He meant everything to me, and I’d never let him go — not for anyone.
Within the span of those ten years, when two of the other men in my life proposed marriage, I accepted with one staggering condition. I refused to leave my lover. My soon-to-be grooms weren’t powerful men. Neither could support themselves financially, and I could see through their rouses. They weren’t in love with me; they wanted to be kept — and I wanted control. So, I gave each of them a choice: they could walk away from the relationships with no hard feelings, or stay with me and be married knowing I’d be spending days and weeks away with my lover. I never thought a man would agree to be a husband who came second to his wife’s paramour, and all for the sake of being kept. I never thought these men would demean themselves in such a way, but I was wrong.
I Found My Power
For a myriad of reasons, I ended my cuckold marriages and never had another one. Back then, I felt empowered by my financial and sexual control over the men in my life. I enjoyed being dominant in my marriages, which were more like arrangements. I’d openly announce when I was off to see my lover, allowed him to call our house any time of the day or night, and returned home days or weeks later to find my husbands making me dinner or running my bathwater. Both of them would welcome me home with open arms but with a silent disdain in their hearts, knowing where I’d been, who I was with, and what we’d been doing.
However, neither of my cucks were the victims they made themselves out to be years later, once the nature of our marriages became publicly known, much in the way Jerry Falwell, Jr. framed his scandal as an affair his wife had, instead of a shared fetishist fantasy. Granted, my husbands were never sitting naked in a dark corner of our bedroom, watching my lover and me as they pleasured themselves. But, they had agreed to the terms and played along for the years we were together in exchange for being kept, and fair exchange is no robbery.
Still, it was my childhood trauma that conjured the dominatrix in me, the part of me that wanted to see men emasculated and cuckolded. It was the sexual vigilante in me that wanted to seek revenge for that scared little girl pinned to the bed in a seedy Motel 6 by a man she imagined killing as he slept. That thirteen-year-old girl who was kidnapped and raped, whose mother beat her within an inch of her life when she finally made her way back home, and who had been molested by men and boys for the majority of her childhood, needed to be healed. No one had ever sought justice for the crimes committed against her. No one came to save her, and no one offered treatment for her trauma. As an adult, I needed to reach back and parent my wounded inner child, realizing it would take the rest of my life.
The power I sought in the depths of men, in their wells of confidence and orbs of energy, was always within me. But, I was just too young and too broken to know that, much like a woman’s beauty, her power is never stolen, but it is often given away. As the years progressed, and as I continued to heal my trauma with the help of mental health professionals, I stopped wanting to dominate or emasculate. Instead, I softened and yearned to become equally yoked with a partner who wanted to be with me out of love, respect, and appreciation instead of any unrelated forms of currency. Seven years after the end of my last cuckolded relationship, I am grateful for my ability to express my power in ways that are healthier for me and not attached to my trauma. I am grateful to equate sex with love, pleasure, and togetherness, and not just an exchange of power. I am grateful to be able to explore my sexual fantasies and fetishes healthily and within the safe space my partner and I have created. Most of all, I am grateful to be in a constant state of healing.
Temporarily revisiting the rabbit hole of my developmental and sexual traumas, and reports of his alleged sexually predatory behavior, led me to wonder if Jerry Falwell, Jr. has some traumas of his own. This is not to imply that fetishism is always or can only be a symptom of trauma. Sexual freedom and exploration is nothing to be ashamed of, and in most cases, is very healthy. But, also, religious suppression, sexual abuse, and other traumas can often show themselves in our sexual habits. That said, I suggest each of us take a closer look at our sexual practices, likes, dislikes, fetishes, and fantasies, and be honest with ourselves about their roots. Are you just having fun and exploring your autonomy, or are you acting out against a traumatic life experience you may have buried deep beneath your urges? Just a little food for thought.
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