I’m not sure why either, at this point. I just…I don’t know how to explain it really. As mentioned before, we are all from a small town. His mother is my former brother-in-laws sister, therefore she is kind of like family. I guess I wouldn’t bail because of how much of a fuss it would cause. This thread has caused me to reflect on our “friendship” quite a bit; I guess if I was to stay a groomsmen it would be for pretty selfish reasons, as to save myself hard time socially. Also, you guys may not understand this, but I still don’t want to hurt him. I’m angry over what happened, but I don’t want to ruin him over this. If I was to be brutally honest and say I don’t want to be a groomsman and list my main reasons why, it would be really hurtful for him and his fiancee. I don’t know…I may try to figure out some way to bail.
‘..kind of like family’ is easier to ditch than ‘actual’ family; and it’s the phrase that works better when there are positive, rather than extremely negative relationship connections. Personally, as far as the ‘hard time socially’ is concerned, being perceived as a friend who publicly condones this vortex of disaster by suiting up and smiling for the camera would be much more socially damaging - small town or not. It makes you either a hypocrite, or an idiot.
You hurt him more by pretending to be a friend when realistically, you’re not. At some point this facade of friendship will have to go, because you will be pushed into more and more obligation as the spiral of doom speeds up.
Finishing the friendship doesn’t have to be brutal - it just has to be honest. It seems that you may be more intent on preserving the ‘good guy’ image that is expected of you than really whether or not kNick knicker knicker is hurt by it all. This guy lives in a world of pain: self-inflicted, created, enticed, perpetuated. One more piece of it won’t matter at all - after all, he welcomes it in his ‘victim’ universe - and maybe, just maybe, your courageous truth might bring about a bit of self reflection and (miracle of miracles) active change.
By sheer happenstance, these two unpleasant people are a small part your town. By free will, you’re inviting them to be a big part of your life.
There will be harder decisions to make in your lifetime than this one; embrace the opportunity to live by design, rather than chance.
Back off people - Unless you have lived your entire 30 years in the same small (less than 50,000 population) town - the one in which your parents have spent their entire lives (extra points for having a family crypt at the local cemetery, so you even know where you will be buried) you cannot understand haw closely-knit each generation is in such towns
My mother wanted nothing more than to spend her entire life in a town with a total of 4 streets - her best friend had P.O. Box 2 - that small. I could never understand that, but that’s what she wanted - she even kept up correspondence with the man she was supposed to marry; somehow she fucked up her life by not marrying the man she should have, and married a fellow almost as big a creep ans C.S.'s - by the time she divorced him (which I had suggested 40 years earlier) and run back home, his wife was dying…
Within a year:
His wife died
He died
Mother died.
The pull of the small town is not to be dismissed because it is not for you. C.S. - you say he now lives 120 miles away. Any chance Ms. Trainwreck will move the 120 miles, or are they insistent on giving their childhood friends an up-close and personal view
I think they live together, 120 miles away. His parents won’t allow them to both stay at their place when they’re in town, which is why they stay at Crime Scene’s.
I’m with many others here and also say dump your friend. At the very least, if a complete dump isn’t to your liking, then he’s not allowed to stay over. CS, you know your wife best, and I can understand your rationale for not telling her the details. It’s your call - you don’t have to tell her everything but at least give her a reason why jerk-off isn’t allowed around as much. You can simply tell her, “he did something very inappropriate, and I don’t want to share the details because they’re not pretty, but please trust me when I saw him doing something very inappropriate. Believe me, you don’t need or want to know.”
Also, and not many suggested this, but you, CS, have to find those boy boxers and get rid of them yourself. ASAP. You cannot keep letting your wife use them.
Distance yourself from this creepo. Significant distancing, gradually over time.
But none of that was your first instinct, was it? Your first instinct was not to get this creepy, boundary-violating, potentially violent* guy the fuck away from her forever and always. Your first instinct was to keep letting this guy come around as much as ever with not a single hint to her that she should be on her guard just so long as he was never alone in the house. Because if you told her, she’d bar the guy from her home forever and always and oh my lawsy wouldn’t that just be soooo awful? It would just mess up his whole life soooo much if people knew him for what he was.
And you defended that position, hard, with all sorts of explanations and rationalizations about why what he did wasn’t so bad and all the bad fallout to his life if this (disgusting, wholly inappropriate, boundary violating) incident were to come to light.
And now that people have finally convinced you that yes, what he did was really that bad, and yes, she has a right to know, your concern is not for her and how this incident is affecting her. It’s for him, and how her knowing and eventually telling people is going to affect him.
It all adds up to a picture of someone who is far more concerned about this guy–this creepy, boundary-violating, alcoholic, potentially violent* guy–than about his wife. And that’s pretty fucked up. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known this guy, or whether he’s “almost family,” or what kind of upheaval this will cause in his life and your social circle. You’ve known her just as long, and she’s not almost family. She IS family. She’s your wife. That means she is supposed to be your A #1 priority and her well-being is supposed to come before anybody else’s in the whole entire universe. Forever, always, world without end amen, and all that.
*Unless you were doing some OTT exaggeration when you talked about him being the type to shoot up a school, and your fears of driving him over the edge. In which case, shame on you for making that kind of thing up. Especially right now.
You mean if Mr. Berry knew his friend had jacked off in a pair of your panties, you’d be pissed if Mr. Berry threw that pair out? You’d keep wearing them? Really? You’re kinkier than I thought.
If the situation were mine, I wouldn’t hesitate to throw out that pair of Mrs. Tango’s panties. Maybe I wouldn’t tell her why, at least not for a while, and if Mrs. Tango got mad, then so be it. It would be well worth it.
Some 30 years later… echo7tango: “Hey babe, do you remember way back, around the time the Giants won their second World Series (in San Francisco), and I threw out a pair of your panties, wouldn’t tell you why, and you got really mad?” Mrs. Tango: “Of course I remember, and I’m still mad, you asshole!”
(Mrs. Tango would never use such language. I exaggerate for effect.) echo7tango: “The reason I never told you is because, well do you remember our very good friend at the time, Mr. Jack Hoff, the long-time once-friend? Well, one day I happened to walk in on him and he was, ahem, whacking off with that pair. He’d spooged all over them. Sorry babe, it was so gross that I didn’t want to share the gory details with you, at the time it happened anyway. That’s why I never told you.” Mrs. Tango: “EWWWWWWWWW! NAAAAAAAAASTY! Oh I’m glad you never told me! It would have creeped me out big time! It creeps me out now - that was, what?, 30 years ago? Whoa, and we used to be such close friends, too! Yuk! Okay dear, I forgive you. And back then, I’m glad you didn’t tell me why. I hope I never see Jack again.” echo7tango: “Babe, Jack died 3 weeks ago.” Mrs. Tango: “Oh… Good.”
Yep, I’m taking that risk. I’m tossing out those panties. And I’m separating us from Mr. Jack Hoff.
C’mon people, yeah, you too, Crazy, haven’t you ever been so close to a situation that you were concerned about your objectivity about solving it? Doesn’t the medical profession disallow surgeons from operating on their own kids or spouses?
CS was, he admits, very close to this situation and he took it to us and asked for help. We, who can easily be much more objective about this, and now that he’s agreed with most of us, now is when you’re going to jump down his throat?
Are you having a bad day, CrazyCatLady? Don’t take it out on CS.
I can make my own underwear-disposing decisions. I don’t need the hypothetical Mr. Berry to do it for me.
After being washed they’re not physically contaminated. I’m not sure if I’d throw them out or not. It would probably depend on how much I liked them and whether or not there was dried semen on them, which I don’t think the OP said there was.
And if my husband told me he’d thrown away a pair of my panties but refused to tell me why, I would hound him relentlessly and possibly withhold sex until he did tell me, because that would be so annoying!