My wife cooked a kosher meal, and I am dropping it off at the hospital.
Meet you at the parking lot off Exit 43?
Yes, I responded.Ill be there.
I froze against the seat.
We were in the back seat of his gray minivan at the far end of a dark parking lot.
I felt his thin fingers claw under my skirt and lift my panties as he groped me.
Stop it, I said, barely above a whisper.
He edged himself off and slumped down, breathing heavily, just inches from me.
I quickly turned away.
I need to go.
I need to get to my kids, I said.
I thought meeting with him would make me feel good, but instead I was both terrified and disgusted.
At the age of 40, Id asked for a divorce.
My husband told me that if I left, I would never see our children.
I was trapped in a marriage I had never chosen.
I rebelliously refused to reinstall the kosher internet filter mandated by the rabbis.
Previously, the page would be blocked if I searched for anything outside of college work.
Now, I had the freedom to research topics that had been inaccessible to me.
I Googled:
Can I leave my Hasidic marriage and take my children with me?
What happens in a divorce case when the house is owned by a nonprofit?
How can I get my husband to leave my home if he refuses to leave the bedroom?
Is there such a thing as rape in a marriage?
Then, I stumbled upon a chatroom for heimish people.
This term was used in the Hasidic community to describe insiders, so I knew these were my people.
I was one of just a few women who were desirable among this group of men.
I later enrolled in college, and the room doubled as an office.
I spent more time in the room when I began an online MBA program in 2012.
It was the only space in the house that felt safe.
My husband controlled everything else.
It began in late December 2013, when I had my first conversation with a man.
I was alone at home.
Things had gotten bad between me and my husband, and I knew I wasnt wanted.
The message popped up in the chatroom:You should have gone to the party.
I know, maybe next time.
What are you wearing?
The next question came quickly:When was the last time you had sex?
What intentions did this anonymous man have?
I am wearing tall black boots.
Do you want to hear about it?
What are you wearing?
His tone scared me; who was this person anyway?
I quickly hung up the phone and blocked his number.
Several days later, the fear was gone, and the intoxicating pull was back.
I was back on my laptop, chatting with other men.
How was your day, sweetie?
Can you touch yourself?
Imagine coming with me to the beach.
Have you ever worn a bikini?
He shouldve known this.)
The message continued:Go on,touch yourself.
I leaned back in my chair and did what he said, feeling the intoxicating pleasure wash over me.
I quickly learned to pretend to orgasm when I was actually at work or when I did the dishes.
Sometimes, I agreed.
That is what happens when you dont go to the mikvah, the ritual bath.
I saw those disgusting messages.
Id moved to her bedroom after Id stopped going to the mikvah.
She must immerse herself in a special ritual bath after counting seven days.
On that night, she is required to have sex.
For years, I had followed these rules without complaint.
But I had changed.
He took his role seriously, rarely involving himself in mundane matters and focusing on his studies.
In my 20s, I would often beg for sex.
I will never forget leaning on the banister and crying for him to come up.
I craved the physical touch and attention.
It was the only time he would ever kiss or hug me.
But by now, I was close to 40, had grown stronger, and refused to beg.
I attended college and had a job outside the home.
I was furious but felt helpless.
The only recourse I had was to stop going to the mikvah.
The fear of God would prevent him from touching me, not any moral compunctions.
At the time, I felt like I was doing something to free myself.
After keeping it a secret for months, I told a friend what I was doing.
Dont go down this path.
Youll just end up hurting yourself, she said, referring me to a therapist.
you could leave this marriage, the therapist encouraged me.
But why are you self-sabotaging?
You will make it harder to leave.
I burned with shame.
Who was I becoming?
After years of being in a bad marriage, I never imagined that I would cheat in this way.
I will leave, I promised myself.
But I have stopped all that, I said.
I was terrified that it would be used against me in court.
Its a normal part of a woman leaving a marriage.
I see it all the time.
Ending my cybersex experiences for good was a process.
The guilt and shame sometimes stopped me, while the powerful feelings drew me back.
In so many ways, I regret that experience.
This article originally appeared onHuffPost.
