I'm George, mwm, 52

by George Everyman

  About that time Dewayne got into the act and waved, similarly, his empty expensive beer bottle too. I took the empty glass and bottle and went to the kitchen, this time making a very clear mental note of their exact positions on the couch.

  I come back in and give them their libations. No word of thanks from either. And they had moved closer.

  The phone rings. I get it. It's Kim. I say, "Hi Kim." Loudly.

  They both look startled. For just a micro second. Almost on cue they go back to the bike riding shit. Her hand on his thigh. Often.

  I'm talking to Kim. "Yeah he's here, you want to talk to him?" "No" she says which they can't hear but when I say "cool," after a short pause, they know.

  They know that she most likely said "No, I called to talk to you."

  This actually is pretty cool. Abby on her couch, in her condo, scrunched up against her married boyfriend, groping his thigh, drinking her chardonnay. And me, talking to my married girlfriend, my married already wet kissed girlfriend, sitting on my couch, in Abby's condo, drinking my, oh wait, Abby's chardonnay. And it was only Tuesday night.

  Abby is starting to repeat herself now, which is a sure sign she is way over her limit. I've been talking to Kim, telling her that I, too, enjoyed our date, using the word date, not dinner. That got Dewayne's attention but not Abby due to her condition.

  At this point, Abby says she has to get some sleep. I was on board with that because we had already come pretty far down the open marriage road for one night and there was no use pushing it. Abby was setting the pace here and that was fine by me. Dewayne looked disappointed, but what could he do? Abby got up, handed me her wine glass, like I was the fucking butler, which indeed I was. Then she leaned over and gave Dewayne a peck on the cheek, which was the equivalent of at least a blow job for any other woman, if you truly knew how little affection Abby has ever shown in public, at least when I was there to witness it. The little man was screaming, but I was tired and anxious to get to bed, so I told him to get back to me the next day, which he did.

  Dewayne leaves. Abby goes to bed. I go to bed. We spoon. It's cold out and the door is open. I'm grateful even though I know she is only using me for warmth.

  Chapter 56: The Weekend

  Abby needed some aspirin Wednesday morning and then not much happened the rest of the week. Friday night at cocktail hour we chit chatted and asked each other about what we were doing for the weekend and she said "riding." She didn't say riding with Dewayne because she wasn't in the sassy 'try and make me jealous' mode she had been in on Tuesday night.

  The little man did get back to me on Wednesday, by the way. He had been screaming to me about Abby's public display of affection when she was fondling Dewayne's thigh, very close to his crotch, and then the off the Richter scale kiss, which might have seemed like an innocent peck on the cheek to most people, but to me, knowing Abby for twenty four years, it was definitely, without doubt, a get down on her knees blow job, with a swallow, and a slurp for effect.

  So the little man was saying, and he may be right, since he often is, that maybe I really don't know Abby as well as I think that I do, which would be pretty damn awesome.

  Saturday arrived, and after her usual preparations, when Abby was ready to leave, she came over to kiss me goodbye, which she always does, and which I always appreciate, I noticed something different. It was perfume. Wait a minute. She never wears perfume for a bike ride. Are you kidding me? And then I remembered that her shower this morning was a pretty long one. I remember because I wanted to take one after my walk and I had to wait because even though we have two showers, she has the bigger one by the way, we only have one water heater.

  I've never figured out why she showers before she goes out and rides thirty or forty miles. Maybe now I have the answer.

  She left and I called Kim. Yeah, I know this was kind of bold and a little sneaky on my part, but what the hell. I was pretty sure Dewayne had already left since they were meeting, I thought, at a place where the pack usually meets, which is further from his house than our condo.

  Kim answered and seemed surprised to hear from me. I was hoping it was just surprise and that she wasn't annoyed. I asked her if Dewayne and Abby were riding, acting like Abby had not told me. Kim said yes they were riding and asked me what I was doing and I told her I was going to the grocery store. I didn't tell her that Abby had already given me her list, of things she wanted, since she does her own cooking and I do mine. I didn't want it to seem that Abby went out and played when I was shopping, which was indeed the case, at least on Saturday mornings, because that might look bad on my resume for Kim, so I didn't mention the list, and the fact that I shop for her every Saturday morning, hoping that it would seem like a casual run to the grocery store.

  Then I just had a thought that maybe Abby told Dewayne everything about our marriage, maybe even in a condescending way, including the fact that she sends me to the store while she rides, with him. Then, of course, I went further down than road and thought about what she tells him about the intimate details of our sexual life, and I thought that couldn't be much, since there wasn't much sexually, at least in my eyes, but realizing that in her eyes it was probably way, way too much.

  Kim asked me which grocery store and I told her and she said she'd meet me there in half an hour. That was pretty cool because she didn't ask if I could be there in half an hour or even if I'd like to meet her there at all. It was almost as if she was telling me to be there in half an hour, even though I was probably going to be there anyway, but I sure liked the fact that she told me to be there, which she did, kind of.

  I was starting to like this lady. She was spontaneous but it was more than that. I kept hearing the little man saying that she was using me or some such shit, but I know he's not always right, and even if he was right, in this case, I didn't mind being used, by Kim at least. Then I wondered how far she might take the 'using me' thing. All the way I hoped.

  I took a very quick shower. You never know. Then I got to the store, strategically, in exactly half an hour. I went to the movie rental box where I get movies for Abby and me on Saturdays or Sundays since the local movie theatre closed a while back and now we sit on our couches and watch the rented movies instead. It felt a little like cheating, being there, waiting for another woman, but that thought quickly disappeared as I saw Kim walk in, looking very hot.

  She came over to me and gave me a kiss, smack on the lips, right there in our local grocery store, in a small town I might add, and even though there was no tongue, it was still incredibly sexy and I felt like a cheater and that felt good, given the fact that my wife already was.

  She asked me what movie I was getting and I told her I usually got romantic comedies because that was what we both liked. She said she liked them too and I said, rather boldly I must say, that maybe we, meaning Kim and I, should watch one together sometime and she said, "When?" Holy shit, I thought, this woman is moving in the right direction and fast and suddenly I didn't give a shit what her reasons were. Use me all you want, I almost said out loud.

  I said that Abby has a class on Wednesday nights and Kim said "what time" and I said "six" and she said she'd be there at six fifteen.

  Was this really happening? Maybe she was like Lara. Maybe I had already gone insane and was dreaming up these lovely ladies and injecting them into my real life as real people even though they were imaginary. I reached out, on instinct, to touch her, and she looked at me, and I said that I had to make sure she was real, and she totally understood what I was saying, and she laughed and said, "you're going to find out how real I am," and then it was my turn and I said "when?."

  We walked around the store and she put a few things in my cart since she didn't have one herself and I thought that was cute, us sharing a shopping cart, and then I realized that I was very glad it was early because most of our friends are late sleepers and wouldn't be there to see us on a shopping date, and then I thought that I was going to have to get over this paranoid kind of thinking
real soon if indeed our marriages, plural, were going to open up and intertwine, not always in the bedroom.

  In the parking lot, after she had put her small bag of groceries in her car, she turned to me and gave me another one of her famous, by now at least, very wet kisses and told me she'd see me Wednesday, and I said "perfect," trying to imitate Abby's rendition of perfect, but I was too busy thinking about the kiss to get it anywhere close.

  When I got home, I unloaded the groceries, strategically placing all the items I bought for Abby in the specific place I always do, hoping to get at least a 'thanks', or maybe some deeper appreciation, but that's usually a waste of time, but I do it anyway. Except for the stuff that has to go in the refrigerator, and I try to place that in the front so she can see that there too.

  Abby got home a little later, running for the bathroom, as she usually does, after a long ride and then came out, saw the groceries, and said "thanks honey" which was nice and I was glad I went to the trouble, but then I felt a sudden, but very short lived, pang of guilt, thinking about that delicious kiss from Kim while I was supposed to be only shopping for Abby.

  I asked her how her ride was and she gave me the details, as she always does regarding miles, miles per hour, the route, how many wild animals she saw (this time it was a wild goat that some guy told her had been loose for at least a year), and things like that. I asked who rode and she said just Dewayne and I suddenly felt stupid for having that pang of guilt that I just had.

  She showered, for a longer time than usual, came out and got some lunch and then asked me what I had been doing, and I said grocery store, office, etc. etc. as I usually do, and then I told her I saw Kim at the store, leaving out the part about me calling her and her telling me to meet her there and the kiss. Oh, I also forgot to tell her about the upcoming date with Kim, at our condo, Wednesday night while she would be at class. It's terrible how forgetful I have been lately.

  Chapter 57: BBQ, or Taking a Break from Kim and Dewayne for a Bit

  Being as forgetful as I am, lately, about certain things, I can't remember if I told you how I like Saturday nights, but now I think that I have because I remember saying something about grilling, which brings up an important technical point, and that is the difference between grilling and barbecue.

  To be clear, down South, where we live, barbeque, BBQ for short, is only a noun. Barbecue is a word. Barbequing is not. BBQ is a product. It can be either pork or beef, and it has to be smoked, not grilled, which means that the meat is cooked slowly by the smoke and not by direct heat as in grilling. There is no such thing as barbecue chicken, which makes no sense since BBQ is noun. Chicken done on a grill is either grilled or smoked depending on how it is cooked.

  And the greatest bastardization of the English language, bar none, is when someone says they are going to barbecue hamburgers. You can grill hamburgers, but you can't barbeque them. In fact you cannot barbeque anything at all, because barbeque is a product, not a process. Please get yourself clear on this, if you aren't already. It is important. Very important if you ever plan on visiting or living in the South.

  I just had to put all that down about BBQ because when Abby and I go North and visit the relatives, we're always being invited over for barbecued chicken, which, of course, as I have made clear, I hope, is really grilled chicken with BBQ sauce applied to it, either during grilling, the best, or afterward which is also good, but not as.

  It's usually pretty easy for me to keep my mouth shut about the distinctions regarding the chicken for two reasons. Number one is that I appreciate being invited over because the food is good, despite what they call it, and it's fun to hang out with Abby's brothers and sisters and her mom, who is pretty cool for her age, and all of the cousins. They all like to drink and say fuck this and fuck that, even with the little kids around, as I told you before.

  The second reason I keep my mouth shut about the whole BBQ thing is that Abby thinks I'm pretty much of an oddball, which may be true, and she likes me to just talk about football or the stock market, or even politics. Talking about BBQ being only a noun, at least down South, makes me, in her eyes, a total idiot and probably makes her think she should have married a guy from the North would just talk about football, the stock market, or politics. Or better yet be married to a football player, a stock broker, or a politician, all of whom would no doubt make more money than I do.

  But when the relatives call and ask us to come over and we say 'sure what can we bring', they usually say 'some wine', which we already knew, but then they say the thing that drives me insane and I almost always have to correct them, when we get there, after we have eaten, even though I know Abby will hate it when I say it, but some things just can't go unchallenged.

  Are you ready for this? I'm having trouble even saying it because it's so egregious. They actually say, "it's going to be simple, were just going to barbecue some hamburgers."

  Holy shit.

  Haven't they learned by now, after twenty four years of me telling them, that you can't barbeque anything, much less hamburgers? I guess not. And in reality, I've probably only been telling them for about ten years, because it took me quite a while to get comfortable enough with her family to just join in the mayhem and say anything and everything that comes to mind, which kind of makes me wonder why Abby thinks I'm such an oddball or idiot when I do my BBQ diatribe, since everyone else is also saying oddball and idiotic things.

  But maybe that's because I don't understand totally, yet, even after twenty four years, the Northern culture, or at least her family's Northern culture and what types of 'anything goes' discussions are allowed at these gatherings.

  At least I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut about my time and super brain theories. And I have never mentioned to anyone in her family that I spent a good four years reading a lot of the Seth material, but I draw the line and hiding the Seth books when her family comes to the house. Not that they would probably notice them anyway because they are usually on the porch drinking wine and besides, before they come over, Abby makes a point of cleaning things up which includes moving any offending material. And offending means anything that I might be reading.

  This sure has turned into a long discussion about BBQ and grilling and chicken and hamburgers, but it does help paint at least a partial picture of Abby's family, all of whom I like a lot, and that's important in painting the true and whole picture of Abby, which, of course, I'm trying to do because she is not only my wife and a beautiful person, she is also complex and that complexity makes her even more beautiful and to understand the complexity, as much as anyone can, leads to a better appreciation of how beautiful she actually is.

  I guess I should have made at least one chapter break in all of this, but it all seems to be related and there didn't seem to be a real clear place to break it. That being said let me move away from BBQ, for good, I hear you cry, and move on to Abby's family and the intimidation factor and how I overcame it and why I think that her family's dynamic is healthy, mentally, generally, even given the outward appearance of chaos and total mayhem. OK, finally a chapter break.

  Chapter 58: Abby's Family

  I kind of like the way this discussion is flowing and the way it seems to have a mind of its own. I'm the one typing the keys, but I don't seem to be doing any thinking in the whole process.

  So anyway, as I said, Abby has a large family with lots of sisters and brothers, and her mother is still alive but not her dad. When we first met, twenty five years ago, at a summer resort in the Northeast, where she was a waitress and I was a wine steward, she kind of tried to warn me about them, when, I guess, she realized that our summer romance might just be a little more long lasting, which turned out to be a good guess.

  I was probably too busy paying attention to her to hear her warnings, and that was probably a good thing, because I didn't have to dread meeting them. Now don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing amiss with her family. It's just that they are like a group of drunken sailors in port after a y
ear at sea, on occasion. Many occasions. Most occasions.

  Maybe it's just the difference between the South and the North. Down South we just kind of dance around issues and don't say bad things about other people, except under our breath. Up North, they just blurt it all out, and the language is, shall we say, uncensored.

  Coming from the South and being plopped right in the middle of this, on Thanksgiving, before we were married, was, to say the very least, a shock. But thank god they are generous with the booze, so I just started drinking and it all got better. Very quickly.

  One aside here is that now I always make a lot of mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving because, on that first visit, at Thanksgiving, I happened to be the unlucky person who was to the left of the mashed potato bowl, which got passed to the right, and by the time it got to me, it was so totally empty, it looked clean.

  Now, I have to tell you that of all the holidays we have, I love Thanksgiving the best, well almost the best, and the reason is the mashed potatoes served with the dinner. Having a Thanksgiving dinner without mashed potatoes is on the same plane as having BBQ without sauce. I know I promised not to talk about BBQ any more, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of a better analogy.

  After the trauma of the dinner with no mashed potatoes, which still haunts me today, after a quarter of a century, I shit you not, things got better as we all drank more.

  I soon learned that the key to being around Abby's family was to just drink a lot and say whatever you thought, which was hard at times, not because of any intimidation factor, but rather because there were so many of them trying to say what they thought, and it was hard to get a break in the conversation long enough to say something.