by Chad Kultgen
In the six-month period after our first attempt at sex, we fucked five times, each time getting successively closer to the sexual relationship we had before I fucked Holly. In the last of these encounters, Alyna faked an orgasm. I thought about bringing it up to her, and using the argument that we have to be honest about everything in our relationship if it’s going to work again, but I didn’t. Instead I just accepted that this will very likely be the nature of our sexual relationship for the rest of our marriage.
In the year after our first attempt, we’ve fucked eighteen times. Each time, Alyna has insisted on fucking either doggy-style or with her on top. The sex is bad, and despite its unbearably low frequency it has become boring. The most recent sexual encounter we had ended with me pulling out and jerking off all over her back, in an effort to elicit some kind of a reaction from her when a new act was introduced without her prior approval. She didn’t appear to notice and seemed as glad to have my dick out of her as she has seemed every time we’ve fucked.
We’ve been to three different marriage counselors, who all have said essentially the same thing where sex is concerned: that Alyna needs time, and no one can tell how much time it will take, because these situations are all unique, and the best thing I can do is give her that time without putting any pressure on her. Because I sought sexual gratification outside the relationship, I’m in no position to argue the point.
I have had no contact with Holly since the day I had her transferred to Legal. With time, she has become a fond memory for me. The things I found unattractive about her personality have dissipated, and I think about the various times we fucked when I masturbate, which is less and less frequently given my growing apathy toward sex of any kind, due to the nature of my sexual relationship with Alyna.
I see no hope that things will improve in the future. It will never be like it was. It will never be better than this.
chapter forty-seven
The End
There are twenty to thirty parents wandering around our backyard watching their kids fuck with my grill, some flowers Alyna planted last month, and a bird feeder that’s been hanging from a tree since we bought the place. The parents do nothing about it. I recognize some of the parents from other kids’ birthday parties, but I don’t know any of their names.
It’s strange to think about this pool of money that basically just gets pushed around for all of our kids’ birthdays. Today Andy gets the full benefit. Next month it’ll be one of these other little shitheads, and Andy will be tearing apart that shithead’s dad’s grill.
I’m drunk from what I think is my fifth Blue Moon when some dad comes up to me and says, “Nice party.”
I don’t care what he’s saying and neither does he. We’re just going through the protocol. I say, “Thanks.”
He says, “They sure grow up fast, don’t they?”
I say, “Yeah. They sure do.”
We both take a swig of beer, he pats me on the back and says, “See ya ’round.” This exact same conversation happens four or five more times with similar dead-eyed fathers who have given up hope for happiness but who experience no real sadness or discomfort in their lives either. They exist in a mediocre haze, content to serve out the remainder of their lives on the planet attending events like this, fucking their wives without meaning or enthusiasm when it’s allowed, performing a job that has no real impact in the world and has no meaning to them personally, just as I do.
I try to remember what it was like to fuck Holly, what it was like to be excited about something. The memory is too far out, though. The entire experience has drifted into something so far removed from my actual life that is seems like it might not have happened at all. I still think about her from time to time and wonder what she might be doing. She’s graduated by now. Maybe she’s still sucking dick for weed. Maybe she’s learned how to be affectionate. Maybe she even has a boyfriend.
After the party that night, as I tuck my son in, he says, “Daddy, did you have fun at the party today?”
I say, “Yeah, bud, I did. Did you?”
He says, “It was awesome. How many birthdays do I get to have?”
I say, “A bunch.”
He says, “You’ve had more birthdays than me. Will they all be as fun as today?”
I want to tell him the truth. I want to tell my son that eventually birthdays become meaningless. You stop having parties, people stop giving you presents, and you stop caring that these things stop happening. I want to tell him that this doesn’t just happen with birthdays. Eventually there’s nothing that’s fun in your life anymore. Eventually you come to understand that your life is just a series of similar meaningless days in which you try to find some sense of evenness and normalcy, and that becomes the best you can hope for.
Instead I kiss him on the head and I say, “They get even better.”
He says, “I love you, Daddy.”
I say, “I love you, too, bud.” Then I turn off his light, get into bed with my wife, wait for her to fall asleep, and then sneak into the office, cue up some babysitter porn, and jerk off.
acknowledgments
Thanks to my little sister for getting married and having kids so that I don’t have to.
about the author
chad kultgen is also the author of The Average American Male, The Lie, and Men, Women & Children. He is a graduate of the USC School of Cinematic Arts and lives in California.
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also by chad kultgen
The Average American Male
The Lie
Men, Women & Children
credits
Cover design by Milan Bozic
Cover photograph © Shutterstock Photos
copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE AVERAGE AMERICAN MARRIAGE. Copyright © 2013 by Chad Kultgen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition FEBRUARY 2013 ISBN: 9780062119568
ISBN 9780062119551
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Chad Kultgen, The Average American Marriage
