I'm George, mwm, 52

by George Everyman

  Just an aside, but during those hero worshiping days and weeks, our cocktail hour ballooned from the minimum fifteen minutes that we mutually agreed on a long time ago to almost one half hour, simply because that much time was needed to get all of Abby's gushing and lust for the hero out.

  My going along with the hero worship mode was working. Working very well indeed. I'd morphed from barely being able to tolerate it, when the bitch talked about biking and her biking friends and the hero from the tri, to actually stoking the fires of Abby's infatuations. I was kind of proud of myself for figuring this whole thing out. And when I just called her a bitch, that was a playful use of the term. She is a bitch, but not a bad bitch. There is a difference. At least in my mind.

  So Abby went on and on and on about how proud she was of Dewayne and how great he did, I just smiled and asked those few questions that kept her lubricated, so to speak, in her praise of him. Dewayne, that is. My rival. Sort of. Her lover. Definitely.

  Since I was married to Abby and not earth mother, I was learning that I needed to morph and save the world on my own time and hero worship with Abby, or at least participate in the hero worship, by simply listening, nodding on occasion, and better yet, asking strategic questions, even though I knew the answers because they had been asked, strategically, by me, many times before, but of course Abby with her strategic memory had forgotten I had asked them, or more likely didn't give a shit because answering them was vibrating a certain part of her anatomy internally. And since I was in the default mode of being the available licker, to keep Abby vibrating down there was in my best interests.

  Which brings us to the conclusion, and hopefully a meaningful gestalt, of this chapter, with the very obvious observation and conclusion that if you are married and your spouse is not particularly amorous toward you, but is amorous toward another person, it would be in your best interests to stoke the fires of that passion, tossing aside any jealousy, because, you as the default fuck, will most likely get laid, or be allowed to lick, significantly more often if your spouse is being made wet by anyone. So throw away any remaining dignity you may have left, and jump into the game and play it well and thank the extraneous lover for the part he or she plays in your happiness.

  Chapter 63: The Bike, and Money in General

  I've read that after sex and in-laws, money is the third reason for most disagreements in a marriage, and I'd have to say that is about right for us too.

  In our marriage, it works like this. My salary goes to pay all of our expenses and Abby gets to use her money for things she wants to spend it on. Of course, I'm being overly simplistic, but that's pretty close. When I was making about three times what I am making now, that was fine, but now Abby is making more than me, and it's not quite as fine.

  I sometimes think a lot of my angst about Abby and perhaps my feeling that she doesn't give me as much respect as I seem to crave, started about the time my salary started going south. It's long and complicated but probably mirrors a lot of people's stories about innovation and changing job markets, but suffice it to say that I didn't make all the best career choices or investment decisions. But does anyone? Shit, if I knew then what I know now, Warren Buffett would be working for me. In my defense, I have paid all of the expenses over the years, have never been unemployed, and our standard of living is quite comfortable.

  Fast backward to about three weeks ago, at cocktail hour, when Abby said she was intimidated by Edith, which she often says, because Edith is a super woman on the bike. Also Edith has a new custom made bike, and Abby is probably jealous. So Abby announced that at some point she was going to treat herself, once in her lifetime she said, to a custom made bike. I kind of filed that away in my mind due mainly to the 'at some point' which I assumed might be ten years, when presumably we had more money, or perhaps one of my long shot investments awoke from the dead.

  I also thought a custom made bike would cost a little more that an off the shelf bike, which by the way, in case you aren't aware, is hardly 'off the shelf' in reality.

  I thought I needed to try and get comfortable with a ball park number on the cost so I asked Abby. Not how much her new, in the future, far into the future I am hoping, bike would cost, because asking Abby what any fucking thing cost that she paid for is an absolute no-no since it is her money, keeping in mind that all of my money goes to boring and trivial things like mortgages, insurance, taxes, cars, braces, tuition, and minor things like that. So instead I asked strategically how much Edith paid for her bike, saying something like "was it about two thousand?" hoping it was, even though I am appalled that bikes could possibly cost that much because you can get a decent used car that will run for years, with minor upkeep, for that much money.

  When I heard, "oh no," from her with that well known, by me, inflection, with the h and the o at end of each word going on and on and on for about then seconds each, meaning, of course, that I was so ridiculously low as to be stupid, I knew I was fucked, even though, in Abby's convoluted, to me, logic, it was her fucking money anyway, not mine.

  Long story short, the motherfucker will cost at least five thousand dollars, of Abby's money, and I better not react to that even in any slight way like raising an eyebrow a tenth of a millimeter, or the sex life that I thought was paltry before, will seem like heaven in retrospect.

  So back to money and fights and disagreements about it. I'll just make a suggestion to couples based on a lot of years of disagreements and angst in general and say this in all sincerity. Integrate your money at the beginning and don't think of it as yours versus theirs. You are getting married to hopefully spend a lifetime together and that's going to take a huge amount of compromise and negotiation.

  And the good news is, and I'm speaking to the men here, as you get older, the need for toys diminishes; at least it seems to based on my experience and the experience of my friends. My few friends. And if you are fair in looking at the totality of the situation, you will probably find that your wife spends her money, and I know I'm contradicting myself now but you know what I'm saying, on things for the home and the kids, and sometimes you, and you should try and derive the same or greater pleasure observing her spending that money, as you did when you were spending it on you and your toys.

  So grow up, suck it up, realize you have no choice, and don't argue about something that is just going to take a lot of energy, make you miserable in the process, and leave you frustrated because there is nothing you can do about it anyway.

  Chapter 64: An Obvious Irony

  It's hard for me to overlook ironies. I'm not sure why. I'm not sure I want to know why. It's just that they are there. In your face. Waiting for you to discover them. And then to reveal them, at first to yourself, and then maybe to others, if anyone wants to hear about them, which in my case at least, is not very many people, if at all.

  The obvious irony here, although not by far the only one, is that Abby, in deciding to fuck at least one other man, has opened up a closed marriage that was probably stagnating in certain respects, probably in many respects, even though she, i.e. Abby, is the one who was, or thought she was, in favor of traditional marriages.

  The other obvious irony intertwined in this whole play, or at least it seems like a play at times, that I'm living in, is that I am tremendously jealous that Dewayne is fucking my wife, with no doubt a bigger dick, and she is enjoying it, i.e. the fucking, and the bigger dick, much more and probably more often with him than with me, and the jealousy is acting as a tremendous stimulant to me.

  As I said previously, my very thorough and astute analysis led me to the conclusion that jealousy has two sides and once you climb the difficult mountain of jealousy and reach the top and descend down the other sweet side and see the beauty there, you know that shooting or strangling the wife and/or the lover is not only a bad idea because it gives you the exact opposite of what you want, i.e. they are dead so you can't have them, not to mention that you are in jail, you know that you are missing out on one of lust's greatest mom
ents. If that's not an irony, i.e. seeing, or at least hearing about, the one you love get fucked by someone else and loving it, then ironies don't exist.

  Chapter 65: Gay Marriage

  A digression here about gay marriage. Abby is for it. Enthusiastically for it. Adamantly for it. Over the top for it. This became obvious to me about a year ago or maybe it was two years ago when the debate was raging in our state. Raging is too strong a word, actually, because we are a conservative Southern state. Being discussed is more like it. And it was actually raging in a lot of other more progressive states. I know I shouldn't have used the word progressive because it implies that our state isn't, but if I'm going to make a point, which I want to do, about social progress, and if I truly believe that tolerance, of all kinds, is progressive, then I have to use it.

  Abby and I never really talked about homosexuality, except to the extent that we did in sharing fantasies regarding each other with the same gender in a sexual mode, which seems, from my reading but not actual experience, to be a universal aphrodisiac.

  She admitted that she would like to see a man do me, two ways, which are pretty obvious, and I of course, told her that I'd like to see a lot of doing between her and another woman or multiples of women, or men.

  Back to the Abby's strong support of gay marriage and my surprise at hearing about it. I'm not sure how it came up, but when it did, probably from watching the news together and seeing something about it there, it was clear that she wanted to proclaim, to all who would hear, that she is totally, absolutely, without a doubt in favor of it and it's normal and natural and everyone who thinks otherwise should be shot.

  She says that a lot about people being shot. She's not serious of course.

  I'm still curious why she is so adamant about it, but I like the fact that she is. Maybe she's channeling all of her 'out of the box' ideas and thoughts into one area, where they can be expressed in a way that is not out of the box. Gay marriage has become a legitimate debate and being for it in no way, in most circles, paints anyone as being much of a rebel at all. Open marriage, which she is involved in, but not in favor of, as we know, is still pretty much of a fringe culture, and opening up to someone about it, especially telling them she is practicing it, would be something Abby just can't, at this point, do or even contemplate doing, even though, ironically she is doing it, with Dewayne.

  Chapter 66: An Admission

  This is difficult and a little bit embarrassing, so let me lead into it slowly, for my sake.

  On a daily basis, I'm a pretty normal person. Normal in the sense that I don't go around talking about my wife fucking other men. Sure, I go around thinking and fantasizing about it, but I don't just go up to friends or even random strangers and say "hey, would you like to hear about my wife's boyfriends?"

  So when I'm disclosing all of this information here, it's ok because no one is watching me or listening to me, at least right now, here, as I type this. What happens later is not my concern, I hope.

  The problem arises in switching my mind from the fantasy mode to the reality mode, and I don't mean the reality mode as in telling strangers or friends on the street, I mean instead the reality mode of typing, here, now. I know this may not be making a lot of sense.

  It's kind of like getting into the mood of doing something. Warming up. Focusing. Shifting gears. I'm searching for the right analogy but it's not coming to me so I'm going to take a walk and see it that helps. By the way, speaking of walking, I did my two hour, six mile walk this morning, as usual.

  Back from walking. It's really beautiful out. I love the fall. Cold nights and cool sunny days.

  Back to the problem. The problem of having two different mind sets and switching between them. When I sit down to type all of this that I'm typing, a lot of things are going through my mind. Once I get going, the thinking mind just basically shuts down and something else takes over. I'm not sure what is happening, but since I'm on a need to know basis, it doesn't matter. I'm just sort of watching the keys, since I cheated when I was in high school taking typing and looked at the keys, so now, probably for the rest of my life, I'm doomed to have to look at the keys instead of knowing instinctively where they are, which I would be able to do if I hadn't been a cheater. Lesson learned, too late. Don't cheat. At least in typing class.

  If you're seeing a lot of extraneous stuff before I get to the meat of the issues, it's probably the shifting of mindset mechanism going on. Getting warmed up for the important dialogue. Maybe it's akin to the prep work in a kitchen before you get started cooking. Not much fun but necessary.

  Then once this energy starts flowing, the angst starts flowing out. If I had to choose one word to describe my life with Abby, I'd have to choose angst. The angst of the middle aged man.

  I went to the online dictionary for a definition and here it is and it fits pretty well: 'Angst: often confused with anxiety, is a transcendent emotion in that it combines the unbearable anguish of life with the hopes of overcoming this seemingly impossible situation. Without the important element of hope, then the emotion is anxiety, not angst.'

  That makes me feel better, and I'm glad that I have angst and not anxiety. The key is the hope. The hope, maybe, that one day Abby will understand me and respect me and fuck me more. Dream on, George.

  Now something has happened and the ice is broken and I have shifted to my secret mode that I normally don't let out of the bag, except when I'm drunk, like that time I asked the perfect stranger if she wanted to have anal sex.

  So you see the problem and the dilemma, hopefully, i.e. having an inner, secret, fantasy world and a normal boring exterior mindset that I, and most likely most people, present to the public, and switching between the two.

  I feel this chapter was pretty much a waste and is about as shitty as I have done so far, but at least it got me warmed up and now I'm on a roll and the three fingers that I use typing are working overtime, as I cheat and look at the keyboard, and the energy is flowing and I'm dying to talk to anyone, anyone who will listen about my beautiful wife Abby and her sexual exploits, even if they don't involve me. Well truly, 'even' if is the wrong word. Substitute especially for even.

  Chapter 67: Juices Are Flowing

  I guess the shitty chapter served the purpose and getting the juices, creative and sexual, flowing. Wouldn't it be great if there was no bifurcation of the brain and that the creative and sexual energies were right there, near the surface, ready to come out at a moment's notice, or even on the surface instead of being buried under layers of guilt and shame and societally imposed restrictions?

  But, alas, I'm a victim of my society and times, and I'm apparently not evolved enough or smart enough to have moved to a place where I can just start typing about Abby doing other men, without first warming up with a lot of extraneous and superfluous bullshit.

  Now that I'm in the mode, so to speak, let me tell you about Abby's date. Date is really not the right word due he didn't come calling, as they say down here. They met at a local bar. Dewayne was still riding the hero's bandwagon, and Abby was the main cheerleader. Kim was, I was pretty sure, about as sick of this crap as I was, so she didn't want to go to the bar, as I found out from Abby, later. Abby didn't use the term 'sick of this crap' because to her, it wasn't crap at all. She merely said that Kim wasn't there, when we talked about the date, the next day, and of course, she didn't call it a date, even though Dewayne texted her to come, needing some more cheerleading no doubt.

  Remember Edith? The lady who I got into somewhat of a pissing contest over her joking about chopping off a man's dick. Well I never pegged her as really my friend, and maybe I'm misinterpreting what she did as a friendly act, but for lack of other obvious reasons, that is just what I did, i.e. think of it as a friendly act, when she emailed me this the day after the date, "Mark, I feel kind of uncomfortable sending this to you, but I think you should know that Dewayne and Abby were acting toward each other in a manner that suggested something is going on between them." Duh, I thought.<
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  But I kind of appreciated the friendly gesture, if indeed it was friendly, and at that point, I couldn't think of any other reason. Remember that her husband cheated on her and she kicked his ass to the curb, and I've always felt that was a mistake due they had a lot in common and she could have, more creatively, used that stray fuck on his part as a means of opening their marriage and they both could have lived happily ever after, so to speak. But kick she did, and now I'm hoping she doesn't end up like a lot of other ladies, and men perhaps, i.e. old and bitter and lonely.

  I started thinking that maybe her email was simply a means of commiserating with a fellow victim of a cheating spouse, her not knowing, at this point at least, that I liked the cheating. Then I thought that maybe Abby had done something mean to her in the past and this was simple revenge. Or maybe Dewayne had refused her overtures, she being lonely and prone to overtures, and this was the best way to fuck him, since he wouldn't fuck her. Finally, I even entertained the notion, or better yet, fantasy that she wanted to fuck me and this was the way to open a dialog and then she would offer herself to me as z revenge fuck to avenge the cheating whore-bitch Abby's meanness to her, in the past.

  A choice had to be made as to whether I would try to bring Edith on board or not about my mind set regarding the deliciousness of having my wife do other men, knowing full well that she rejected the opportunity to open her own marriage, when she had the chance, and her deep rooted bitter feelings and emotions could burst to the surface like a volcano, and who knows what havoc that would reap.