I'm George, mwm, 52

by George Everyman

  Now don't start picking apart my argument by saying that men always pursue women and so on. Yes they do and that's ok too. But this is a different scenario altogether where I am old enough to be her grandfather, even though she is of legal age, and I have Abby, and Miss Rip It probably has a boyfriend, and all other sorts of complications. So pursuing her, by me, at my age, at our various stages in life and relationships, would cause me misery, mostly because it ain't gonna happen, until cows fall from the sky, and that's not something a sane man would bet on or hold his breath for.

  But, as I said before, if the cows start falling, there is nothing wrong, in my newly created 'open marriage' 'anything goes' 'still love and respect the spouse' mode, with fucking the shit out of the lovely creature. I wouldn't pass up that chance of a lifetime, and I certainly wouldn't be filled with some sort of guilt because Abby and the boyfriend have been doing the same thing. For a while. A long while, probably. Hopefully.

  And if it's not obvious already, I did not get the answer to the Buddhist paradox after fucking that lovely coed. I was just doing a theoretical scenario in which the answer could have come in that splendid circumstance. But as we all know life just doesn't work like that. If it did there would be no bad deaths. We would all die just after having made love to the most beautiful and exciting person on the planet.

  One more example to nail shut the coffin on the Buddhist paradox answer, since, in my simple mind, redundancy always helps.

  Suppose you like chocolate ice cream. You are at home one summer night and you look in the freezer and the chocolate ice cream is gone. Abby, the bitch, ate it all last night when you were asleep. Shit.

  Two choices now. Eat the coffee ice cream, which is there and which you like just as well, usually, but not tonight of course, because the chocolate is gone, and we all know that we always want what we can't have the most.

  Second choice. Get in the car, drive to the grocery store, wait in a line that's a mile long because it's the time of the day when every fucking college student is buying just one thing, and that's mostly a six pack of beer, and you know how long it takes since they all have bonus cards, which they forgot, of course, every fucking one of them forgot, and the cashier has to enter their phone numbers instead, and they can't remember whether they used their cell phone or land line number when they filled out the application for the bonus card, and it takes you a good twenty minutes to get checked out, and by that time the ice cream if soft, and when you get home, it's almost liquid, because it's summer, so you have to wait at least an hour for it to get harder in your freezer, and even then, it's way softer than you like it, and then when you sit down to enjoy it, you don't, and you wish you had eaten the mother fucking coffee ice cream in the first place.

  Lesson in life. Listen to the Buddhists. If there is chocolate ice cream in the freezer, at home, when you want it, eat it. If not, simply eat the coffee ice cream. Enjoy it. Become one with it.

  Lesson in life part two. Listen to George. Lust after the lady in pink. For a moment, or maybe two or even three. Then go on your way and wish her well in life and thank her, silently of course, for giving you something to lust after. But, if she asks you to have a cup of coffee, look heavenward, thank goddess, silently or even out loud in this case, and then ask her, quickly, "your car or mine?"

  Chapter 40: I'm Glad; a Very Short Chapter

  I'm glad that the paradox has been solved, to my satisfaction, by my super brain, and I'm glad I got the explanation out of my head, into the computer, for someone else to see and ponder on, because at some point, maybe sooner than later, I'm going to move to another dimension, i.e. die, and I'd like to leave something profound behind, and even if it's not that profound to most people, or to anyone else even, at least it seems profound to me, right now, and that's all that counts.

  And I'm glad I was able to weave the chocolate ice cream and pink lady into the explanation because those are both important to me, in different ways, of course.

  Chapter 41: Our Anniversary

  Today is our anniversary. Abby and me. We were married twenty four years ago today. I was scared shitless. My best friend at the time, Thomas, that's his last name by the way, because in college we called everyone by their last name because we thought that was cool, and I stopped at a bar and I had three gin and tonics to calm myself down. I don't remember if he had any, but I don't think so because he was driving, and he really didn't and probably still doesn't drink much at all, although I'm not sure about now because I haven't seen him in about fifteen years, which is a shame because I really liked him.

  I was told that I wouldn't have to repeat the vows, just saying "I do," but that turned out to be a lie, a white lie, Abby would later claim, because I don't like public speaking, and this was about as public as it gets, in your own wedding, but I was there, stuck in the situation with no real alternative other than walking out, and Abby, no doubt knew that wasn't very likely, which is why she told me, very clearly, on many occasions, that I would only have to say "I do" a few times, when she knew very well that was a lie. Excuse me, a white lie.

  I should have known, right then, that my life was going to take some strange and sometimes unwelcome twists and turns. But I was young and in love and it was too late at that point, so I repeated the vows, as best I could, and I was so fucking glad when it was over, and to this day, I can't wrap my brain around how much women enjoy and need weddings and how much men hate and fear them and would rather not do them. But they, the men, do them anyway, mostly.

  Our life together has been an adventure. I don't often sit back and reflect on our time together, but on our anniversary, I do. I guess my overwhelming emotion toward her, is gratitude. Having a beautiful and funny and lustful, well sometimes lustful, and intelligent lady willing to spend her life with me is totally mind blowing. I'm a lucky man. Happy anniversary baby. I love you.

  Abby and I usually celebrate our anniversary on a weekend, so even though it was a few days ago, we celebrated last night. We went to a larger city that isn't too far from where we live and got a nice hotel and had a nice dinner. It was very pleasant. When we were having cocktail hour before dinner, in the hotel room, drinking a very nice zinfandel from Northern California that I brought with me because there was no fucking way I was going to pay hotel prices for wine, she told me to turn off the TV which was good, but not unusual, and I did and we drank the wine and I asked her to do me a big favor and she said what and I said to please not get emotional at dinner which she can do.

  She said OK and she kept her word and there was hardly any negativity coming from her at all. Nothing bad about her in laws, i.e. my family, no bashing of my friends, which was nice, no general bashing of men, which was really nice, no 'go girls' when talking about people we know or not and the woman and the man break up and Abby is always convinced the man is wrong because the tree fell in the woods. All in all, a pleasant dinner. A little boring, but pleasant. I'm having one of those afterglow feelings, regarding the night out and the dinner. We didn't fuck, but she would have, I know, but I wanted her to want it, not just to do it. Guess I still have a lot of work to do.

  It reminded me of how we used to be and how we used to treat each other and I thought about how relationships change, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse, and I was thankful we were still married and I was thankful we were still civil to each other, mostly.

  It's easy to find fault with anyone if you look for it. I think it was a Buddhist saying that I remember, or maybe Zen, or both, but it went like this, "a fool sees the spec in his neighbor's eye, but doesn't see the log in his own." And that kind of nicely sums it up. I try not to be too critical of Abby, because she's a really good person with a whole lot of good traits, but I can't just give her a pass when she does or says something totally outrageous. Outrageous in my opinion. But she does the same to me, three or four times more often, it seems to me, but I'm sure she sees it another way.

  But somehow the whole fucking thing works, w
hich is amazing, and is also why I'm trying to push it to the next level, I.e. open marriage, because she has already opened the fucking thing, and that has a double meaning, and now it's my turn to try something new, or at the very least, hear about her exploits in much greater detail.

  Chapter 42: The Party

  Invitations these days are mostly by email, as I'm sure you know. So Abby got it. Actually I got it first, not that I was being nosey, it's just that she leaves her email program running and it's sitting there on the kitchen table, and I happened to walk by, with no intention, mind you, of reading anything, but there it was, so I read it. I just saw the header line and it said party and it was from Dewayne.

  Now I'm not stupid and I know that Dewayne isn't going to invite Abby to a private party and fuck her.

  I couldn't wait for Abby to get home and read her email. When she got home, she said "hi honey," which she always does, and in her voice, I can usually tell if she had a good or bad day. It, i.e. her voice, sounded ok, so I knew her day was ok. Not good or bad, just ok.

  When she finally got around to reading the email invitation, she tried to be coy about it. At least it sounded coy to me. "We got invited to a party at Dewayne and Kimberly's," she said, with no detectable emotion. "Hmm" I said. I didn't want to sound too excited, which was kind of stupid really, because how was she to know that I would be excited, like I was, about how maybe we would go and she would slip off into a back bedroom when the party was going strongly, and no doubt, at least in my mind, give old Dewayne a quick blow job.

  Abby was probably trying to sound me out because we have not, to this day, discussed in any significant or meaningful detail, the encounter, her affair, her sex life outside of our marriage, or anything even close to the above.

  I'm pretty sure she wanted to go to the party, for the blow job, of course, or maybe just to see how things were going with Dewayne and Kimberly. Kim to me, Kimberly to Abby, just to set it straight.

  So she accepted, without ever really asking me, and we went, and here's what went down. I like that. What went down. Kind of makes me sound like a happening person, which of course, I'm not.

  On the night of the party, Abby seemed to be taking longer than usual to get ready, and it was interesting that she had her toe nails done that day, which makes no sense since she never wears shoes with her toes exposed, but maybe it just made her feel sexy or better or both.

  I have to admit that she looked pretty damned good. Of course, I was wearing one of my clean but wrinkled shirts, hoping to find someone that I could tell about my save the word perspective. I never did.

  When we got there, there were about thirty or forty people there already which was good, because the last thing I wanted was for us to arrive first and have some sort of awkward conversation with the newlyweds.

  There's one thing about Dewayne that I don't like. Actually it's a thing about Abby and Dewayne that I don't like. It's like some sort of athletic bonding mode where they get into talking about their latest ride and how many miles it was or how fast or who was hurting and a lot of other crap that I don't give a shit about, but I usually have no choice other than to sit and listen.

  And then Abby is always oohing and aahing about who is the most physically fit, which I'm sure, is a direct poke in the eye to me, because even though I'm in decent shape, even under the norm in body-mass index scale, yes I look it up often, I'm not Mr. fucking athlete who does an ironman once a month.

  While we're on the subject and while I'm venting, I want to say, point blank, with no hesitation, that when I see Dewayne in one of those tight fitting, overpriced, ridiculous looking bike outfits, I wonder what Abby sees in him. Seriously. He's going bald, much faster than I am, even though he is younger, he's not svelte by any stretch of the imagination, and he's pretty damn cocky.

  However, as we know now, he's probably fucked her more times in the last year than I have, which wouldn't have to be a lot, so he must be doing something right.

  So the little athletic group is doing their talking-laughing thing and I'm wandering out to the kitchen to see what there is to eat, and, as usual, there are way too many veggie dips and there's not enough meat.

  I wish, that at least once, there would be a party, and that someone like Lara would be there and we would begin to connect like Lara and I did for those thirty seven wonderful days, and we would talk, not about biking, but maybe politics, or green energy, or, better yet, about something related to society and its conventions and how they are changing. Something meaningful. Meaningful to me at least. Dream on George.

  Abby is either in a sloshing down the wine mood, or not, when we go to parties. When it's sloshing down the wine time for her, I don't, i.e. slosh down the wine, because I have to drive home, and that's ok, but the part that I don't like, when she is in her sloshing down the wine mode, is that she also gets into one of her everybody she likes and everything they do is perfect modes and that really means that everybody I like and everything that they and/or I do, is shit. You think I'm exaggerating, I know you do. But I'm not.

  Tonight was not a sloshing down the wine night, for Abby, and I'm not sure why, but I was kind of glad in a way, because then I wouldn't have to endure the perfect friends bullshit.

  While I was looking for something edible, which wasn't easy given all the veggie shit on the table, and Abby and her cadre were whipping themselves into a bike riding saga frenzy, Kim wandered in to the kitchen. I kind of looked down at the food, hoping someone else would come in, quickly, because I was pretty certain that Kim didn't come in to tell me she was opening up to the concept of open marriage. She looked at me with a very kind face and said, "Are you doing ok?"

  That was huge. I was reading that on many levels as you can guess, and the overall gist that I got, and I do think my radar was working well at least on this occasion, was that she was saying, in effect, that she was empathizing with me about not being one of the happy go lucky jocks. Then she added, "They really like to go on about their rides, don't they?"

  Striking the conciliatory tone that I often do, I say "Well at least it keeps them in good shape and busy." Busy indeed, I thought but didn't say, as the image of Abby quickly blowing Dewayne floated through my brain.

  Kim smiled and then I asked her if she did much riding and swimming and running and she said a little running but not much else, so I said something to the effect that opposites attract and maybe it was good that husbands and wives had different interests. She just kind of nodded but she was still smiling and then she said that she forgave Dewayne and she asked me if I forgave Abby, and I suddenly was very glad that Abby was not sloshing down the wine because I suddenly was in a sloshing down the wine mood myself and I asked Kim if she had any real wine glasses because all that were out were plastic and I hate drinking wine from them.

  She got me one and I asked her if she wanted some too, so she got another real glass out of the cupboard and I immediately felt like grabbing her arm and marching into the living room, showing everyone, especially Abby, that I had someone to talk to, and also showing Dewayne that I had acquired one of the real wine glasses despite his attempt not to share them with his guests which, by the way, I thought was crass and cheap, even though I have done it several times myself.

  But instead, Kim and I stayed in the kitchen and just small talked a bit about our tastes in wine and I was getting to like her because she was kind of low key and I thought that I still wanted to fuck her, but maybe more, I wanted to get to know her. She had a really nice air about her because she was indeed beautiful but didn't seem to be focused on it in the way that some, or maybe most, beautiful people are, i.e. that they are so fucking desirable that everyone wants them and you need to take a fucking number just to talk to them, and the line is very long.

  I asked her if she wanted to go into the living room and she said sure and I read a lot into the sure. We went in and sat on a couch about twenty feet away from the athletes. No one seemed to notice us, but as I had predicted, it kind
of became obvious that first Dewayne, who seems to notice everything I was learning, and then Abby, were shooting us fleeting glances and I was hearing their inner thoughts loud and clear, and I knew they were both thinking that something was going on with the two of us, and indeed there was, at least in my mind. I was hoping that they were going to start having trouble concentrating on their fucking biking stories, and I was listening to see if Abby's cackles which is what I call her laughs, were staying at the same fevered pitch or not, and I was extremely pleased that I couldn't hear them anymore.

  Then I just turned off the observing Abby and Dewayne switch and started concentrating on Kim, trying to take in her essence emotionally and otherwise. I still hadn't answered her question about forgiving Abby, and I weighed the options. But I stopped weighing after number one, knowing it was the only option, but I still had no clue as to how to proceed in my attempt to let her know, with absolute clarity, that I was one hundred percent happy about her husband fucking my wife and that I wanted to fuck her, knowing of course that she may not feel the same way about either issue.

  I'm not real good about being subtle some times, as Abby constantly has let me know over the years, on many occasions, but I'm not as stupid as she thinks I am. My lack of subtly usually is deliberate. It's not that I don't know that I offend people sometimes; it's just that I don't care. And in reality I almost never offend people. I just offend institutions that need offending, in my view. So I don't mind saying that all politicians are crooked, because I am right, but Abby might get bent out of shape when I say that because someone who is on a local school board might be within ear shot and she considers them politicians but I don't.

  I'm kind of getting off track here. What I'm trying to get clear is that I don't mind talking about something like the taboo against using racial slurs and how I think that it is ridiculous because it's just a surface issue and has nothing to do with what's in a person's heart and soul. So now that I'm sitting here with Kim, wondering how I should approach my goals, I'm hearing the little man in my brain telling me that Abby is going to be pissed if I start spouting off about open marriage, and then I think how hypocritical that would be for her since she is the one who has already opened the marriage by fucking Dewayne.