does he exploit me?

We were doing the dishes the other night after dinner (he washed while I dried). My sweetie was quiet as he often is. I had a sense something was on his mind, however, that something was troubling him. When he finished rinsing off the last saucepan and handed it to me, I could see a cumulus of anxiety in his face.

The conversation went something like this:

"What's wrong baby?" I asked.

He thought a moment and then looked me in the eye. "Do I exploit you?" he said softly.

I was taken aback. "Exploit me? What do you mean?"

"Maybe 'exploit' isn't the right word," he said. "Let me see if I can explain. You've told me about the men in your past. You've told me about Ron. About Ivan. About the others. And I noticed some things in common."

He began counting with his fingers. "One, they're all quite a bit older than you. As I am. Two, they were very dominant lovers. As I am. Three, they were all physically much larger and more powerful than you. As I am. Four, you moved in very quickly with most of them. Do you see where I'm going here?"

I pondered that a moment. "I think I know what you're asking," I answered. "You're asking if I'm attracted to you as a person or as a persona. Am I in love with you, James, or just the sort of role you fill, because you have certain things in common with other men from my past?"

"Yes, exactly," he responded. "And so am I exploiting what you need? Am I using you, taking advantage of you, simply because you need someone to fill that role?"

"But you're worried that anyone could fill that spot?" I said. "Any big, dominant, older guy could come along and easily slip into your place? That I just need someone to fill that spot, but a lot of guys could do it?"

He nodded. His eyes were filled with a quiet intensity, as if this might be the most important question he would ever ask me. He tried to say something, then stopped himself, then managed just barely: "Because if I am doing that, I don't want to exploit you. You don't deserve that. That would be horrendously selfish of me."

I knew, at that moment, I could not say "but I love you." Even though that is true, it would not be responsive.

"James, you are like those other men in some ways, yes," I said after a moment. "You even look a bit like Ron in the face, as I've told you before. But in the most important ways you are so completely and fundamentally different. They could never have asked me what you're asking right now. Those men exploited me; you do not. They put their needs first; you do not. They were controlling, as if I was their possession, their toy; you do not treat me that way at all."

"There are some men who, I think, have a certain power to make women fall for them while making them feel shitty at the same time," he said. "They were guys like that."

"Precisely," I responded. "But you're so unlike that kind of man. I never feel shitty with you. I was not happy with those other men most of the time. But you make me happier than I ever have been. You don't scream at me. You don't call me a whore. You don't storm out the door and leave me in a lurch. You don't disappear for days on end. So don't you see how fundamentally different you really are?"

He shrugged, as if only half-conceding the point and not entirely convinced.

"Those men were physically powerful but not strong men," I said. "And that is the vast difference between you and them. You are a strong man in spirit and in heart. You are strong where it counts. That is why I love you so." After a moment, I added, "Does that answer your question now?"

He nodded then smiled, and I could see the doubt lifting from his face like sun chased by a cloud.

And then, once again, I began to wonder: what did I ever do to deserve this man?