After 27 years of marriage, Leah and Charley Fisher came to a somewhat unconventional arrangement.
Having raised a family, built a successful therapy business and grieved the death of her father, Leah, 61, was ready to make her Eat, Pray, Love dreams a reality.
But Charley, 59, was far from ready to join her. His long workdays and regular out-of-town conferences – a source of friction throughout their marriage – were still very much a reality, and he couldn’t just pull the brake.
So they agreed to a compromise: she would embark on her ‘grown-up gap year’ – traveling to Costa Rica, Guatemala, Bali, Java and Cuba alone – while Charley would continue working, with the couple meeting up every six weeks or so, either on the road or back home in California, to reconnect.
As she reveals in her new memoir, My Marriage Sabbatical, the even more eye-opening aspect of their agreement was what might be considered their reverse cuckold clause.
Unwilling to surrender conjugal bliss for even six weeks, Charley was given a hall pass to have sex with other women – as long as they were random hook-ups and wouldn’t compromise the future of their marriage.
But halfway through her solo travels during one of their regular meetups, the indecent proposal Leah never expected to face became a reality – and her reaction surprised them both.
The below is the story as told by Leah herself.
After 27 years of marriage, Leah and Charley Fisher came to a somewhat unconventional arrangement.
They agreed to a compromise: Leah would embark on her ‘grown-up gap year’ – traveling to Costa Rica, Guatemala, Bali, Java and Cuba alone – while Charley would continue working, with the couple meeting up every six weeks or so.
Direct from the airport, we head to a motel in Calistoga, California.
After sweet lovemaking, a soak in hot springs and a bike ride, he mentions he has some adventures of his own to tell me about. I settle onto the bed and ready myself to hear about professional conferences, his reflections on work or perhaps news about colleagues.
‘I have a friend,’ he says simply.
I am blank for a moment, then I grasp his meaning.
‘Someone you are thinking about having sex with?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
I’m surprised, and immensely curious.
I want to know where they met.
‘How did you broach it? Have you kissed? Dated? What is her situation? Does she understand that you are not truly available? How does she feel about that?’
Charley answers my questions simply and directly.
She’s a colleague and lives out of town. She understands the arrangement.
I have two powerful reactions, both of which surprise me – one comes immediately, the other surfaces a few days later.
My immediate reaction is I find myself intensely aroused – I’m astounded at what a huge turn-on this revelation is. Suddenly, I can really feel my love for Charley. I am desirous and possessive.
But then I’m hit by my second reaction: Charley has often told me that guys, and this includes himself, can think about sex 50 times a day.
I ask him, ‘When you are thinking about sex those 50 times a day, do you fantasize about having sex with her?’
‘Yes.’
And to my surprise, it’s this that makes me sad – incredibly sad, bereft even.
Direct from the airport, we head to a motel in Calistoga, California. After sweet lovemaking, a soak in hot springs and a bike ride, he mentions he has some adventures of his own to tell me about.
How strange that the idea of Charley having sex with another woman when I’m away hasn’t threatened me, but the possibility that he is fantasizing about having sex with her makes me feel like something that belongs to me is being taken away.
The next morning, waking up in his arms, I tell Charley that I hope he would never spend the whole night with her. I know it’s his call, but I wish he would not sleep with her in his arms.
Still, the intensity of my sexual arousal continues to astonish me.
And later that day, after some flirtatious chat about lap-dancing, I seductively promise to give him a private performance.
While Charley is cleaning up from our meal, I put on some music and turn down the lights. Then I retreat to the bathroom.
I take off my clothes and rummage through my luggage from Asia. I find a wide ceremonial sash I picked up in Bali and wrap it around myself – a very mini miniskirt without benefit of underwear.
Next comes a tight-fitting, black, see-through lace blouse designed for Balinese ceremonies. (The delicate garment strains across my breasts, but at least I can button it.)
From the bathroom, I tell Charley that I am ready for him.
When he comes into the living room, I take on the firm tone of a dominatrix and call out that he is to sit in an armless chair. Then I come dancing into the room and watch his eyes widen.
I remember some belly-dance moves from a long-ago dance class. I gyrate to the music, coming closer and closer to the chair.
Charley is breathing heavily. He is holding the seat of the chair tightly with both hands. He must be wondering about this hot babe who looks a lot like his wife but acts so much sexier. He stares at me and grins with pleasure. I revel in my power over him.
I tease and twist and press myself into him, drawing out the excitement until we can hardly stand it.
There is no chance I can pretend this erotic intensity is unrelated to Charley’s interest in another woman. I am surprised and amazed, but also curious and reflective. What is it about Charley’s sexual desire for someone else that so ignites my erotic imagination?
This passion continues for several days. Vacation Charley is my ideal husband, so different from work Charley. I’m supercharged with desire, longing and passion. Our clothes keep ending up on the floor as we share our open hearts and bodies.
We are like a pair of 22-year-olds, surging with hormones, making love over and over.
Vacation Charley is my ideal husband, so different from work Charley. I’m supercharged with desire, longing and passion. Our clothes keep ending up on the floor as we share our open hearts and bodies. We are like a pair of 22-year-olds, making love over and over.
But soon, my curiosity returns, and I tell Charley I want to communicate with his woman friend.
‘Why? What do you want to tell her?’
After I explain, he gives me her email address.
I write her a note introducing myself and acknowledging her with respect.
I spell out my concern: ‘Neither Charley nor I have ever considered anything like this before. But I want you to know, it’s immensely important to me that it not harm our marriage.’
Her reply is prompt and lands like a slap in the face. She is clear about the ground rules but wants no contact with me except to let her know if something dire happens to my husband.
Suddenly, alarm bells are going off. I start to feel angry. At first I’m angry with Charley’s lady friend. Then I realize I’m angry with Charley.
When we originally negotiated this sabbatical, we talked about extramarital sex in terms of a meaningless hookup. Connecting with a professional colleague, even an out-of-state colleague, is not a meaningless hookup. No way!
I’ve been so caught up, first in surprise and disbelief, then in erotic titillation, that I got distracted from the ground rules to our agreement. As they come back, I feel increasingly upset.
Now, I have many more questions for Charley.
‘Are you having ongoing contact with her?’
‘Yes, by email.’
‘How often do you email each other?’
‘Daily.’
Then I have another intense reaction: an overwhelming desire to read Charley’s email.
I have never been sneaky or snoopy, and I don’t like seeing myself become so.
But when I surrender to the urge and attempt to get into his email account, I discover he has changed his password.
At this point, I realize I am in way over my head. I schedule a consultation with a therapist and, before I’ve even finished describing the arrangement, the professional jumps in. His message is clear: ‘This is the stupidest plan I’ve heard about in a long time!’
He explains, ‘It is not the first time I’ve consulted on such matters. Here’s the problem with sex play as I see it.
‘In relating to you, Charley must pretend not to have feelings for this woman. However, in relating to his out-of-town partner, he has to convey feelings for her.
‘He’s in a situation where he cannot be fully authentic or forthright with either one of you.
‘Charley has come as close as he possibly can in trying to do the impossible. You need to apologize.’
I deliver my apology as earnestly as I can. I then ask Charley if he will please extend his apologies to his colleague and give up the idea of having sex outside our marriage.
He agrees without protest. Given his inevitable frustration and disappointment, I am touched by how graciously he sets aside his plans.
I’d love to say our white-hot marital passion persisted. Instead, it quickly subsided into the normal and quite satisfactory fluctuations of long-term monogamy.
But what we have gained is far more valuable – a deeper, erotic intimacy and a feeling of getting to know each other that’s altogether fresh and exciting.
In fact, after decades of hoping and suggesting and inviting and ultimately letting go, my travel dream has become Charley’s as well.
And although there is a lot to see during our adventures, what I savor most is spacious time with him.
In hotels or bed and breakfasts, I read aloud to him – novels and books about the countries we’re visiting – while we lie on the bed with our toes touching or our legs entwined.
I am charmed by this transformed, affable fellow who is adventurous and at ease and seems fully present. Though, I can’t resist teasing him, ‘Please understand. I still love my husband. But I am so glad I decided to run off with you.’
Exclusive edited extract from My Marriage Sabbatical: A Memoir of Solo Travel and Lasting Love by Leah Fisher, published by She Writes Press
