Why I Cheat - Tim Patten

WHY I CHEAT Men, Marriage, and Cheating The Official Hook-up Guide for Men By Tim Patten WARNING BIASED M ATERIAL WILL OFFEND SOM E READERS

iUniverse LLC Bloomington

WHY I CHEAT Men, Marriage, and Cheating Copyright © 2014 Tim Patten. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting: iUniverse LLC 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.iuniverse.com 1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677) Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock. ISBN: 978-1-4917-2449-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4917-2451-4 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4917-2450-7 (e) Library of Congress Control Number: 2014903020

iUniverse rev. date: 02/19/2014

Contents Introduction Disclaimer 1: Why I Cheat 2: Shelly’s Love Dream 3: Painful Love 4: I Am Committed 5; Brotherhood Code Destroyed 6: A Man in Love 7: Facebook Secrets 8: Shame on You 9: I Want a Family 10: Monogamy Sucks 11: Lady Derringer’s Sex Epilogue The Full Manifesto of the Dominant Male Footnote References

Introduction Why invite tidal waves of pernicious misandry by writing a book portraying women as jealous, bitchy, and abusive while glorifying cheating? There are reasons beyond the fact that most women will nag her man an estimated 1,298 continuous hours each year! i So, I’ve written this book first, because I want to help my fellow men and women, and second, to demonstrate how marriage and monogamy won’t kill you—but will force you to stop living and will murder man’s libido ii Fourteen years ago, my best friend John went on a date, resulting in an accidental pregnancy; similar to Lisa and Craig Johnson’s story in Chapter 9. John’s shotgun marriage forced him into excommunication from life, friends, hobbies, and from his own happiness. I watched John transform from a fun-loving man with dreams to a shell of a man as he withstood the hen-pecking of his wife. Her complaints left him defeated and unhappy. His life is now a friendless dungeon of solitude; he works endlessly for her and is never allowed out on his own. Today, John is miserable, he hates his life, and he hates his wife. Unlike Russell Carlson in Chapter 1 who chases endless adventures of adultery, John is faithful, yet his wife commits verbal and psychological abuses at every turn. She has strangled his spirit, crushed his mind, and assassinated his soul. His “loving wife” has killed his passion and rendered him broken. I’ve written this book as a way to help John, in hopes that his life might improve, and so nobody else is doomed to this mistreatment and suffering. These pages will aim to show the damage that many women inflict with their manipulative jealousy and verbal abuse, placing men in untenable positions, especially when faced with unpleasant prospects of alimony and child support payments. For example, in Chapter 4, Gary Perkin’s response to marriage commitment is inspiring for all of us. In Chapter 5, Frank and Bill’s experience shows us about brotherly bonds. They discover that the number ‘two’ reason men leave their women is their never-ending complaining and bitching, all ending with Frank’s encounter with the legal system. Please God, deliver men from this torture. Whether you’re a great guy, like John, or an average Joe, this feline-terror happens to millions. Many women strip men of the will to live. However, you will note in Chapter 6, that Dennis Wakeland’s beautiful girlfriend, Joan gave his heart wings and we thrill as we watch his flight of love. Perhaps man is not meant to focus his attention on one woman for his entire life. After you read this, you decide. Enjoy delving into monogamy with Tom Peterson and Shirley in Chapter 10, and you will meet Cecilia Barns in Chapter 11 and see how her demonic personality delivers a disastrous outcome for poor Roy.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I realize women are people, too, and likewise, many of them are abused by men. But, for the sake of this book, remember it is a biased view: not all women are like this. Though I am hardly a misogynist, I know most women’s jealousy and her emotional abuse will create potent munitions, and this is the book that brings these problems out into the light. There once was a book about a couple of planets—Mars and Venus, I think, and in a way, this is my version. Some call it infidelity, cheating, or creeping. Call it what you will. When it is misunderstood, it is toxic and emasculating. It becomes a poison that imprisons and kills men who convert into victims’ that self-hate, they self-harm, and they self-destruct. No matter the cheater’s reason, infidelity is nothing new, and it is not stopping any time soon, even as men pay the high price of jealous female rages like those in Chapter 2 when Shelly Payne’s husband suffers a fury of religious proportions! Throughout time, marriage has been romanticized into fabled proportions. You’ll find Chapter 7 interesting when you read how Allen Dobson discovers an alternative marriage. From most female’s perspective, marriage might be a good play. Wives usually keep up the false pretenses that all is excellent at home, and if not, she’ll make it perfect. How? She will put two faces on. She will shame, lie, trick or blackmail. You’ll see all of this in Chapter 8 in Bob Kelly’s inside Story. Relationships, as most women see it, are unions where the women obtains’ what they want. Men agonize over the costs and burdens required to make their women happy, but the women thrive while the men’s raison d’être is relegated to gratifying themself pushing men’s needs to secondary position and male enslavement prevails. That is, unless the woman is the sole provider. Today in the U.S., one man is killed each day, murdered by his “loving” girlfriend. You will explore this further in Chapter 3, Jeff Anderson’s Story. My intention is to shine a beacon of light into the relationship blackness for men who have been badgered and destroyed. I want to remove the mystery-of-women for men. Men and women can be liberated from abusive behaviors, yet are presently unable to separate from this obsession with monogamy due to jealousy. Auto-determination is the light at the end of the tunnel, each of us should never strive to own another person’s body. Rather, we should strive for self-ownership. Inside are solutions. Here’s to freedom!

Disclaimer This book doesn’t claim to understand all people. Men and women can be totally rational, and in real life, there exists many sides of a person’s character. These stories focus on a bias. The official hook-up guide for men is full of footnote referenced facts making it an easy to use selfhelp guide. The eleven stories are grounded in real events, living people and situations inspired them. The characters motivated from actual people have been fictionalized in order to protect their true identities. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents have been changed in order to guard people’s private lives. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. ∞∞∞

Chapter 1 Why I Cheat Russell Carson enjoyed being a very small man with big thoughts. Great thoughts, even. He understood that women preferred men with big dicks. He functioned with a powerful mental-will bundled into his diminutive, fair-skinned body, and, despite his size, he tackled one of the most fundamental and complex behavioral paradigms of the human experience. His endeavor consisted of understanding, and in turn explaining, to others—starting with his wife—the nature of man’s sexuality and lust. His eyes were weakened from years of poring over texts in the library, yet Russell’s goal was to unravel the epistemology of desire. He hoped and prayed that he would logically and scientifically be able to explain his sex urges to his wife, Beth, if he could just summon the bravery to approach the topic. For three years, he plotted his weekly biorhythms against the phases of the moon and his inner urges; making notes, he calendared, charted, documented, and deduced his findings. Every day, he feverishly dwelt upon this matter, even while working at his job at the US Census Bureau, San Antonio branch, analyzing data on his computer. Einstein once said if you can’t explain something simply and clearly, it means you don’t understand it well enough. Before presenting his findings to his wife, and afterwards to the world, Russell made sure he identified the root of the problem and analyzed it thoroughly. As a qualified mechanical engineer with a firm grasp on statistics, he foresaw his wife’s reaction to his truthful announcement. “Russell, you’re a no good, mother-fucking bastard. You’ll never amount to anything.” “Gee, Beth, it’s just a theory,” he would sheepishly go back to his research. Russell’s limbs tingled knowing the day would come when he’d explain his actions. His heart pounded at the thought of dragging the full realness out and exposing it. Perhaps a man who didn’t love his wife felt no qualms about lying to her, but such an act taxed Russell deeply. He over-thought about his secrets and hunted to release these dark and hidden ghosts out into the open air. Until he seized the courage to confront this problem, he’d camouflage and disguise his true nature from Beth. “How on earth are you ever going to explain, in terms of chemistry and physics, such an important biological phenomenon as lust?” The all-knowing Albert Einstein asked. And here Russell wrestled, trying to find an explanation.

Russell contemplated: True, Einstein pondered more about love than lust, but where is the line between those two? If this confused Einstein, no wonder it confused women. Did Einstein, like me, keep these truths for himself? Did his great mind withhold the truth? Love is difficult to define. How do you avoid confusing it with infatuation or lust? Philosophers and poets have attempted to discover what love is for years. From Corinthians to the Beatles, everyone has had a theory. Is love really all you need? Wondered Russell, What verb is used more often and less accurately? Is the love of “I love sushi” the same as “I love God?” What part of one’s body is involved during lovemaking—heart or dick? When we refer to the prowess of the Latin Lover, do we praise his ability to serenade and recite poetry, or do we admire the passion and stamina he brings to a sweaty fuck-fest? Love is giving someone the power to break your heart, but trusting them not to break it. Love is never having to say you’re sorry. Oh, really? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Really? In short, the word “love” is the number one condiment of the English vocabulary; it’s the sauce you can splash on any dish. Russell, while sleeping, had a recurring dream with his current lover. “I love you, Russell.” His girl’s body went limp, her mind wandering. “I love you, too.” Russell’s eyes surveyed the ceiling. “And I love that you tell me about all the other women you fuck.” She touched his leg, her fingers walking up his thigh and spurring his member to prick up. “Want to hear more?” He placed both hands on his chest. “Tell me about fucking in the back of that abandoned car. That turns me on.” She leaned into him, her hand cupping his manhood, her lips pressing against his hands. As soon as the sex grew to an almost explosive size, the dream stopped. Russell often woke with warm fuzzy sex-memories of the dream. He enjoyed these visits immensely. It had been three years since Russell and Beth Carlson had tied the “proverbial knot” and begun their marriage. Beth’s olive skin and willowy body, combined with her high-octane personality, so full of spunk and energy when she scurried around as a youngster that her mother nick-named her “Spitfire,” encapsulating everything Russell adored. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her unhappy: he couldn’t stand causing pain, and yet, could he stay mentally healthy by keeping his secret about his real self, thrashing inside his brain?

Russell hated his short and scruffy appearance, which always made a bad first impression on women. His physical looks ill-suited to play the Knight in White Armor; he resorted to the Joker role, and did everything in his power to make women laugh. Russell developed a thick skin to shield him from the pain of the many rejections he encountered, but his small, gaunt frame always bothered him. He looked more like a fourteen-year-old immature or ill boy than a fully-developed adult. At his office in the Transit Tower Building, Russell settled himself in front of a computer all day with legs crossed, twisted like a pretzel, and over years, he developed a small humpback. To add insult to injury, Mother Nature, that heartless bitch, saw fit to afflict him with a skin condition of blotched white pasty patches. He covered his skin with a high turtleneck and long sleeves. And it is Russell, the blotchy-skinned Hunchback of Notre Dame de San Antonio, who bravely decided to take a stand for all men by saying the untold truth. Perhaps because Russell felt like a real loner, an outsider, that his loneliness necessitated a calling out, to be understood, to have his inner struggle acknowledged. His loss, when it came to genetics and social skills, would be all of man’s gain. One thing Russell did have, which so many of his male counterparts lacked, was spirit. And with this spirit, he had enough hope to take action; an action some might call gallantry. Russell thought back to before his marriage; despite his skin condition and scrawny body, he had joined a gym in his adopted hometown of San Antonio. It wasn’t easy because conservative Texan men looked down on him with suspicion. Was he really one of them? They decided not. At the gym, they mocked and bullied him mercilessly; in the shower and the weight room, they teased him and called him an oddball. There was only so much taunting a man could take, and so, in desperation, Russell enrolled in a private yoga class. He knew the rednecks would never be caught dead there. It didn’t hurt that the Art of Yoga was taught by a slender, svelte beauty named Beth Waymen. For months, he talked with Beth and made jokes about the evocative yoga positions. He spoke in subtle ways; he didn’t want to offend anyone. He caused enough mischief to get smiles from Beth, and with time, he turned her smiles to giggles and her giggles to laughter, and, after months of relentless but casual flirting, he mustered up enough courage to ask her out for coffee, and she said yes. That sunny day, they sat outside on a terrace and ordered frozen lattes. “I love the yoga classes.” He placed a hand to his forehead like a salute. “It’s good for the body.” Beth looked him up and down. “Maybe it would be safer for me if we sit inside.” Russell motioned his hand toward the door. “How so?” she asked. Beth wore her sundress like only a yoga instructor could; her olive body appeared tanned and flawless. Russell concluded that the sundress was a very lucky dress indeed.

“Well, Beth… er… a, can I call you Beth?” She nodded, shooting Russell a look. “You’ve called me Beth since we met.” “Oh, yeah… right. Well, Beth, if your boyfriend sees us together, he might get the wrong idea.” He scrunched his face into a squirrely, scared look. She smiled. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the wrong idea.” She winked at Russell—a wink with such subtlety he felt he may have imagined it. “You’re assuming I have a boyfriend.” “Well, do you?” Russell’s cheeks got hot, and he couldn’t tell whether it came from embarrassment or pleasure. “Men around here are not… what’s the word I’m looking for… mmm… well, they strut around like John Wayne, and I’m more of a Woody Allen kind of gal.” Russell restrained himself, and did not jump up and down clapping his hands; for once, looking like a nerdy Hobbit played in his favor. Beth explained that she was originally from San Francisco, which was much more sophisticated. “Men and women there understand each other. Men in San Antonio still think it’s the Wild Southwest and women should be treated like cattle and ridden like horses.” “How did you wind up here?” He pulled his shirt sleeves nervously down to his wrists, first one, then the other, tugging as far as the sleeve would pull to cover his embarrassing skin splotches. It was a nervous habit of his. “Air Force.” She took a long, slow sip of her drink, and crossed her legs. “I served three years as Uncle Sam’s physical trainer; I was good at it, too, and moved up to Staff Sergeant. Then,” she faltered, and glanced around the cityscape surrounding them, as if awaiting interruption. “Then, well, my fiancé was killed in Iraq. He was a grunt, an Army foot soldier.” A shadow passed over her eyes. Russell sighed and nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, it’s all right. So, I was discharged here and landed this job right off.” She waved her petite hands in front of her. “I’m not ready for San Francisco again yet—too many early screwed up romance memories.” Russell had been single for years, and had avoided getting close to anyone, although he had had plenty of sex. He could tell that Beth liked him. She enjoyed his conversation, and he made her laugh, which she had not done in a long time. She paused to look him in the eye. Russell was always unsure about girls’ signals, and worried he might misinterpret them. He always stood careful not to cross a line, and, without a word, he laid his

hand on the table, midway between them. She smiled understandingly and covered his hand with hers. Her yoga studio was attached to a gym in the basement of the Transit Tower on the southern edge of downtown, not too far from the historic King William District with its huge, lovely trees and fabulous old homes. His Census Bureau offices were on the 25th floor of the same building. Geographic proximity helped them become closer. Midday coffees became date nights, which became overnight excursions. Their friendship blossomed in a short time, and both of them were caught unawares by how strongly they felt for one another. It wasn’t long before Russell popped the question. “What did you say?” “Will you marry me?” He nervously tugged his sleeves down, first one, then the other. “Sure, I love you, Russ. Do you love me?” “No, I’m planning on murdering you, but I can’t collect the insurance unless we’re hitched.” He giggled nervously. Beth laughed and punched Russell lightly in the chest. “No, but really, Beth, I’ve fallen in love with you. You’re more important to me than anything else in the world.” On their honeymoon in nearby Kerrville, they visited the Hill Country Museum downtown, and paddled a canoe down the Guadalupe River. It was here that Russell first attempted to breach his secret belief about lust, to which he thought she might slap him and yell, “We are done!” He locked the hush-hush conversation inside his head again. The honeymoon wasn’t an appropriate time to disclose to the woman he loved about his philandering wanderings. He wondered if Einstein kept impetuous desires to himself. He felt it was safer to hold onto his secret for the time being. He started to write out these secrets: For years, masculinity has been under attack. The attack is by women against men. It is cloaked in subterfuge—man’s masculinity is attacked by way of women refusing to acknowledge it. If you tell her, or if she finds out about this male truth, she will bitch. She will yell, scream, slap, push, and hit you! She will meet you at the door every night sniffing for the scent of a woman. She will call you one hundred times a day. She will nag at you daily and make your life a living hell! It is a fact your girl will hound you so much you’ll want to make her a domestic abuse statistic! The good news is fighting back would be easy, and today a simple tactic can reverse the tides of masculinity-shaming. Women must stop and understand. The bad news is men’s instincts have become so vilified that the simplest measures to preserve them will come under unfettered,

unkind scrutiny. All men fear the violent and bombastic rages from their girls. Think of that—if a man wants to be a man, simply by having the one desire, he will encounter fierce opposition and make quick enemies. Women are not as angry with their man as they are jealous of other women. Women hate other women in their men’s lives in any way. Women’s jealousy is the killer. ∞∞∞∞ Russell printed his musings and truths about men, read it over and over, and grew angry and frustrated with each read. No, this isn’t it! God, it sounds like I hate women! I don’t hate women. I love them, and I love my wife. He crumpled the paper up and slammed it in the waste basket; he then deleted the document from his computer. I’ve got to go deeper! It’s not an intellectual explanation. I need to use the results from my threeyear experiment, charting and measuring, and go further than ever before. This is more than mental games on this subject—there is something raw and real that I have to get out! ∞∞∞∞ On the night of their third anniversary, Russell treated Beth to her favorite Italian restaurant, where they drank two bottles of Chianti, and then enjoyed a boat ride on the San Antonio River. Romantic gestures were not his forte, but that night, he pulled it off. Awkward and self-conscious about his appearance, he tried to fake his confidence. As a youngster, Russell remembered people thinking his skin condition might be contagious, and they recoiled away from him to avoid contact, making him wary of social situations. As a defense mechanism, he developed a sort of humorous bravado that women found intriguing. Here, with Beth, he didn’t need any defense mechanisms—she loved him and his patchy skin. She would kiss them in the dark after nights of passion, her fingers trailing invisible lines down his back as they lay in bed. At night, as they lay side by side on the rose petals he had strewn on the carpet in the warm glow of many scented candles, Beth took him by surprise. From out of nowhere, with the suddenness of a Texas “Blue Norther,” she blurted out something that Russell thought was a silly question for an anniversary evening. “Are you happy these days?” Her lips pursed in apprehension. Russell thought for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t so silly. He hugged her tight. “I’m happy with you and my job, hon. I don’t want to change a thing.” He gave a half laugh. “I wish my skin wasn’t so pasty though, so splotchy. I don’t know how you can stand me sometimes.” He pulled on his sleeves as he always did when he thought of his condition. Beth playfully slapped his chest. “Oh, stop it. I do love you. I’m downright captivated by you, partner,” she moved to get closer to him.

Tonight, Russell knew she drank a little too much wine at dinner, and whenever she did, she typically became more outspoken; her mother’s little “Spitfire.” He would keep his secret to himself… for now. “You know, Russ,” Beth said, “I love you more than anyone else on this planet.” Russell sensed what was coming next: “Where’s the but?” He fumbled with her hair. “The but?” He laughed. “The but, Beth, the but. I love you buuuut . . .” he repeated. “But your dandruff, honey, it’s all over the place. When you shake your head, it looks like a snow globe. You know the ones you shake and there’s snow floating everywhere.” She waved a hand in the air like fanning dandruff. “I’ll take care of it tonight when I shower.” He raked his hair with flighty hand movements, scratching the top of his head, generating even more dandruff. “Thanks for letting me know.” “There’s something else bothering me,” she segued. “I have an odd feeling inside I don’t like very much. Is there something you’re not telling me?” “Actually, there is. It’s something I’ve been working on for a long time,” he gazed into the distance. “You can tell me, dear. You can tell me anything. Please, no secrets.” “I’m—I’m—” Russell faltered. “Yes? You’re what?” Her mouth opened waiting for a morsel of a secret. “I’m Jack the Ripper.” Russell moved on top of Beth, the two laughing like idiots. Russell grabbed her wrist and peppered her neck with kisses as she playfully resisted. “Or Batman—yes, I’m Batman!” “Batman is sexier—yes, you’re Batman.” They embraced for a while, but once the mood passed, there fell another silence. He hoped to disarm her by derailing her question. It didn’t work—not when she was inebriated. Again, they lay side by side, while she looked up at him from her spot on his shoulder. “Sometimes you disappear and I don’t know where you go. Where do you go?” God no! Did she see my trashed attempts to explain? Russell’s heart pounded, but he kept his

voice soft. His thoughts froze for a moment. “You know… I love you… . I just go out. I’m a wandering man, doll. You married a wanderer.” “Oh.” Her arms went limp as sleep began to take over. “Honest, to make us happier, I’ll tell you all about it, someday.” “Okay.” She seemed to accept this answer, and soon after fell asleep. He carried her into the bedroom and tucked her into bed. She snored gently. Russell slipped out of the front door, closed it stealthily, and walked off into the night with thoughts he struggled to explain to himself, let alone to others. Next time she asks, he thought, I must tell her the truth. I must share my secret. Then, Russell headed over to St. Mary’s Street to get laid. ∞∞∞∞ When Beth awoke the next morning, she missed her early Saturday yoga class at the studio. She phoned and spoke with her boss about a throbbing headache in a fake throat-cough voice. She didn’t say the words “monster hangover,” but he understood. She wandered into their 100-year-old living room and found Russell curled up like a little boy on the couch with his knees under his chin. God, she thought, he’s such an innocent-looking guy, but he’s hiding something. She covered him with a blanket from the bedroom and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She knew she had had much too much to drink the night before, and when she remembered vaguely that she had told Russell he looked like a snow globe because of his dandruff, and now, she was embarrassed. But then she thought about what else she might have said, but couldn’t remember. She was mortified. By early afternoon, Russell woke to find a fresh bouquet of white roses in a vase on the coffee table by the couch, along with a thermos of coffee and a plate with two glazed donuts. Beth’s neatlypenned note read, Please forgive me for drinking too much wine on our anniversary. Let’s drive up to Kerrville for dinner. Love, Beth He drank the coffee, ate the donuts, and, while showering, thought of a way to present his secret to her. At work the day before, he’d completed his analysis of an interim census survey, and this had pleased his boss so much, he was told to take the afternoon off as a reward. But instead, Russell locked the door to his small office. He thought of a new approach and composed “Plan B,” his Manifesto of the Dominant Male. In this, he explained his secret in heartfelt and simple terms Albert Einstein would have loved.

But would Beth love it, or even understand it? His knees quivered as he weighed the pros and cons, as he had a million times before. He would feel guilty if her reaction were negative, but if she willingly wanted to break out of her old ideas and embrace the truth, then that would be something else. No, he decided. She would probably hate it. He thought he should tear the paper up and toss it into the trash. “Fuck it.” He stretched his arms over his head, working out the kinks. “The truth will have to do, honesty, and the honest to God truth is women do not really want to understand us men; they just have their idea of what we are, and they want us to conform to it.” His eyes were dry from looking at his monitor for so long. He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, pulled his shoulders back, and planned for the worst while hoping for the best, before marching out of the office. On the way home, he tried to speculate the outcome of his upcoming conference with his better half. When Beth returned from grocery shopping, they hugged, and he dutifully helped put away the food. They drove north to the Hill Country for dinner at Der Lindenbaum Restaurant and Biergarten in a beautiful historic limestone edifice built by the German pioneers who founded Fredericksburg over a century ago. The atmosphere was cozy, comfortable, and friendly. The chef-owner, Ingrid Hohmann, served up German specialties, such as schnitzel, steaks, great sandwiches, and homemade bread. They were both in the mood for something sweet, so they skipped dinner and ordered desserts instead. They shared their two favorite puddings, apple strudel and Black Forest cake. It commemorated their honeymoon. A million stars looked down on them as they drove home, while the radio featured a San Antonio western band strumming and singing Your Cheating Heart, a Hank Williams classic. Beth rested her head on Russell’s shoulder and placed her hand on his thigh. He stared straight ahead down the highway, and when he slowed a bit to let an armadillo scurry across the road, the movement of his leg suddenly made him aware of a substantial erection. At home, after a quiet game of chess ending in stalemate, they went to the bedroom. His hands moved along her calves which were so perfectly sculpted by the yoga exercises. He lay close to her with his head facing down while hers faced up, and he buried his face between her thighs. With purpose and delicateness, he explored her pink folds with his tongue, and she wrapped her lips around him and took him in her mouth. They merged into a single being, a living yin-yang symbol-with no beginning and no end, only the two of them extended into one another, without any thought beyond the need to feel and taste, drinking in one another over the hours, sweats mingling, and every touch intoxicating them more. That was love. His manifesto didn’t explain love—it was about the other thing, the thing that wasn’t love. Could he make her understand? He simply must make her understand—tomorrow.

Tomorrow came, and Russell became sidetracked by Beth. He walked across the room thinking of T. S. Eliot’s question, “Shall I eat a peach?” His answer came slowly from tasting the bottoms of her feet, where the skin glistened like light brown than olive and tasted of the leathery salt of her sandals. These were the feet that trod upon the grapes upon the sides of the Rif Mountains at Ksar el Kebir in Morocco where she once vacationed with her now-dead soldier. He could still taste the wine. These were the feet that paced the flat, hardpacked sand of the beach at Asilah when there was no hope left for her first love blown to bits by an IED. These were the feet that bathed in the essence of peach amid bubbles an hour or so ago when they returned from Fredericksburg. Her heels bore just enough roughness to taste of pumice stone. He suckled her ankles like they were four tits of a delicately masterful sculpture in polished marble, though no marble had ever given such delicate nectar as the traces of perspiration held in tiny crinkles so near the bones beneath her skin. He felt he had indeed tasted the essence of her marrow. They fell asleep, and Russell dreamed. “I love you, Russell.” Beth’s body went limp, her mind wandering. “I love you, too.” His eyes danced about the ceiling. “And I love that you tell me about all the other women you fuck.” She touched his leg, her fingers walking up his thigh and spurring his member to prick up. “Want to hear more?” He placed both hands on his chest. “Tell me about fucking in the back of the old abandoned car. That turns me on.” Beth leaned into him, her hand cupping his manhood, her lips pressing against his hands. Russell awoke exploding with urges. It turned midnight. His dream died; he would have to tell Beth next weekend, and he bet the conversation would go nothing like his dream. Right now, the planets’ orbital mysteries pulled him out of bed and into the night. He was called to find a woman—any woman—to pound like hell. ∞∞∞∞ The following Sunday, after a champagne brunch on the river at La Mansion, Russell sat Beth down on the couch in the living room and stood with one elbow on the fireplace mantle. He wore his dark grey suit, blue shirt, and red power tie; she relaxed in a summery chiffon dress of a light opal. She kicked off her sandals and curled her feet under her bottom, so only her knees showed. He handed her a copy of his Manifesto of the Dominant Male. “I’m going to read this to you because I intend to publish it in a full-page advertisement in the newspaper. This is real honesty.” He pulled his shirtsleeves down and buttoned them to give himself countenance. Beth smiled agreeably and nodded in anticipation. “I can’t wait.” She cocked her head, one arm

extended along the back of the couch, fully attentive, but without looking at her copy of the manifesto. He cleared his throat. “Don’t interrupt, now. Even if you get mad, okay?” he told her, holding a palm out towards her for a second. Her brow ruffled slightly, but she nodded. “Sure, hon.” “I made you a drink, just relax for ten minutes.” Then he read in a clear and articulate voice:

Manifesto of the Dominant Male There is a war, a battle against half of the world’s population. The age-old battle of the sexes and man’s struggle for freedom can be solved. Disturbingly, women in general, and wives in particular, do not recognize man’s masculinity, and always tell us to be a man. Therefore, I declare, in my name and for every man on the planet, this one quintessential certainty: Sex and love are not one and the same. Men must ensure the survival of the human race through sex. We are consumed by sex, and have no choice. A man’s need to pass on his genetic material is a natural compulsion that is deep-seated. Sex is the sine-qua-non condition of all living things. It is as natural as eating and relieving oneself. Sometimes, men just have sex, and that’s it. No love, no feelings, nothing but the act, like the bonobo ape. “Russ.” Beth held up a hand, chuckling. “Which newspaper are you going to use? How about the San Antonio Light? It has a full comic section.” She spread her arms wide. “You think I’m joking, do you?” Russell looked at her pointedly. There was no stopping now. “I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt.” “I didn’t know it would be something like this. Did you join a Men’s Club or something?” She clasped one hand around her svelte waist, cuddling into the couch. “If you’re not joking, this is seriously weird.” “Beth, you’re one in a million. Most women live with men who are too weak and too fearful to tell the truth about who they really are. Try to listen, try to understand… Isn’t a harsh, but wholesome honesty better than the illusion of sickly-sweet fiction?” His fingers trembled as his head angled toward the paper. She sighed. “Go on. You have five minutes, and then I have to go out.” Russell continued:

Sex and love are like oil and water: often found floating on top or under the other, but not mixing. I, and my male brethren, do not equate love with sex. In fact, we are comfortable loving one woman and having sex with others. Sex with multiple women is cheating, but only so because women unfairly penned the rulebook. Men are, in the deepest recesses of our mind, accomplishing the innate task imposed upon us by nature. This primal impulse is not originating in the conscious mind or heart, but from a place embedded in each man; it is the universe acting through us. “Okay, I think I’ll have that drink now.” Beth laughed nervously. “I’m not sure I can take this seriously or not.” “Good, this will be good for our marriage. You’ll learn more about me.” Russell continued: My girl’s suspicion and distrust can be conquered, but not by forcing men to act against their nature. Not by crippling the fabric of manly instincts. Human design pushes me towards sexual freedom. It’s the universal obligation keeping hominids from extinction, and it is time the world caught up with this fact. My primal impulse is not premeditated, it doesn’t originate in my brain or in my heart, it’s the universe acting through me; it stirs inside me a couple times a cycle. I work all day and stay busy, yet a severe craving overpowers me. I feel it gnawing inside; it won’t lessen until there is the finishing point. Late at night, I consent to these persuasions; they take over. “I don’t get this,” Beth rubbed her forehead. “If you’re serious, your logic is out the window. You were absolutely the most generous lover last night. Don’t tell me there’s no feeling in our sex. You can’t possibly be like this with anyone else.” Her lips pressed into a smirk. “You’re not listening. Please, listen to me. Sex and love might not always go hand in hand—yes… but, listen…” “Go on,” she sighed deeply. “I don’t like where this is going one bit, though, just for the record.” “Mmm.” He shuffled his papers and continued: During the hunt, my senses peak on extreme vigilance and I chase with no specific direction in mind. A dangerous itch consumes me while I search along a pathway etched with invisible foot prints. A yearning in my loins directs me, involuntarily led by the night’s secrets. Waves of lust gush over my essence, aiming me toward an unknown engorged clitoris. I sniff out a conduit, pursuing prey in heat. I’m seduced headlong; bounding me to the hunt. “Russell, where is the part that I’m going to like?” She took a big gulp of her cocktail. “I’ve worked on a long time on this, so just enjoy,” Russell felt powerful that he was finally telling.

“Don’t piss me off,” Beth pointed a straightened finger toward his head. Russell read more: I see a dark alley, a shady wooded area, or a dilapidated dive of a club, and sense the loot is in there. In my attempt to sleep, the energy devours my mind, stuffing it with visceral masculinity. I awake from a lusty dream. Night has fallen. It is dark in my room, pitch black, but I know the woman sleeping softly next to me has not roused. I do not take notice of her. There is a yearning, a deep-seated, diffused quiver rolling inside of me. I scavenge out on the sex-skulk. It overtakes me in waves as I move, pursuing prey in heat, my mind static, but for that one urge. The trajectory I follow is different every time. I’m like a homing pigeon discovering the way home. I’m a penguin trooping toward a desolate mating place. I follow fragrances that have no scent. I seek to find someone with no distinct image. I crave ripe eggs begging for sperm. I spirit along roads without a map and travel unknown pathways in the darkness. I navigate unmarked thoroughfares, sail across uncharted oceans. I always find the target. It’s always there. It’s pleading to be hit; a celestial bull’s-eye beseeches me. “Christ, Russell, you sound like a total idiot. Do I have to listen to this crap?” She slapped one palm on her thigh and straightened her spine. “You must, I’ve been telling you this forever. You always say, ‘Start by telling me the truth.’ Now I tell you the truth, and you call me an idiot. You think I’m the only one who feels this way? You’re wrong. Your father, your brothers, heck! Even the pastor of your parish feels like this! All men are subject to the same desires, the same compulsions. No one else is talking, but I am. They’re all cowards, but believe me, like it or not, this is the absolute truth.” “But you sound like an uncivilized animal.” “Maybe I am?” “Okay, if you say so.” She tugged at her blouse. Russell read: I take the target long, hard, and deep. It’s deliberate and complete. Once done, I’m driven toward a second, a third, and more encounters, sometimes in the same night. Afterwards, when I awake beside the woman I love, I am truly happy. Then once again, like a fish finding spawning grounds; an Aboriginal mystery, I caress my atavistic endeavors. My attraction is beyond aroused; it’s a captivating body rush hurtles me onwards, endlessly. I watch in horror at what this drive is doing to my life and relationships. There is no possibility to fight its hold. “So you’ve become goddamn Sigmund Freud now? Do you dream of railroad trains ramming into a tunnel? What a kook you are!” Her eyes flared. “This is for you; I did it for you.”

“Like hell you did! You did it for you! Russell S. Carlson, you’re a no-good, mother-fucking bastard!” “Gee, Beth, it’s just a theory.” He sheepishly ruffled his papers. “I’ve heard enough of this shit,” her eyes blasted into his. “I thought you were kidding, but now I see in your face, your eyes… you’re obsessed, Russell. You need help. But I can’t imagine any woman therapist putting up with such horseshit.” She folded her arms tight. “Just hush and listen, Beth. This is important to our marriage.” “Are you telling me that you actually go out and cheat on me at night when I’m sleeping?” Her face crunched up. “I’m trying to explain it as best as I can. It’s not my fault. It’s the way men are designed.” “You asshole. You’re telling me you go out fucking while I’m asleep? Christ, what have I done to deserve this? You expect me to go along with your stupid manifesto?” She sputtered and spat. “Just listen, that’s all I ask. And try to understand… please.” “Fuck you!” she shouted, tears welling. She stomped both feet on the floor, sat straight up on the couch; hands doubled into fists, and pounded the couch. Russell kept going: Tonight the moon is in orbital alignment and a perfect circle shape. It is time to stand up and be a man. The bright heavenly orb adds millions to the world’s emergency rooms. When the time is ripe, I am a werewolf ready for hard sex acts. It’s a pitch-black night set alight by a full moon. I am the moon, and I am the beast called forward. My howls are the howls of a highland wolf. High tides create and churn sensations; secrets buried inside me detonate. A flood of hormones washes through my every organ. I’m in the grip of an unquenchable sex-thirst. I’m lurched on a darkened hill howling with hunger at the full moon. A tidal force rules and I taste raw sex between each lust-starved yowl. The moon beams a smile back at me, fuelling my aching inner beast. I’m influenced by a gravitational interaction. My open-mouthed wolf howls ricochet across fogged highlands. I’m dominant, manly, and chock-full. Breaking into a run, I am dutybound, leaping majestically over obstacles and knolls. I journey down beaten paths; my senses are honed on finding my quarry, hastened by a full-on gust from a powerful drug gripping my loins. “You insane out-of-your-mind jerk!” She shouted, ripping her copy of the manifesto in half. “You’re capturing thoughts and feeling of fucking?” She reached down, stuffed half the manifesto in one sandal and half in the second sandal. “Capture this, you cheating, sick asshole!” She tossed one sandal and then the other.

Russell ducked. The shoes bounced off the wall and came to rest on the mantelpiece. “Why don’t you want to understand men? If you can, life will be good for us.” He held a hand out like a beggar. “Russell, if you really believe this horseshit and you are really out there every night cheating on me, then there is no ‘us.’ This bullshit is destroying everything.” “Hear me out, Beth. The truth should be constructive, darling.” “Don’t you ‘darling’ me, you pervert.” She stood up and grabbed the vodka bottle and poured it into her glass, then gulped it down. “Let me read.” Animal reflexes waterfall inside my body where cavities are welling up with supreme power. I attack with unpolluted energy and she attacks back. Sex ensues, rough and hard. She’s absconded and left quivering in a post-coital ecstasy, dazed and undulating. She has been taken like she was never taken before. In her whimpers and writhing’s it is clear this pleasure I have endowed in her is unlike anything she’s experienced. I don’t know her. I forget her. I leave right away so no emotions stir between us. I look back, knowing she categorically sought it too. The kill is left gasping and I go on to another magnetic connection. It’s mutual. When this planet-sized sex organ, this irredeemable lust arrests me, I am merely its vessel. I’m in its tractor beam; I can’t escape. I don’t struggle; the whirling vortex destroys all other thoughts and white noises. A cosmic gravity guides me near unfertilized eggs and the private universal dance of biological conception moves me grandly without thought. While on pursuit, if I knew how to howl, beckoning it, I would. If there were sounds to call partners toward me, I’d produce them. If I knew an odor to appeal to others, I’d emit it. There’s no calling. There are no emissions. I primordially sense her ripe ovulation cycle. Then when I’m doing it, muffled moans and nails on skin and the measured motions of it produce no lyrics. There’s no talking. Time holds no relevance. Only after I am sated do I notice the time, notice where I am, release recognition to my growling stomach. My gut squirms, asking for nourishment. I’m hungry. I must eat. Today’s chase is over. The quest is ended. My mind thinks of food. Thirty minutes go by and I imagine my warm bed, the covers and pillow. Only then do I think of my family; only after such intercourse, do I think of my wife. “Shit!” Beth slurred. “I’m last on your fuck list?” “No, I love you, this is just sex.” “What if you fall in love with one of your conquests?” “No, it’s impossible. See, love and sex are two different things!” “Fuck you! You’re making me sick!” She drank another big gulp of vodka.

Russell went back to reading: When this primitive desire is in control, my mind isn’t thinking of her, my home, or my love. My mind is focused on one thing: I’m exposing and attacking new meat. I’m single-mindedly targeting an erotic outlet; oblivious to other feelings, I’m focused on the sexual act. It’s not about a relationship, it’s about unadulterated fucking. There’s no love, just sex and more sex. I don’t think of how I look nor does it matter to me how she looks. I feel nothing towards her. She might be pretty, she might be ugly. I don’t take note. I’m caught inside a gravitational force and am being hauled into the heaving center of a dynamic black hole in space. Seeking the black hole’s a passion shared by every man. Men are unwavering in this common motivation. I’m not sure if anyone fully fathoms how deeply hard-wired it is, or knows how to explain it. I doubt others talk truthfully about it. I’m not certain in what manner the oomph is triggered. My entire biorhythms peak at their maximum levels, simultaneously igniting the sex-hunger, revving my engine into a searing, greased, pounding machine, hitting on all cylinders. “Black holes?! Black holes are what I have instead of eyes? How could I be so blind?” Beth emptied the last of her drink and hurled the glass at Russell, but it missed him and shattered on the floor. “A nice analogy?” He avoided the missile, but expected it. “Revving your engine!” “It’s just like that,” he whispered. “I’m fucking sick! If all men are like you, then men are sick! Sick, sick, sick!” Russell could not stop now. It starts with a touch or a look, and then the mystery desire asserts its predominance. I’m deep into it; the orbital alignments; movement of the moon and tides; the universal need to impregnate conquers me. I know all men have these desires. You hear men say “I don’t know why I cheated; I made a mistake.” These answers are the result of man trying to explain the necessity of fulfilling an urge to a public who denies the validity of the urge. Isn’t it possible men have compulsions they can’t restrain? Men don’t understand these energies. They are moved by them independently of their will, like the puppet dangling at the end of a string, and nature, the invisible puppeteer, makes them dance. Women always tell us to be a man. “Grow up and be a man,” they say, and thump their feet. If a man talks about cheating, women are angered; oftentimes they become cruel. It’s a predictable response, so most men keep silent, not wanting to cause pain on their love. Silence is man’s need to protect his love—overrides all else, so he lies. When or if finally discovered, he is a liar. So men are liars and cheaters. It’s a no-win situation for men. Guys who speak up will deal with a woman who never stops arguing. Who wants to argue every day? Who can stand her yelling? Men don’t want to tackle that type of life.

“I think I’m going to leave!” “Stay, please.” Russell continued: Ladies, this is what being a man is all about. No manlier can a man be. I don’t think men are capable of telling their women this truth. It’s something men should control, but no man can fully do that. Not Man, but Mother Nature is in charge. Beth’s face looked beat down with dark circles under her eyes. She rose from the couch, ignored Russell, retrieved her sandals, and said, “Is that all, Mister Man? Because if it is, I’m packing a bag and you can drop me at the train station.” Her face raged with ugly crevasses of skin. “No, wait.” He motioned for her to stay. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t cheat on me,” Beth whispered; her words wobbled awkwardly out of her mouth. “That’s a myth, an old and untrue wives’ tale. I’m able to love and cheat all at the same time,” Russell said. “Fuck you.” “I’m almost finished.” He made a stop gesture. “You can say that again!” If only women could understand this uncomplicated truth, the world would be a more congenial place. The truth is simply men can’t stop. This is being a man. That’s what women always argue about. Be a man. We seek freedom to practice our natural predispositions. We must independently roam, explore, and hunt. That’s what this manifesto is all about—letting women know the truth about men; we don’t cheat—we act like “a man!” Man’s Manifesto of Action: 1) Listen closely to your inner angel. Let it guide and fulfill your biological destiny. 2) Tell your girl of these urges and your plan to embrace them. Live in reality. 3) Spread the word. Be unashamed and proud.

“Is this”—she searched for the word to properly invoke her feelings—“this bullshit, is it true?” Her voice was ice. Beth’s brain was gone, the loving, kind, and understanding Beth he knew transformed. She spoke to him like he was a rock. With a sigh, Russell shut his eyes. Beth now acted like his enemy. “Yes. It… I… this is what I wanted to tell you for a long time. I wrote it at work, brought it home, hoping it would bring us closer together if you knew my truth.” “Together? You—” she broke off, a solid lump in her throat forcing tears down her cheek. “My

husband has lost his mind.” She hardened her gaze and rose. He went over to her, but she threw up her hands. “No, no. You’re crazy. You hear me? That should be called the Manifesto of the Insane.” She threw the manifesto at him, the loose pages falling to the hardwood. She shrieked. The sound was so abrupt that it shocked Russell. “You hear me? You are fucking crazy! We are done!” “Beth, wait—” “No. Don’t talk to me.” She left the room. In the next room, he heard her scream, “I can’t believe you! I hate you!” Presented with the truth, she shook to the core, and brewed hatred. He sat on the couch and awaited her return. Soon, a yellow taxi pulled up in front of their Crofton Street home, and Beth moved through the living room to the door, lugging one suitcase. Russell asked, “Where are you going?” He held out both arms. “Beth!” She shook her head. There was nothing but silence once more. Well, yes, there was one thing more thought now—the sense of freedom Russell felt. He told the truth. Beth knew the truth now, and that was a fact, and she decided. It was her choice now. He wondered what he should do with this new knowledge. The divorce papers read, “Irreconcilable Differences.” That, too, was true, he thought. ∞∞∞∞

Today One surprising consequence after Russell told his truth to Beth became enlightenment and awareness concerning his sexual needs, and learning never to hide them again. This is who he is as a man. After the divorce, the anxiety of keeping secrets and living a lie stopped, with the huge weight lifted off his shoulders. Today, Russell brings his refreshingly honest perspective about sex into the beginning of all potential relationships. He easily builds a platform of freedom and honesty that he never experienced in his relationship with Beth. At this time, he dates a woman who steps out of the relationship once in a while to experience her own freedom and sexual joy. And Russell loves the infrequent sex-hunts of his own. Every time he goes out to “hunt,” he is empowered and reassured of his place as a complete man in the world. He and his love share their adventures, which brings them closer together. Russell did publish his Manifesto of the Dominant Male, but not in the Light Newspaper with its colorful comics, as Beth sarcastically suggested, but in the competing San Antonio Express-News in a full-page advertisement. This resulted in the National Organization for Women (NOW) picketing his home with defamatory signs until the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) got a court order prohibiting such tactics of repression and intimidation. Russell felt secure in heading for Iceland after watching an enticing documentary on harnessing earth’s natural heat had stimulated a profound interest in volcanic heating systems. His fascination with using molten magma to heat our water supply struck a deep passion inside him; imagining cost savings while reducing pollution. The idea that nature’s hot core could change how we source our homes’ uses of warm water inspired him with hope that geothermal fields and hot springs would enable uses for countless municipal advances. It was not by chance that the idea of energy being generated by underground, unseen, but formidable power seduced him. The whole idea of his manifesto came from beneath the surface of the male psyche, where the Herculean power was ready to be harnessed if accepted and recognized. By embracing his true nature, any man would be able to tap into this endless source of energy, and make for himself a better life in a better world. Russell never regretted leaving the security of his Census job to travel to Iceland, where he capitalized on his engineering background to research thermal earth technologies in use. He embraces the decision to switch careers from bureaucracy back to an engineering focus. Not being tied down by matrimony, he owns the freedom to pursue this dream—a dream where creativity encourages him to do things beyond society’s norm. With his newfound life came an intuitive sense of altruism and the return of a genuine love for things bigger than self.

Today, he’s helping to create an improved world for all. ∞∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Men: Enjoy sexual opportunities—these are natural.iii iv v Being monogamous is not natural for humans.vi vii Men can love a woman and cheat at the same time.viii 70% Married men admit to cheating of their wives.ix Men are compelled by nature to spread their seed far and wide.x Marriage-monogamy is a great objective, but is hardly attainable.xi xii Women are compelled by nature to birth and nurture children.xiii There is more to being a man than providing for a family.xiv Men: Tell your girl when you cheat even if she becomes violent.xv Men are required to build our societies’ future infrastructures.xvi Men naturally react to sex once offered by having sex in return.xvii Men fear women’s abuse when women think men cheat.xviii xix Women may never understand the nature of men.xx xxi Women want to change their men’s natural inclinations.xxii xxiii

Chapter 2 Shelly’s Love Dream Self-sufficient Shelly Payne, a 12-year-old, brown-haired, and determined mountain girl, easily recognized by the damaged brown boots she wore for years, grew up a mama’s girl in Beckley, West Virginia, the largest city in Raleigh County. The city, locally known as the Smokeless Coal Capital, is located in the heart of the coal-mining epicenter of the Appalachian Mountains, where rugged Cumberland and Allegheny mountain plateaus surround the 17,600 residents who call Beckley home. In Beckley, the springtime profusion of flowering wild azalea, rhododendron, and laurel is a wellknown tourist attraction in the area. The main street sits nuzzled between majestic, sweeping mountain views, sloping rustic gorges, and pristine rivers, in isolation where mountain folk have lived off the land since settlements in the early nineteenth century. Many of the town’s men work hard labor at the nearby mines and sawmill, then go to get drunk in order to forget the utter pointlessness of their lives. Women wear hats inversely proportional to the size of their pet dog, which often indicate how successful their search for a hardworking husband has been. God forbid any of the men do something adulterous or hellish—this is God’s Country where hell’s fire can strike an outlaw dead. Kissed by angels and reared by her mother, Shelly’s future shone bright, despite Beckley’s struggle with the EPA’s improvement demands on the coal businesses. Today, mines operate, the mills and trains roll, tourism and hydraulic fracturing companies boom—prime factors in Shelly’s continuing optimism and hope of increasing the town’s population. Guiding her along life’s path is the family tradition of church, and, fortunately, not the ungodly escapades of a drunken bum needing his cock sucked by a whore. At the age of nine, Shelly, like all her girlfriends, searched, yearning to find her place. For some time, she knocked around from one hobby to the next, flitting between sewing and square dancing with her cousins, and riding horses. “Mom, riding horses is so boring,” her gaze bounced from place to place while she rearranged her dirty brown hair. She felt uncomfortable around horses. “Don’t get put out, hon, ’cause I reckon you’ll find somethin’ you really got a hankerin’ for soon enuf,” grey-haired, robust Mama Martha held her thick shoulders back, and chin high. “I doubt it!” Shelly saw her thoughts stewing, in search of that one passion. “Before your daddy died in that terrible explosion that brung down the underground workings at the Pocahontas Mines,” Mama Martha sorrowfully recounted, “he loved to ride horses along the Smokey

Mountain ridges hisself.” “You’ve told me that story a hundred times and I still don’t like riding,” Shelly’ eyebrows pulled together and a familiar sinking feeling radiated from her gut to her chest. “Don’t go poutin’ now,” Mama wagged her finger. “I won’t, Mama, I’ll keep looking for a hobby” She turned away to seek the quiet in the corner of her room. One afternoon, while lying on the couch ruffling through magazines, Shelly noticed an alluring wedding photo. She remembered Mama telling her one day she’d be married and happy, and the photo roused something in Shelly, kindling a curiosity to know more. “That’s it,” she whispered to herself. Her shining eyes looked heavenward as if answering a call from God. She turned toward her mom and asked with a newfound sense of clarity, “Can you buy me the Bride’s Magazine each month?” She crossed her legs, placed the magazine in her lap, and rocked slightly. “Why’s that?” her mama asked, leaning forward to hear better. “I like how pretty the bride looks,” Shelly beamed and tapped her chin with two fingers. “I’m gonna start a scrapbook of my favorite wedding photos. It’ll be my new hobby,” she proudly proclaimed, pointing to the photos as her heart beat faster, imagining herself as the bride in the magazine. “I even dream about it.” “Sure, hon, I pert-near got enough money for a spell. We can both enjoy. You’ll be a pretty bride, too,” Mama Martha confirmed, tapping Shelly’s knee. “Your wedding day will be the most important day of yer life.” She beamed at Shelly. “The best?” her heart pounded. “We’ve had tough times since Papa passed,” Martha rocked. “My man will be a good provider,” Shelly promised herself, and pulled the magazine to her chest and held it in her arms as she stared off into space. “That’s important; there be good jobs around these days.” “And we’ll have three cars and a patio next to a big swimming pool,” Shelly swore, clasping her hands under her chin as if praying. “You’ll be livin’ high on the hog here in Beckley,” Martha said with a lustrous face.

“I think I want one of those mink coats for the cold season,” Shelly floated on air, dreaming about her wedding and married life. Martha smiled, and left Shelly lying on the couch with her cat, Sammy. “Most magical,” Shelly gently pet Sammy. She buried her face in the wedding magazine and stared deep into a handsome groom’s face looking joyful and rich with his beautiful bride smiling next to him. Sammy turned onto her stomach. “I’ll find a real man, one that treats me right because I can keep a house, and Mama taught me how to butcher fresh meat and home cook,” Shelly said. “I’ll be like one of those happy women in the movies, like Audrey Hepburn.” She returned to this daydream daily, never imagining these words would ever cross her lips, “You’re disgusting! You’re an abomination in the eyes of God.” At just twelve years old, Shelly visualized her dream wedding featuring a groom who would be strong, loving, hardworking, handsome, rich, and loyal. He’d hold her so tightly they would be inseparable. His sweetness would always lift her spirits, and his handsomeness would tingle the special place between her legs. “It’ll be perfect,” she told her mama one afternoon. “I want the perfect wedding, blessed by God. “You’ll see, Mama. It’ll be perfect and we’ll have beautiful children.” She rubbed her hands together and bounced lightly on her toes. Mama Martha smiled. “I’m hope’n so, Shelly. You’ll be a beautiful bride.” Shelly didn’t want to marry the first boy she met. She would be patient and wait before marrying him; she would ensure he was indeed the ideal young man. She fantasized that, at the wedding, he would charm everyone gathered by pronouncing his love and promising to cherish her and make her happy forever. At the altar, in front of the world, God, and Jesus Christ, he would proclaim his devotion. They would honeymoon in Paris and ride around in a limo visiting all the famous places. At night, they would kiss under the Eiffel Tower. Shelly dreamed that, upon their return, they would move into the cutest gray house in Raleigh County, with a white fence and soft green grass, and immediately start a family. Time passed, and when Shelly turned nineteen, the seeds of her dreams began to flourish, noticing the new man at Sunday’s service at the Memorial Baptist Church on Kanawha Street. At first glance, he seemed so different from the others who attended the welcoming, but very cramped church. Her heart beat and blood pounded through her veins taking in his admirable looks and very large, blackrimmed glasses looked bold, enhancing his narrow face. He caught her eye, and when he smiled,

Shelly felt her knees tremble, her face blushed. The pastor, Mr. Thomas, preached a sermon from Deuteronomy. Pastor Thomas was a middle-aged man with all the characteristics one would want in a genuine, Godlike country parson. “It is said in Deuteronomy 22:22 ‘That if a man is found ‘a-sleepin’ with another man’s wife, both the man who slept with her and the woman must die. You must purge the evil from Israel,’” the pastor sermonized. He continued from Leviticus 20:10. “It read, ‘If a man commits adultery with another man’s wife—with the wife of his neighbor—both the adulterer and the adulteress are to be put to death.’” Shelly raised her hands heavenward praising, “Hallelujah! Yes, God!” Little did she know that one day she would need help so bad that she would plead for God’s mercy and shout, “We need God in our lives? God, please come down and help us!” At the moment, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the new man. “Shelly,” her mama whispered, wagging a finger, “stop staring over thar like a love-struck puppy. You’ll crick your neck. We’re gonna sing.” Everyone rose to sing, so Shelly grabbed the music sheet and softly joined in. “A wonderful mountain voice shoulda always go up thar by the pastor and let her voice be heard,” her mama always said. But Shelly, who had a beautiful singing voice, would rather throw herself from a tall mountaintop than sing in public. In her heart, Shelly knew this new man was the one—he was the one and only. She noticed him immediately: the glint in his eyes, his stature, his confident presence… she knew he wanted all the same dreams she did. Although she had never talked to him, she knew they were soul mates, destined to become more. Now, if only she could build up the courage to speak to him. At last, the sermon ended, and Shelly walked toward her dream man. Suddenly, doubts flooded her, and she felt a twisted knot in her stomach. “Oh, Shelly,” her mother sighed, pushing her toward him, “you’re totally helpless, ain’t ya, girl?” Shelly took a deep breath and stumbled toward him again, nearly tripping over a child and knocking her elbow painfully against the worn pew in the process. His powerful glasses gave him an appearance of purpose, and when he smiled, Shelly felt her knees buckle and her solar plexus turn into a swarm of butterflies. She finally ended up directly in front of him, slightly disheveled. “Hi,” he extended his hand. Shelly shook it with the stiffness of a mannequin. Despite his smooth

face, the man’s hands felt rough with callouses. He must be a hard worker, Shelly thought. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he stated politely. “I’m Dan… Dan Jackson. Do you live around here?” he moved slightly closer. At this moment Dan felt as vulnerable as a boy in love for the first time. “Yes. I’m Shelly. People call me Shell, but I don’t like that. I don’t look like a seashell, do I?” She pointed to her chest. Mortified that those words actually left her mouth, she gasped, “Wait! You don’t have to answer that.” Oh, God, she prayed silently, just smite me now. I’m making a fool of myself right in your own house. Dan laughed, entertained by the girl, who was quite a bit shorter than he, and her awkwardness only added to her attractiveness. “I don’t think you look like a seashell,” he pushed his forefinger against his glasses, scooting them toward his brow. “Seashells are beautiful, but you’re positively radiant.” He playfully nudged her shoulder. Shelly’s face flushed beet red. She felt a zing of electricity from the nudge. “If I may be so bold,” Dan continued, “Wanna share a coffee with me?” He put his hand in the air and crossed his fingers with a goofy smile. “Yes, I’m nineteen now. I’m free! I’d be happy to Mr. Dan Jackson.” Shelly nodded. When they walked over to the Diner for coffee and first sat down in a booth, she couldn’t help but feel giddy. But, after sipping half a cup of the strong brew, Shelly soon found that Mr. Dream Man’s life experiences were not at all exciting. However, she pretended to be interested—after all, he was handsome and seemed rich. While talking, Shelly discovered that Dan enjoyed hunting, fishing, and spending time outdoors. He also managed the Elite Coal Company ten miles up Pine Run Road. That was impressive. He didn’t work underground, but rather up top in the offices, and often did double duty as a carpenter to maintain the buildings. Shelly also found out that her Mr. Dream man had learned to hunt at the age of six, and it was his favorite thing to do on his off days. “So you see my heart lies in hunting, but it can be changed.” “I’ve never been out of this town much. I love it here! I go to Charleston, West Virginia about every month. Charleston is a much bigger place,” Shelly said with a shrug. “That’s okay, Shell. There’s no need to be worldly,” Dan told her in a slightly patronizing tone. “People come from all around to see our little town and the Exhibition Coal Mine Museum.”

Shelly realized he was bragging as if it were worth mentioning. “I suppose. I do like our Appalachian ways and all,” Shelly beamed. “I love how we have that law about having sex with an animal weighing less than 40 pounds will send you to prison.” Dan laughed. “Oh, I know.” Shelly wanted to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the thought of a man having sex with an animal, but instead, laughed along with Dan. Dan drove Shelly home in his old, black pickup truck. When he stopped outside of her downtrodden home, it took Shelly a moment to realize the truck had stopped. The air outside smelled hickory-sweet and pine tree smoked all at once delicious, woody, and alluring. It automatically made Shelly lick her lips. Dan pulled her close and kissed her. His man-odor made her insides quiver. She had never kissed anyone before, but it felt natural and right to Shelly. Her heart raced and curiosity spiked at the sight of Dan’s bulging area between his legs. This was the beginning of Dan and Shelly’s romance. They spent many nights together, and Shelly was sure they would spend the rest of their lives together as husband and wife. They dated and saw each other at church weekly, and months later, he wanted to share his favorite passion, so he invited her on a hunting trip. They drove seven miles away to New River Gorge. The area’s beauty bounded beyond anything she had imagined. The scenery left her speechless, with green foliage everywhere, fresh air, and miles of mountains, waterfalls, ghost towns, and spectacular cliffs accentuating peaceful setting. They walked hand in hand in the forest, picking a place for a picnic near the river, so they could watch an amazing sunset from the top of a hill. Dan showed her the plants he knew, those edible and those poisonous. Dan’s loins burned to take her as he pointed out birds and told her their names, and let her shoot his rifle at a row of cans he arranged as targets. Dan shared with her that he wanted to hunt forever. That this was his true passion, and Shelly shared with him that she wanted to get married, own a beautiful home, and have children. Deep within the forest, Shelly felt that God answered her prayer by sending her Dan. Dan hunted for deer in the fall, and fished for trout in the summer at Lake Stephens, a pristine mountain lake. Shelly liked for him to fish there, because the odds were good he might catch some trout for supper. She appreciated the fact that every man needed a little time by himself and with his buddies. Whenever Dan went hunting, Shelly went shopping with Mama Martha in the nearest city, Charleston West Virginia, 20 miles from Beckley. Dan was a hunter through and through. He knew that not only did he love hunting animals, but he might also love hunting women. It was in his nature to hunt. But he wasn’t fully aware of his need to hunt women just yet. Dan returned from a Sunday outing in Cato, regaling Shelly with tales of the hunt. When he was

done, Shelly showed him the ceramic dolls she had found at a thrift store. They stepped outside for some fresh air. Dan tapped Shelly’s shoulder from behind and motioned for her to walk up Reservoir Ridge with him, where they could enjoy a splendid view of New River Park. He hummed to himself while they walked. “Where we going?” Shelly asked with a short skip in her step. “Shell, come with me up yonder. I’ve something to say,” he spoke slowly, holding her hand. “Sure, I love the view from there. From the pickup truck, we can see all our… what some call mountain hillbilly ridge runner shacks.” She laughed. “I don’t mind how some people spoke “down” to us West Virginians, ’cause I’m proud of my homeland.” “You know, I like hunting because it gives me time to think,” Dan scratched the top of his head. “I know. The last time I went hunting with you, I saw that. I enjoyed the time to think, too.” “So, did I tell you I’m looking for more work?” He looped one thumb in a front pocket and using Shelly’s shoulder as a place to hang the other. “Why, are you leaving the coal company?” Shelly walked unhurried as they spoke. “No, I’ll be there for a long time, but I’m looking for a little extra work at Truman’s Saw Mill. You know, we need the money,” Dan swallowed hard and his stomach tensed inward. “What do you mean we—that we always need money? Why now?” She lifted her brows and placed a hand on his hand resting on her shoulder. “I can fish and hunt on Sundays and work on Saturdays,” he explained. “There’s time after church,” she leaned on his shoulder. “Shell, I never expected I would quit things I love, but…” Dan professed, already missing his beloved pastimes. His stomach turned flip flops. “I feel I lost part of my soul. Well, there’s something more important now…” “Something more important?” “It’s for… for something we might want to do,” he could barely breathe. “Want to do? You’re beating around the bush with a happy smile on your face. What are you talking about?” Shelly persisted. “Me and you. I want to buy us a home and everything, darling,” he looked deep into her eyes.

“Home?” Shelly blurted and her heart jumped. Then, Dan got quiet. A look of soft seriousness came over his face. “You know, Shell, I told you… I’ve been thinking a lot about us.” He lightly touched her hands. “I’ve thought maybe we should get a place together.” Shelly exhaled a deep breath. “I mean, I wanna spend more time with my special girl,” he said in his most romantic voice, shifting from foot to foot like a little boy who got caught sneaking sweets before dinner. Shelly chuckled and threw her arms around his neck, spontaneously kissing him before she knew what she was doing. “I’d love that,” she said. She stroked the back of his neck and glowed like a kid at Christmas. Under the full moon, and overlooking the scraggy mountaintops, he bent down on one knee. Shelly’s eyes grew big and wide. Oh, my God! Dan took her hand in his. “Shelly,” he looked straight into her eyes, “I know I’m not the most romantic guy on earth, and I don’t exactly know how to string together pretty words…” He kissed her hand as he clasped it between his. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the teardrops running down her cheeks. “You’re the most beautiful, most compassionate, and most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Dan whispered, choking over his own words. “Shell Bell, will you marry me?” “Yes!” Shelly placed an open palm on her heart and jumped twice. Dan rose off his knee and hugged her. She hugged him back and completely forgot the fact he hadn’t given her a ring. After embracing, he gave her a ring, and both of them kneeled on the ground. That night, they lay in each other’s arms the entire night on Dan’s couch. Shelly had a permanent grin etched on her face as they slowly drifted off to sleep. “Shell, I want to make love to you.” He nuzzled her neck. Shelly opened her eyes. “Oh, God no!” she gasped. “Why not?” Dan asked. “We’re engaged!” “God’s law.” “How about a quick blow you know?” He put a cupped hand on the back of her head.

“Hell no!” she tore his hand away and straightened her neck. “Why?” his palm rose. “It’s a sin according to God. You know… sodomy!” Dan pulled back and then laughed. “Of course, sodomy it is. I’m just goofing with you.” They both giggled. Soon, wedding plans were underway. Dan’s parents drove overnight to congratulate the lucky couple. His mother, along with Shelly and Martha, immediately sat her down to talk about their wedding. As much as Shelly wanted an opulent wedding worthy of a fairy-tale princess, Dan’s parents didn’t have much to contribute, so she settled for having the ceremony at the church and then having the reception outside in the community hall, near the river. The local store had few wedding dresses; nothing like the one Shelly liked, so she found a mailorder dress at the perfect price—sad they had so little money, but focused on the rest of her wedding wishes. Weeks passed in agonizing slowness. Mama Martha and friends helped as best they could before the wedding. During that time, word of the impending marriage spread throughout the small town; people Shelly hadn’t seen since kindergarten congratulated her, and she felt taken aback by all the attention. A wedding before the whole world sounded alluring to Shelly; she remembered all those bride and wedding photos in magazines and stories from her youth. The wedding fell on an unseasonably chilly day in the middle of August. The leaves were crowned with gold. The pastor who had preached when Dan and Shelly first met officiated. Their friends and family gathered in the pews. As Mr. Thomas recited the opening words, Shelly stood side by side with her fiancé, wearing the mail-order brides’ dress, which hung loosely. “Shell Bell,” Dan opened a hand in her direction, “I know I’ve said I’m not one for fancy words, but for you, my darling, I’ll make an exception.” He held her hands. “I love you, Shell. Before I met you, I felt incomplete, but your love, compassion, and devotion found a way to make me feel more fulfilled and more whole than I’ve ever felt.” He took in large, deep breaths, savoring the feeling in the hopes of making it last forever. Shelly choked over her own words. “Dan, I don’t know what to say either. I know I spent a long time coming up with the right words to tell you how I feel. All I can say is I love you more than

anything short of the Lord God himself. I want to be by you every step of the way. I want to carry you through the deepest tribulations,” she pledged holding his hand tightly. When the time came to slip the rings on each other’s fingers, Shelly nearly dropped Dan’s ring, but she recovered with her dignity and slid it on. Dan then slid her ring on her finger. He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “Hold your horses, cowboy,” Mr. Thomas said with a laugh. “We ain’t there yet!” The crowd laughed again as they both turned toward the front of the church, each holding each other’s hands. “The time has come,” Mr. Thomas addressed the gathering. “This is a glorious moment for these two; I pray in the times of greatest darkness, the two of you yunguns look back on this day and remember to smile. You have a love that can only be found once in a lifetime. Don’t forsake it for nutin.” He raised his voice, “By the power vested in me by our Lord and Savior and the State of Virginia, I hereby pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride!” Dan’s face drew closer and closer as euphoria spread throughout Shelly when he kissed her. She closed her eyes, feeling lifted off the ground, disembodied, and part of another glorious universe. Shelly didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, but eventually she heard several in the audience whistling. Dan pulled away, and with the music playing again, Shelly found herself walking down the aisle with her new husband. She barely remembered getting in the truck or the subsequent reception. Everyone in the community brought food for the reception. There had been fried chicken, barbecue ribs, and smoked mutton. There had also been moonshine and lemonade. A few of the ole timers picked up their fiddles and played a few songs, and soon everyone was dancing and laughing. By the time the reception was over and the newlyweds had driven to the hotel, it was late. “Do you want to get some supper before we check into our hotel?” asked Dan. “I’m not very hungry after all the food we had at the reception.” Shelly patted her belly. “The town folks outdid themselves.” “I agree,” said Dan. “I’m not hungry either. What ya say we just head on to our hotel?” “O.K.,” said, smiling nervously. This was going to be her big night. She had been warned that the honeymoon night might be a little painful. She was a virgin and didn’t know exactly what to expect, although her Ma and some of the town’s married ladies had tried to explain what would take place. She was scared… a little. But she loved Dan and looked forward to being his wife. Shelly tried to take her mind off the impending pain of having sex for the first time, and focused on the lovely Charleston, West Virginia Marriot Town Center Hotel. Not the best Marriott by any stretch, but it had recently been renovated in rustic West Virginia style charm. Dan had promised that, the

following day, they would go see a movie and go out to dinner in a fancy restaurant in Charleston. Once they checked in on their wedding night, Dan carried his wife over the threshold to their room on the third floor. He didn’t waste any time undressing and crawling into bed with his bride. He kissed her and held her in his arms. She shyly inched her body closer to his. When he kissed her, she responded and opened her legs to him. He tried to be gentle; he knew this was her first time and he wanted to be easy, but soon his passion overtook him and he plunged into her deeper and deeper. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. “No… . no…” she said. “It feels good.” She hugged him closer. She was surprised that it didn’t hurt, and instead felt wonderful. She let herself rock with his body, and for once just gave in to all the passion she had squelched all these years. “My wedding was the most beautiful day in my life,” she leaned her head against his. “Everything was perfect.” “Yes, it was great. All your dreams have come true,” Dan stroked her hair. “I’m proud I made your dreams come true,” he pushed his chest out. “You know I dreamed of Paris, but this is just fine,” Shelly said with a satisfied smile as she looked around. “Well, Shell, this is what we can afford right now,” Dan shrugged. “But don’t worry, things will get better, I promise.” They spent the next day browsing through the town of Charleston, seeing a movie, and going out to dinner. It wasn’t Paris, but Shelly knew that Dan did the best he could. When they returned to Beckley, Dan surprised Shelly by driving to a small housing community in the Mason District of Beckley, on 200 Northwestern Avenue. He pulled into the driveway of an older four-bedroom house with mud-brown siding and a wooden front porch. Most people would think it was a country shack, but for Beckley, it was modern, and it sat along the mountain ridge, nestled in the tall tree foothills surrounding a cluster of similar homes. It had been lived in, and reminded Shelly of an old-time coal miner’s homestead. “I haven’t completed the paperwork.” Dan turned off the truck. “But if you like it, we can finish the paperwork and start moving in within the month. Assuming the paperwork clears of course.” She got out of the pickup and toured their new home. In Shelly’s mind, she was already dreaming of a peaceful family life within the walls. She looked for the perfect room to raise children in. “I already know what wall we’ll place the cross of Jesus on to protect us. I love it!” Shelly threw herself into her husband’s arms.

“Well, I’m glad you like it, Shell Bell,” He exhaled and relaxed. “Sure you’re not disappointed?” “Not at all,” she nuzzled in his manliness. As promised, within three weeks they moved in. “I’m so looking forward to raising our children here,” she pushed her hand flat onto the table as they ate freshly killed squirrel to commemorate the first dinner in their new home. “This is a good room for the first baby, but we’ll need furniture, clothes and a crib,” Shelly pointed to barren areas of the rooms. “Of course,” he said. “In time, we’ll have a baby. I’ll have to pick up some extra work, of course, to pay the bills.” He wasn’t sure how soon she wanted to have their first child, but he felt it might be good to wait a year or two, at least. “We’ll need a fence to protect the kids so they don’t wander off,” said Shelly. “Don’t worry, Shell,” Dan said, “Everything’s gonna be great!” Inside though, Dan worried about Shelly’s expectations. She didn’t seem to understand the cost of things—especially raising a family, and he had no idea the fence might act like a prison. For seven months, every morning and on Saturdays, when Dan left for work, Shelly cooked his meals and washed his clothes, acting out the perfect wife role with zest. And it wasn’t long before she was pregnant with their first child. Soon, Shelly asked if Dan could buy another car for her. “It’ll be easier for you to get to work, and with my own car, I can run errands and drive the baby to its doctor’s appointments.” Dan agreed. “I’ll find a used family car that’ll be a great fit for us. I know a mechanic who can check it out.” He paced the floor, trying to figure out how to make ends meet. “I can work extra hours and stop going hunting on Sundays, too. With the baby and all, we need more money.” “You’ll be able to hunt again soon. This’ll be temporary,” she patted his leg. “I’ll be O.K.,” he assured her with a smile. But he didn’t feel O.K. He felt smothered. Hunting was his one activity that gave him a lot of pleasure. “I just never really thought about the cost of raising a family.” Dan took a long swig of his coffee. “I can stop hunting for now.” “Family comes first,” Shelly confirmed, hugging him from behind. “I couldn’t ask for a better man.” His feelings were bolstered knowing she thought he was the best man she could ever find. Dan’s shoulders relaxed as he craned his neck around to peck her on the lips. “I know. I can’t believe how happy I am with you. I’ll do it for the family.”

“We need to increase our family income like everyone’s family does, Dan.” Shelly put two hands on his face. “It’s what respectable people do.” “I understand,” he said, though his heart sank with worries of trying to make more money. After their conversation, Dan worked harder than ever. He became a robot. He woke up early every day and didn’t return home till after dark. Because of his hard work, he soon gained rewards at the coal company in the form of a raise. If only I could cut family expenses, he thought. Within a year, they were blessed with a beautiful baby boy, whom Shelly named Billy. Dan had little to say on the child’s name, and it wasn’t long before Shelly was pregnant again. “I think we’ll need to make more money.” “Jesus, I’m getting beat down… but yes, we need more money,” Dan touched beads of sweat on his forehead and pulled his glasses down and looking over the rim. “What did you expect?” Shelly responded. Her body tensed and her eyes tightened. “Hell, Shell, not this!” he raised his voice. “You have a family now, and you have to be the man,” she said. “I think I’m manly enough, thank you. All I ever do is work.” He leaned his head back in an effort to temper his frustration. “What else do you want?” Shelly berated Dan with a wagging finger. “I’m just feeling closed in, you know?” “Don’t you ever consider my feelings?” “Well, you stay at home all day, and I have to go out and work hours and hours just to make ends meet.” “What are you saying?” Shelly said. “I work plenty hard here at home with your baby and taking care of you and the house.” “It’s not the same,” said Dan. “Look, you knew what you were getting into when you married me,” said Shelly. “You asked me to marry you, remember?” “Yes, yes,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to pick up some overtime, and we should be fine with money.”

Dan then went over to the baby, patted his head, and said, “How’s Billy, my special guy, doing?” Shelly giggled. “He looks a lot like you. I can’t wait for little Alice to be born and join our family. Don’t you like that name, Alice?” “Yeah, it’s alright.” Dan rubbed the stubble on his cheek. He felt as though he was becoming someone who worked and paid the bills. He didn’t feel very visible in Shelly’s life at all and rarely saw the kids. His own personal world had crumbled and disappeared. He body began to hunch over and his face carved dark grooves around his eyes. Dan decided to channel his anger into work and convince himself to feel good about being the provider. He picked up an extra shift at the mine and worked extra days at the Saw Mill to make ends meet. Shelly used her pregnancy time to take care of their son and prepare herself for her new daughter. Soon, Alice was born. And Dan continued to work as many overtime hours as he could. As the children grew, Shelly took pride in helping them and teaching them. Both children showed talent in art, and Shelly would tape their art pictures on the refrigerator and walls. Since the children required so much care over the years, Shelly and Dan’s sex life tapered off. As both lay in their bed one night, too late for either to feel in the mood, Shelly hugged him. “I’ve been missing you, Dan,” she said gently rubbing his arm. “I know, hon.” He pulled her closer to him. “It’s been hard. The Saw Mill work is backbreaking, and I don’t see you or the kids much.” He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head. “I wish you’d have sex with me more often.” “More sex?” She lifted her head. “Or just some sex?” Dan bluntly replied. “Work is a grind a little sex might help.” “I’m busy raising your children,” Shelly said. “I’m too tired at night to have sex! Is that all you ever think about!” “Are you arguing with me… about sex?” Dan asked hanging his arms at his sides while his back bone bowed with weight. “You know we never argue,” Shelly spoke, still refusing to face him. “We always work our differences out. You know I still love you.”

“I know,” he answered, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, baby. I guess I’m a little stressed. It’s driving me crazy. We don’t see much of each other and we haven’t had sex for a long time. That’s all.” “I think we should put money aside for the kid’s college,” Shelly changed the subject. “Before long, they’ll be grown up. If we start now, by saving a little every year, we’ll be better prepared.” Dan sighed. “Money… money… and more money; that’s all we talk about—and live for. I wish someone would’ve warned me about all of this.” “Look, I can’t help it if things get more expensive every year,” said Shelly. “It’s part of life. And raising kids is expensive.” “Alright, I’ll put in extra hours or get another part-time job,” Dan offered leaned forward as a light was being turned out that used to burn inside his chest. Dan’s hard work earned him many financial rewards, but this meant he was at home less and less. The added Saw Mill work took a toll on his body, burdening his back and muscles. The years passed and the two continued on. Their differences about money were regular topics. That seemed to be all that Shelly cared about. Before they knew it, the children had grown up and started elementary school, followed by Beckley-Stratton Middle School, and, finally, high school. Shelly’s life revolved around her children and their school activities. As a result, she paid little attention to Dan, who spent more of his time at work, and very little time at home. One day at work, Dan’s physical energy shut down. He couldn’t focus his mind on any task long enough to develop it or move it to completion. Things inside went blank—there was no spark. All the pushing and running, trying to make more money, suddenly stagnated at a standstill, like spoiled meat in his stomach. Having slogged uphill for so long, Dan now hungered to stop, desperate for a break. He was exhausted from all the pushing; motivation and inspiration died. Any fire inside was cold; he hit bottom and left work early. Driving along in his pickup truck, he suddenly saw her. She looked young. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but was exotic and sexy. She stood rather tall with thick black hair and dark eyes, and with large breasts, she had a smoking hot body. She reminded him of Cher, the famous singer who became popular with the Sonny & Cher TV show. The Cher look-alike wore over-the-knee leather boots and cut-off jean short shorts. She had long, tanned thighs. He licked his lips. His heart started racing. Good God, she was attractive! Dan slowed his truck to a stop. She looked over at him and he nodded. She smiled, nodded and walked over to the truck.

“Get in,” he said. Smiling, she got in the passenger’s seat and said, “Fifty.” Dan pulled five $10 bills out of his wallet. She folded the cash and pushed it down into her bra then bent over his lap and spat her chewing gum into her hand where it stayed. He heard his zipper unzip and felt her lips wrap around him. He looked down at the back of her head as it moved up and down. Good God! It felt so good he thought he was going to die! After only a minute or two of her sucking him, Dan exploded in her mouth. She sat up, opened her door, and spit. She then put her chewing gum back in her mouth. Before leaving the car, she caressed his cheek and said gently, “You’re very sweet. I’m Gina, by the way, and I’m here every night, so don’t be a stranger. Ciao.” He heard himself say, “Thank you,” and then the door slammed. Dan sat for a few seconds with his pants unzipped, feeling a sense of emptiness as he tried to evaluate what had just happened. “It was a great blow job!” he said to himself. “For fifty bucks, it’s much more than I ever got from my wife, and hell, it cost me a lot less money.” He zipped up his pants and headed for home. It was later than usual when he arrived. Instead of hugging Shelly as he usually did, he placed his coat down on the couch. He hung his head as he approached Shelly. “Hon, I’ve a confession.” He looked like a guilty man. “You look terrible… what are you talking about?” Shelly asked, lightly touching his arm. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about making a mistake at work. We all make them.” “This is not good news,” dark rings appeared under his eyes. “And it was a mistake… a stupid, immoral mistake, and against everything I believe in as a person.” “Did you lose your job?” “No, I didn’t lose my job. I want to tell you the truth right away.” He looked at the floor. “But I did something really stupid.” “What?” Shelly asked again. He snuck a peek and saw she was calm, staring straight ahead with her lips slightly pursed. He knew he needed to bite the bullet and come out with it. “She charged me fifty bucks and gave me a blow job. That’s it, nothing more. The whole thing took two minutes,” he frowned at the floor. Shelly asked, without looking at Dan, “In our truck?”

“What?” his heart made a loud thud. She repeated, “The whore you picked up… you picked her up in our truck?” Unprepared for this question, Dan began to realize the implications of this fact. “Errr, yes, yes, in our truck… I’m sorry Shell, I’m so sorry!” he said almost in tears. She gasped. “Tell me you’re joking!” Her mouth dropped open and her hands trembled. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked. “Sweet Jesus, how could you do this? Do we need to pray?” “We don’t need to pray. It was oral sex, nothing else,” Dan said, and sighed heavily. “It was nothing? How could you do this to me? You broke your vows and committed adultery. What the hell did you think you were doing?” Dan watched as her pretty faced turned into a sagging distortion of what Shelly normally looked like. She clenched her fist and punched the air near his temple. “Oh hon, I know it’s wrong, but I didn’t think you’d react like this. It was just a mistake. It won’t happen again.” “You’re disgusting! I hate you!” “I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I did it.” Dan looked away with dark puffy eyes. He wished he could forget the whole event but couldn’t stop seeing the prostitute’s head in his lap with her redlipped mouth. The image became a nightmare. “Is all of this because… you know… because I don’t give you oral sex?” Her face flushed red, and a look of stretched skin came over her and her mouth puckered as if she had a sour taste in her mouth. “No.” “I don’t do that because it’s for queers.” She crossed her arms against her chest and pulled her face in a pout of disgust. “How can you say that? Is that what you’re getting at?” Dan shook his head. He had known from the beginning of their marriage that she wouldn’t perform oral sex because it said not to in the Bible. “You need oral sex? You queer? Is that it?” Shelly asked. Her face was red as a beet and her nostrils flared. She was fuming.

“No, it’s nothing to do with that, hon,” Dan said, a little frightened at her deranged expression. “I don’t mind it if we don’t do oral.” He moved closer and touched her hand, wanting to console her. She jerked away. “You’ll go to hell first!” “Please don’t,” he begged. “You’re going to pay for this,” she shouted and threw a glass onto the floor. “Come on, Shell, it’s nothing,” Dan repeated. Shelly looked up, raised her hands toward the sky, and called out in a wobbly voice, “We need God in our lives. God, please come down and help us!” “No, Shel,” Dan wondered why he had confessed his indiscretion to her. Maybe he should never have told her. “What were you thinking?” “I made a mistake.” “A mistake? Getting a speeding ticket’s a mistake. Allowing a… a… whore to touch you down there… well, that’s not a mistake, its mockery! How could you do this to me?” Shelly screamed. “I wanted to tell you the truth and come clean.” “I trusted you!” She backed away with a shudder. “That’s why I told you.” “I can’t trust you again.” Tears streamed down her face. “Sure you can! It was a mistake.” “I thought you really loved me forever, till the end of time!” Shelly spoke as she paced back and forth. “It was a silly urge, a temptation. I do love you.” “Our vows are broken. You’ve sinned, and worse, you don’t love me anymore! You broke my trust and one of the Ten Commandments!” Shelly screamed. “Please, you’re shouting—and don’t say that. I love you, Shell Bell,” Dan begged, pulling her hand into his arms. “Don’t call me that, you snake. If you really loved me, you’d never have cheated on me!” Her voice

stung the air as her eyebrows pinched together. “I’m truly sorry. Please, look at everything I’ve sacrificed for you and the children,” he said as if whispering. “I’ve given my entire life to you. I gave you everything! I even gave you children!” She blasted back. “You wanted children!” “You’re disgusting; you’re an abomination in the eyes of God,” Shelly yelled and beat her hands on the walls. “Please don’t say things like that.” Her screaming raked on his nerves. “After sixteen years of marriage, you’ve destroyed my world! Don’t touch me!” “Please stop yelling,” Dan pleaded. “I can smell her on you!” The two sat in silence for the longest time on the sofa. Finally Shelly spoke, “Where did it happen?” “Why does it matter?” “I need to know.” Dan looked down at the floor. “Downtown near Brown’s Country Cove. You know the area of town.” At his point, he wished he were invisible. “That’s so un-Godly! I’ll never understand it. I can’t stand looking at you,” Shelly creased her brow and pressed her face forward. “Every week you hear something on the news about drug use, murder, rape, and prostitution in that part of town, and there you were, right in the middle of all of it getting your blow job.” Dan knelt in front of her. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?” “No, never.” She kicked at him, accidentally kicking him in the face. He grabbed his nose. Blood was everywhere. “Don’t get violent,” Dan said as gently as he could. “You deserve it.” She slapped him hard on the face then stormed out of the room.

The fight was over for the night. Dan slept on the couch. He mulled over the day and wondered how Shelly could become so angry. He thought it might be her strict religious upbringing. He realized, of course, that he was dumb to ever tell her about the event. The next day, he needed extra coffee to get through the day. After that night, Dan couldn’t come home without being barraged with questions. Shelly spent the whole day imagining more deeds of infidelity. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life paying for this!” “Please don’t attack me like this,” he begged. There was little to eat each night when he came home from work, and Dan quietly slept on the couch again and again. One evening, Shelly resumed her harsh attack, “You cheated! A harlot sucked your dick. Who does that?” She shattered a glass on the floor. She just couldn’t get over it. “I’ve said I was sorry over and over, Shell,” Dan realized there was no defense for him, Shelly acted like battering ram set on automatic. The next evening, another demanding day of hard work ended, and Dan found himself tiptoeing across the wooden porch. He opened the door, hoping Shelly would be busy and not notice him. “I pray God will strike you down for your lust-filled sins,” she shouted. Everything in his life at home became a combat zone. “I know, I know,” Dan responded. He hardly listened. He wondered how many other husbands had to put up with this. His ears hurt and his heart ached. “You know what? You need to repent for your terrible sins!” Shelly preached. “Yes, Shelly, I will repent,” he promised. “Even that might not make you well. God is pure,” she said. God, it felt like he was being preached to in church! The next evening, she continued to pick at him. “No husband of mine will lay down with infected whores.” She hammered Dan with guilt, and he started to feel bad about himself, obsessing over his flaws, and hung his head when Shelly yelled at him.

“Millions of husbands do it every day,” Dan blurted out one day. “To hell and damnation with you!” She grabbed a photo frame on the counter and threw it at Dan. “Okay, can we stop talking about this?” he asked her sharply. Dan wanted the yelling and bitching to stop. The next day he stayed an hour late at work, not wanting to go home. He loved Shelly, but feared going home. Dan finally left work and made his way home. As soon as he walked in the house, the inquisition began as always. “Where’ve you been? You’re an hour late again. Who are you seeing now?” grilled Shelly. “No one!” Dan tossed his coat down on the table. “Like all the other times I haven’t. Christ, woman, leave me alone. Every single day for months, you’ve asked me if I’m cheating. I told you when I cheated. I thought you’d appreciate that. God, I wish you’d stop nagging me about this!” Tired of the overbearing bouts, Dan’s soul sank like a boat anchor. He lost weight and felt listless. For the first time, the thought of leaving Shelly actually entered his mind, but it quickly dissolved. That was not the traditional way. “I don’t know whether I should believe you or not!” Shelly shot back. “How do I know you haven’t been with strippers or more prostitutes?” “No, hon,” Dan replied in a steady voice. “Where’d you get that idea?” He spoke in an easy manner and searched for a way to end the weighted burden had become his life. “You’re a sodomite!” she screamed Dan dropped his head back and groaned, rubbing his face. “Don’t bring the Bible into this. Remember, Christians forgive and do not throw the sins of others back in their faces.” Shelly’s daily blasts only fueled Dan’s determination to find a way out. When she started in on him, he would simply refuse to respond. He would look at her and let the tirade go in one ear and out the other. The children were tired of all the arguing, and soon they were off attending the University of Charleston, West Virginia, and living in a popular housing building one block from the Kanawha River. During that time, the home became an even worse type of hell. “Satan has taken over your soul,” Shelly shouted. He felt like she was the one who was possessed. “You’re too damn deep into ancient Christian stories!” Dan said. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“God, please slay this man dead right now,” she shouted, clenching her jaw and grabbing the Bible. She held it firmly over her chest. “Fuck you and fuck your non-forgiving, hypocritical bullshit. I’ve had enough!” Dan boomed. “I got one blow job, one lousy fucking blow job ’cause you’re too goddamned righteous to be a real wife… a real woman! That’s not cheating, that’s surviving as a man!” “It’s cheating alright! Don’t tell me you’ve cheated with loose sluts again?!” Shelly screamed. “I swear, Dan, if I find out you’ve looked at another whore, I’ll kill you!” “If Jesus were here today he’d check out some internet porn.” “Don’t say such evil things.” “Okay, hold on a minute . . . Shelly… just hold on. I’ve got something to say to you,” he said as calmly as he could. He put both hands on his hips. “I’ve had enough of your madness. I’ve decided I don’t want to live in this war zone anymore.” Shelly paused for a moment. “What’s that mean?” “Our marriage has stopped my will to live any longer,” he placed a hand on his heart. “Because you sinned!” “No it’s us. It’s because of how we fight. I’m no longer alive.” “Live enough to fuck bitches.” “I’ve been a slave in this outmoded idea of a marriage, and it’s killed me,” his words spilled easily. “So you can eat that whore’s pussy?” “Shelly, I’m leaving this prison of a home and moving to Charleston,” Dan declared with finality. His heart fluttered with the lightness of a feather. He had found his exit. “No! What the hell!” “It’s time for each of us to move on. I’m going to divorce you.” His heart beat in perfect rhythm as if confirming his life-affirming decision. “Why are you doing this? Do you need your cock sucked that bad? Is it some slut you’ve been eyeing?” Shelly continued.

“No. You never got over that incident. It has been two years since it happened.” “But… you need…” she stammered. “Shelly, all your dreams have come true. We made every wish of yours happen—the home, cars, kids… all for you. I worked hard to make you happy,” he stood tall. “But, that’s what husbands do!” “Wives need to help their husband’s dreams come true, too. I’m not a robot. I am a human, Shelly. I have thoughts and feelings like you, but you never took the time to notice. It was always about you.” “What are you talking about? Your dreams revolve around one person, you!” “Even now, you don’t see that I have dreams,” he said. “Dreams of filthy wet pussy?” “I’m being serious now, Shelly,” Dan said as he teetered back and forth. “I’ve been quiet for a long time—too long. I’ve been doing nothing but trying to please you and save this marriage.” “So what? The family and I come first!” Shelly insisted. “I’ve a responsibility to the children, but not to you any longer.” “Don’t get fancy on me!” Dan turned to leave the room to go to their bedroom and pack. He spoke over his shoulder as he left, “I’ve thought through this long and hard. I’m going through with this. We are done.” “What about the kids?” Dan slammed his suitcase down on the bed and shouted, “Don’t use the kids.” He zipped up his suitcase and slung it over his shoulder. “The children are grown. You’ve become ugly and unbearable. When you scream at me, it makes my eyes and ears bleed.” He felt no tension, and almost cried from the sense of relief. “You ass! Divorce will ruin my life!” Her voice screeched as she swiped hair out of her face. “Your life will be fine,” Dan said while exhaling a huge breath. His many days of agony were already dissipating. New energy from a new engine burned inside and he felt good and strong. “You can’t leave me. I’ll be a divorced widower” Shelly clamored. “You should’ve thought about that shit two years ago when you started hounding me mercilessly.”

“But what will we tell the children?” she pleaded. “Let’s start by telling them the truth. They won’t be surprised. They’ve heard you scream and yell at me constantly these past two years.” Dan felt a lightness he had never known. Warmth radiated through his body. He hadn’t realized he had been sitting on these thoughts for so long. “Are you sure about all this?” Shelly asked, speaking with growing realization of her situation. She glanced around the room as her own self-made trap enclosed in on her. Dan looked at Shelly and smiled as he came out of the bedroom, “I think your dream of marriage is a bit too one-sided. Don’t let our children believe in Disney fairy tales. Tell them the truth.” “I don’t want to be alone.” Shelly sobbed as he walked out the door. “Now, who sounds selfish? It was just one blow job.” Dan closed the door, and in doing so, closed that chapter of his life. Shelly stood in her dream home in shock, alone with her thoughts and her dreams. Overnight peace and happiness engulfed Dan’s life without the God-awful barrages and jealous fits from Shelly. Now Dan lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he sees his children often and embarks on hunting and fishing jaunts whenever he pleases and doesn’t worry about checking in with a neurotic wife. He sleeps well, and is finally able to fully enjoy his lifelong outdoors hobbies of hunting, fishing, and camping. He dates and hires a prostitute when the mood hits and as his bank account grows. Today, Dan wonders why and how he stumbled into the marital trap of wife, home, cars, kids, and all those things are no more and no less than bondage. Did he simply fulfill social expectations? Was he going through traditional motions without connecting with his brain? Thoroughly recognizing the love he has for his children, Dan is thankful and joyful his past slavery is over and a new purposeful adventure is in front of him. Next year, he will drive to Canada for a hunting trip, fulfilling an early childhood dream. Life has never been better or more joyful. He saw that marriage for young men includes many deceptions that extinguish a man’s natural energies, and Dan is convinced the concept of marriage needs revamping. He is committed to empowering other men to avoid the pitfalls of a lifelong marriage. Sure, maybe some people have successful marriages. He recognizes that. But, too many are nightmares. Dan lives life the way he sees fit, and interacts with internet friends while actively mentoring people on forums. He produced two YouTube videos about his experience in breaking away from societal traps and forging his own way. With hundreds of messages each week, he accepts requests to exchange and present at support groups, using a Matrix Leadership Model, focusing on face-to-face, person-to-person exchanges.

Today, Dan is internet popular and is filled with pleasures and joy he never imagined. He hunts when he pleases and meets other women. After unshackling himself from the expectations of society, he lives life confidently, and continues to conquer mountains with steadfast certainty. His domain remains his own, and he experiences boundless freedoms. ∞∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Men: Never forfeit hopes and dreams for a woman or marriage.xxiv Men: Without passionate dreams—you’re a man without a soul. xxv xxvi Men’s natural adventurism is killed by domestic marriage. xxvii Men: If you cheat once, she will make your life miserable forever.xxviii Women’s jealous nagging is responsible for breakups and divorces.xxix Women nag their loved one 1, 298 continuous hours each year.xxx xxxi Women’s nagging and complaining is futile, men just ignore it.xxxii Women remember indiscretions and use them against men.xxxiii xxxiv Women wish for a Disney and fairy-tale marriage is a myth.xxxv Men are easily manipulated by women and society into marriage.xxxvi Wives expect household income to increase one year after marriage. xxxvii The cost of raising a family in the US is higher than ever.xxxviii Men are expected to “take care” of women.xxxix The dream of marriage works against men’s nature.xl xli Men: Once a child is born, life is hard and will sustain poverty. xlii Men: Traditional marriage enslaves you to wife and family.xliii A married man will seek outside sexual stimulation.xliv Marriage is an outmoded tradition that needs reexamination.xlv Men can seek alternatives to traditional marriage.xlvi

Chapter 3 Painful Love As he held a bouquet of flowers, long-legged Jeff Anderson, with his hair cut into a crew cut; closed his car door, started the engine, and raced home. Tired from the day’s activities as CPA Supervisor of the Colorado Springs Regional Tax Center, he drove along the interstate, exceeding the speed limit by at least ten miles an hour. Oblivious to how fast he was driving, he thought the evening might turn into a leather-bondage sex scene. He knew he was late though, and Carol didn’t like it when he was late. At the moment, it didn’t matter if every police officer on the freeway was on patrol. Jeff barreled along Interstate 25 whistling a tune with only one thing on his mind: SEX. That’s right. With all capitals! He had a feeling unlike any other, and one he held close for the longest time. Sex waited for him at home. Carol’s affectionate, erotic touches were waiting. It was all part of their two month long, trial live-in situation before taking the relationship to the next level, which was marriage. He hoped she wasn’t pissed off though for him being late. Jeff’s coworkers liked his easygoing personality, and Jeff made his time available for them, eagerly helping whenever he could, with the women in the office often talking about how tall and attractive he was. He never experienced problems finding a girlfriend, and if he had been gay, they would have been lining up for him, too. He was popular! He was one of those guys everybody loved, but not perfect; his charm went on for miles, and behind closed doors his sexual urges controlled most of his life decisions. Careening down the interstate, Jeff thought about Carol, the girl he had met online, and their last outing at his favorite spot, the Colorado Rod & Gun Club, a popular place for target practice, a cool place—his father had introduced to him the club’s skeet shooting at the age of twelve. Since then, he visited the gun club once a week, and occasionally entered competitions, where winning contests often garnered him awards. He remembered the first time he ever shot the flying clay ducks. It had been wonderful, and the smile his father gave him had thrilled him beyond explanation. Jeff adored the sport, and shared this excitement with Carol, who also found it cool. He noted her enthusiastic use of the rifle while he taught her. This was a good thing, as Carol wasn’t always so easy to please. Standing behind her, legs wide and arms around her, he took in a full breath of her hair. It smelled like roses and lilacs. He immediately felt a stirring between his legs. He guided her hands over the gun’s mechanics and directed the barrel towards the target, becoming fully aroused; he knew Carol could feel his hardness pressed against her. Jeff longed only to hold her, possess her. For a moment, he wanted to move her into a castle and

build its walls and rooms exactly the way she wished. He yearned for a home where the two might live and love. Then, he remembered just a week ago when they were at the Chapel Hills Mall. He had briefly checked out another woman’s ass and Carol had seen him and slapped him in public—in front of everyone. Stunned and embarrassed, he didn’t think he had done wrong; didn’t every guy notice and appreciate a woman’s ass when it was round and perfect? Carol later apologized and explained that she was simply reacting from memories of her father abandoning her and her mother when she was a child. The memories were still raw, and resurfaced whenever she saw him looking at another woman; she had lapses of hurtful insecurity. As he walked through the apartment door, Carol made a beeline toward him, wearing a short dress with a tank top hugging her torso like second skin and displaying an ample amount of cleavage. Her blonde hair cascaded behind her and swayed with each step she made. He loved her hair, one of her best assets. Her flaxen hair and suntanned skin gave her an all-American glow. Like many times before, Jeff’s breath caught in his throat, unable to believe this beautiful girl became his girlfriend. “Hi honey, how did work go today? Do anything interesting?” chimed Carol, smiling sweetly. Jeff’s heart melted at the sound of her voice. “I’d say I had a good day. Kind of uneventful, but I’m glad to be home with you,” his expression beamed as his heart beat quicker. He watched her move, the way her body swayed with her steps, and how the dress slipped and slid across all her more interesting body parts. What he wouldn’t give to be able to remove the dress right now. That comes later, he thought. He had had other girlfriends over the years, and had dated around, but since meeting Carol, he focused only on her. He promised he would forsake all others for her. “Yeah, it’s good you’re home.” Her eyes focused on his crotch. There was hunger on her face, making his loins feel warm. “I couldn’t wait to get home to you.” Jeff leaned down and kissed Carol’s full, moist lips. Unable to hold back, he caressed her ass, sending a jolt of need through his loins. Carol laughed and said, “You’re such a man. Always thinking about sex, huh? That’s why I married… er… a… moved in with you, hon.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m all man…” He gave her the bouquet of flowers that he had bought for her and wondered if this would become a weekly romantic ritual. “Flowers! Well, this will earn you a lot of forgiveness and favors in bed tonight! You can’t imagine how worried I was because you’re late.” “Yeah, my meetings ran late. Sorry, but I’m here now! C’mon, let’s move to the bed.” “Oh yeah?”

“Sure.” “But you’re late.” “I came home as fast as I could.” “Where’ve you been?” She pointed one finger at his eyes and finger butted his head. “Geesh,” Jeff moved back a foot and rubbed his forehead. She cracked her knuckles and put an open hand on his forehead and pushed hard. “You’re twenty minutes late. Who were you with?” She grabbed the bouquet and swatted the flowers against his head. “Only twenty minutes?! What’s up with you?” Jeff relaxed his posture, wondering why and how this had happened. “You! That’s what’s up.” She flicked his head with her finger. Jeff staggered back, rubbing the area. “I wasn’t with anyone. Oh, wait… I see. You want it rough tonight?” He thought of wild sex involving the black whip stored in a box under their bed. He thought of wooden spoons, paint stirrers, which all made excellent paddles. His favorite, the wooden spoons, were very “stingy” and made a dull “thud.” “No, cut that out!” She slapped his cheek. “That one hurt. Are you sure? Should I change what I’m wearing?” He easily overlooked the slap, eager to make love to her. “You’re acting so stupid! Don’t you see? I want you to stay away from other females!” She leaned closer, her breath on his face. “Are you serious? I do stay away from all other women.” He felt sex-mesmerized with the closeness to her. “I’m the woman you turn to for everything,” she said while growling with a huff. “Of course. You sure are… mmm… mistress?” He thought of their last playtime in bed, anticipating tonight. “You can never talk to another bitch!” “You’re sounding crazy.” He felt a pushing sensation in his chest. I wish she could just be quiet now.

“I’m not a crazy mother-fucker!” She grabbed his crotch and dug her fingers in hard to twist it, making Jeff whine and protectively bent over. “Dammit… Stop… It hurts,” he groaned wondering what he had done wrong. “You can’t be with anyone else! You’re mine alone.” She let go. “Okay, okay I get your point.” He exhaled and straightened, relieved she’d let go. “I worry about you so much.” Carol pouted with an exaggerated face. All at once, her anger dissipated. He straightened his frame. “Remember before we moved in together, we were dating and went to the movies and theater every week?” His stomach fluttered, and he used one open hand to rub his heart, recalling better times. “Yes, that was wonderful and when I fell in love with you,” Carol said in a quiet voice. She placed a palm on her tummy. “We’d eat and talk all night long. Then, we’d go to the lake and have a picnic.” He placed a hand on her back and moved in a gentle circular motion. “Very romantic.” Carol relaxed her posture and gazed off into the distance. “Remember one long day at the County Fair? We lost track of time because we were doing everything, including the cow competition, the pig ranking, and eating all the fried foods. Then, after I urged you to forget the fear of falling, we rode the roller coaster ride at midnight. You nestled in my arm, all day long. We never argued or fought. Remember?” He remembered how his stomach had fluttered, and he appreciated the entire world as a gift for both of them. “I’ll never forget that.” She hooked her hand onto his belt. “What ever happened between then and now? You’ve changed.” “Well… never mind about that. That was then. We’ve got more important things to focus on now.” She turned towards him. “I understand, sweetie.” Jeff’s heart went to mush again and gave in, so in love. “I can’t stand the thought of you running off on me, Jeff!” she said, in a voice thick and sweet as syrup. “Don’t be jealous. There’s a good movie on TV. How about I cook some popcorn and we check it out?” he said as his voice bubbled. He reached out towards her.

“Jealous!” She raised her voice and got in his face. “I sat here for twenty minutes wondering where you were. I know it’s enough time to fuck someone. I know you’re cheating!” Jeff opened both arms, ready for a warm hug. “Listen Carol, I’m not cheating on you, okay? I promise I raced home as soon as soon as I could.” “I don’t believe you,” Carol said. Jeff turned away to gather his thoughts. She followed after him, her lips twisting into a snarl. “No, we ain’t done talking about this. Get back here, you worthless piece of shit!” “Stop,” he raised his voice. He bent forward as she pulled his arm so he faced her. Carol scoffed. “What about the other day in the mall? You totally checked out that girl’s ass.” “And you slapped me for it.” Jeff cringed at the memory. “And I’ll slap you again!” She slapped him again. “What’s that for?” He recoiled and touched his cheek. “That should teach you! You should have eyes for me alone. Only for me, got that?” She pointed at herself. “What the hell? Women spend almost every day of their lives making their faces and hair look good for men. Am I not supposed to notice?” “No, you can’t look at those other bitches.” “Okay, well, explain why women try so damn hard dressing sexy to get men’s attention?” “I guess they’re needy whores!” She shook her head. “Alright, I’ll be careful from now on.” He stood close, aware he wanted to protect and possess her. “Stop looking or I’ll beat your face in.” She stood with one leg ahead of the other, her body angled for an attack. “Why beat me? Please, I’m a man and don’t deserve to be beaten,” he spoke with a silly grin, imagining the two of them making love while his hands sweat with anticipation. He snuck a glance at her cleavage. “Well, I’m your girlfriend!”

“I’ll do what you say and won’t look.” He wanted to settle in for the night, so he finally took off his jacket. “Hang it up in the front closet,” Carol said, while pointing a commanding finger. “I know.” Jeff twisted his wrist and felt his stomach roll. As Jeff hung his jacket in the closet, Carol interrupted, “You’re not doing it right! Now, fix it!” She bossed like an army sergeant. “Am I doing it right now?” Jeff lowered his head and rubbed his hand through his hair. She didn’t look before snapping. “No, you’re pathetic!” He cringed. “Please don’t.” He purposely did everything in his power not to retaliate. He wanted his sexy Carol tonight, not this jealous, bossy tyrant. “Fold the arms down at the sides!” she instructed. “Really, do I need to do it myself?” “Honey, that’s enough now.” He did as she said and placed one hand against his neck. “By the way, you should know, I used one of your credit cards today and bought a new dress and got my hair done.” “You used my credit card without asking me? Did you sneak it out of my wallet?” He fiddled with his shirt sleeve button and felt gurgling in his stomach. “I guess this is what you deal with when you date a hot chick like me, baby!” Carol moved her mouth close to his ear. “I didn’t give you permission.” His hand dropped to his side and his face flattened. “I don’t need permission! I can do whatever I want when I want!” “Please, keep your hands off my wallet.” His eyes then dropped, focused on her cleavage; the sexual stirrings in his loins kept his mind in a whir. Carol smiled devilishly, noticing Jeff’s wandering eyes. “You’d like the dress I bought. It shows off these…” Carol touched her breasts, cupping them upwards. “I might find that dress appealing.” Jeff felt his dick harden. She always made him horny. “I’m your freakin’ girlfriend! I can tell you anything I want!” Carol used one hand, giving him a shove.

“You’re just my girlfriend. Not my freakin’ wife.” Jeff rocked backwards wondering how he could make Carol happy. “Not yet, anyway! You’ll get injured if you don’t listen to me.” “Please,” he said. “Don’t hurt me. That’d be crazy.” “I don’t give a shit what you think, Jeff!” She gave him a harder shove and almost crashed into the dining room table. “So now I’m crazy, huh?!” She slapped his face once again. “Ouch, Carol, I don’t like it when you push and slap me around,” he said, planting his feet. “Are you trying to scare me?” “I’m doing this because I love you. I love you more than anything,” she said, using her honeyed voice while she worked her curvy body. “Is that it?” He hoped as his eyes gazed. “You’re the one I care for so much.” Her beautiful face returned. “Sure, honey. I love you, too. Please stop hitting me then!” “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry for that.” She reached out, put her hand on his neck, and then pulled in close. “I worried I might have to report you to the police.” He laughed uneasily. “Now, now, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you? Let’s sit.” She patted her palm on the couch. Oh God, this is so nice. I enjoy her when she’s like this. “Sure, let’s relax, I like that,” Jeff eased. “Let’s enjoy the night.” She offered a thumbs-up gesture and smoothed out the front of her blouse. “I’ll pop the popcorn, you can start the movie. We’ll have a good time.” “Okay.” She paged through the screen’s TV Guide as Jeff placed the popcorn into the microwave. Jeff catered popcorn and sodas on the table in front of the couch. Carol sat luridly on the couch as he walked back to it. The movie started. She looks so fine, I want to have sex with her.

“How about I take us to the Broadmore for dinner tomorrow?” He beamed a smile. “That’s a nice place. I’d love it!” The two lay side by side on the living room couch. She put her bare feet onto his lap. The lights dimmed around them, setting the mood. Jeff leaned over, kissed her ankles. He gently rubbed each toe and massaged her feet. Then his attention turned to the movie. Carol looked at Jeff and then growled. Jeff watched the movie closely. Carol’s eyes blackened and she slowed one foot far back. She held it a moment and then she kicked with unbreakable force, slamming Jeff in the side with a wallop. He recoiled, popcorn kernels scattered into the air. “Owwww!” Jeff shouted. He sat forward in pain. “God, you hurt me.” His body crumpled where her foot bashed him, as spots flashed in his vision. “I saw you looking at her!” She pointed at the TV. A beautiful actress had been on the screen moments earlier. “Christ, Carol, it’s the TV.” “You cheating son of a bitch.” She stood and reached out to swing a wide slap across his face. “You love me. Is this how couples should act?” “Yes!” She knocked him on the top of the head with her hand. “Carol, I thought the rest of the night would be fine. You promised. Am I making a mistake?” He leaned away so her hands couldn’t reach him. “Don’t you feel like hitting me?” Her lips pressed together. “No, but I think I know why some men fight back.” He rocked on his heels and pretended to study the floor. His mind sifted through the events that had just happened, and he tried to figure out how to stop it from getting worse. Carol smirked. “You’re too much of a chicken shit to fight me back!” “I ain’t hitting you.” Jeff awkwardly laughed in an attempt to make Carol happier. “You could never get tired of me and give up all of this!” she said, gesturing towards her body.

“That’s true.” “Do you find this sexy?” “Let me think.” “Do you like it?” “Well, let’s take a break tonight.” His words surprised him; normally he would do anything for sex. “What? You don’t find me sexy?” “Well… er… not right now.” His voice sounded quiet. She raised an invisible rifle in the air, aimed, and then pulled the trigger. “Pow,” she whispered. His heart stopped. “So, I introduce you to shooting clay ducks and you turn the rifle around and point it at me? What kind of person are you?” “You don’t know me at all, darling,” she said with a sick smile plastered on her face. “I’ve hit you right where it hurts, haven’t I, dearest?” “No, I guess I don’t know you. I taught you to use the rifle and now you turn on me by fake pulling the trigger.” Jeff now regretted those target practices at the Colorado Rod and Gun Club. “I’m reminding you I’m wearing the pants around here.” “I’ve been good to you.” He clenched his hands. “And you better never stop being good to me!” Carol picked up a drinking glass. She lifted it over her head, aimed it at Jeff, changed her target, and then threw it onto the floor with a loud smash. Glass bits scattered. The sound of glass breaking rattled a hidden memory from a past incident when Jeff was seven years old. His heart stopped and Carol disappeared for a moment as his mind recalled a raging argument between his father and mother. He saw a timid child, himself, sitting with crossed legs on the living room carpet. He lowered his head, afraid of the screams. He put hands over his ears and trembled. Mom yelled bad words that made him terrified. His dad had crashed the kitchen table to the floor, breaking the table’s legs, glasses, and dishes. Pieces of glass, silverware, and pottery scattered everywhere. He cowered and shrunk in horror. His stomach twisted, ran to his bedroom and he remembered that was the first time, he cried himself to sleep. His dad closed his fist and slugged his mom. Her black eye was easily noticeable the next morning. Jeff had blanked all those images out of his mind. He had blocked the scene from memory for many years, until this moment.

Oh God, what am I doing? He came back from the memory and gazed at Carol. His mind clicked. “Have I been putting up with violence just for sex?” He trembled. As a light bulb switched on in his brain, he wondered how long he had been acting like this just for sex and attention. “That’s the way it should be.” “I think I just learned something.” Sweat gathered under his arms. “Fuck you and do what I say.” He thrust his out chest. “Not anymore. I think I need to change.” God, what a feeling when I make the right decision for once. “Oh please! Don’t fool yourself. Men are moronic idiots controlled by pussy!” she spat back. “You’ve got a twisted idea of what men are,” he frowned, and his muscles tensed. “What a big pussy you are! Give me your cell phone, because I’m going through your calls!” She held her hand out. “Hand your fucking phone over now!” “There’s nothing in my phone.” “I’ll be the judge of that.” She grabbed the phone and scrolled though the messages. She gasped and his heart fell. “Who’s this bitch, Elly?” He almost laughed. “That’s my sister, remember?” “Going through your Facebook and phone is sharing, sharing like every good couple should do.” She continued searching through his phone. “You’re an evil person?” I have to change this situation! “I’m your lover.” She tossed the phone against the floor. “You’re teaching me about why I put up with you.” “You need sex, right?” “I’m not going to be your pussy beggar anymore.” He took a deep breath. His body tensed, and his

spirit felt free. “What? Is this some kind of a threat?” Carol pushed her lower lip out. “You and I can’t be together anymore. I should move out.” An enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. He was free. His chest pounded with joy. “You can’t leave me. I love you! You belong to me,” she cried and begged sweetly. “Listen a minute. My dad abused my mother, and I’m doing the opposite with you. See?” He held his palm out towards her. “What the hell are you saying?” She leaned forward with an open mouth and strained her neck. “Please don’t make this difficult. This is best for both of us to get some time away. Let’s separate.” He formed a steeple with his hands and pressed them to his lips. “But, don’t leave me!” Her voice cracked as her head moved down with her eyes looking up. One fist clenched in the air. Jeff noticed the betrayal Carol must have felt after her father walked out on her life. His feelings longed to come rescue her from this state of fear, but the fighting between them was too real and painful. “Carol I know this will cause aching at first, but I’m thinking I need to work this out within myself.” He opened both arms and sensed a warm expansion in his chest. “I said no!” She screamed. “I gotta fix something.” “What’s that mean?” she said as her eyes and face glared like a she-wolf. “I think you and I both need to get help. We’re not good for each other. I can’t do this with you anymore.” “I’ll make your life miserable.” She leaned forward and spat at him. “Listen Carol, I’ve realized… love shouldn’t hurt, and I should change my life. I really need to change. Carol, can you help me with this?” “Hell, no! You’ll pay with your life!” “Don’t you see we can make everything so much better?” he said as he rubbed his forehead.

Carol disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a knife. “What the fuck?” His spine straightened as dark thoughts raced. Carol wielded a long butcher knife with the look of a criminal. “You’re not leaving!” “Wha… what’re you doing?” Jeff stuttered. His stomach dropped to the floor. Carol’s eyes glazed over, waving the knife back and forth. “Did you think I’d let you leave me, especially after you made a fool of me?” Jeff froze. He instinctively jumped towards the closet. “No!” Carol yelled and clenched her jaw. His idea to cover himself with the closet door was a knee-jerk reaction. His pounding heartbeat thrashed in his ears. The reaction didn’t work. “Ha, you look like a scared bitch,” she yelled. Her eyes were glassy and her face scowled. “You don’t want to do this.” Jeff put both hands in the air for protection. “Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” She waved the knife in a slicing motion. “You’re planning on cutting me?” “I’ll cut your dick off,” Carol said with glee, as a creepy smile squirmed across her lips. She raised the knife in the air, psycho style. “Carol, don’t, you’ll spend your life behind bars!” He put one hand in the air like a stop sign. All he could think of was how to save him. “I don’t give a shit where I spend my life, as long as I’m not reminded of your betrayal!” “I’m calling the police.” “I’m gonna knife you!” Carol used the knife, pointing and jabbing. “I’ll enjoy making you bleed,” she breathed hard. “Leave me alone!” Jeff dashed towards the phone. “You’ll die for what you’ve done to me.” Carol staggered toward Jeff. “Stop, Carol.”

“Come here, bitch!” Her eyes were wild, her teeth bared ready to eat raw flesh. “Give me that knife!” Jeff shouted. For the first time ever, he knew death. The grim reaper gaped directly in front of him. “Like hell, I will.” Carol stabbed at Jeff, a penetrating jab sliced against the side of his torso. Pain shot through him. Feeling the blade cutting flesh, he grabbed his side and looked down at blood soaking through his shirt. With wide eyes, he clasped both hands around the knife. “Owww, you’ve cut me,” his voice shuddered. He twisted her hand. “Let me cut cha again!” He clenched her wrist and twisted hard. Her growling face grimaced with pain. “Let go, Carol!” his voice pleaded like a terrified boy. “Fuck you.” Jeff yanked her wrist towards the floor, sharply dropped his knee onto her hand, sprung the knife out of her grasp and set it flying across the floor. The knife stopped some ten feet away. “No! You bastard!” Carol struggled to free herself as Jeff held her in a headlock and dragged her to the phone. With one shaking hand, he called 911. “Damn you, you asshole, let me go!” Carol shrieked as she convulsed on the floor with Jeff on top of her, holding her flailing limbs tight. “South West Police Department,” a voice said. “I… need… help,” Jeff said. He couldn’t think straight and he saw spots in his eyes. Carol then knocked the phone out of his hand. “Can I help you?” the operator said. “Wha… what’s wrong with you?” Jeff reached into open air with clawing fingers in hopes of getting the phone back. His heart raced. Carol tore the receiver from him and raised it to her mouth. “My boyfriend is beating me again.

Please come to 1835 Ninth Street.” Her voice chimed with sugar again. “What the hell are you doing?” Jeff’s jaw dropped. “You mother-fucker! I’m stopping you! That’s what I’m doing!” Carol shouted. “Stop this!” He tried to yank the phone out of her hands. “We’ll send a car over right away,” the operator said. “You’re going to rot in jail.” Carol opened her mouth and laughed uncontrollably. “God, Carol, what’s wrong with you?” He cringed. “You!” Her breathing slowly settled down. Some normalcy came back to her face. “Calm down now! They are on their way.” Jeff took deep breaths. “You ass!” “Relax!” Jeff breathed. “Okay, I’m calming down.” She used her forearm to wipe her mouth. “If I let you go, will you sit?” After a moment, she spoke, “Yes, I’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere.” When Jeff eased his hold on Carol, she dropped onto the floor. She sat up heaving, with both legs stretched out, her hair disheveled. “I fucking hate you,” Carol slurred. “That’s okay,” Jeff said in a long breath. In moments, a knock came from the door. “Police Department,” a man’s voice said. Jeff threw the door open. Officers rushed in and cuffed Jeff immediately. “Beating up your girl again tonight?” the officer asked. “Thank you, officers. Thanks for saving me.” Carol’s voice was girly-sweet. “Officer, that hurts,” Jeff felt pain from the police wrenching his cuffed arms behind his back. His heart jumped into his throat.

“Thank you, he hurt me.” Carol whispered like a sweet teen. What was Carol up to? She couldn’t possibly be playing victim? “What happened here?” one officer asked Carol. “He beat me up again.” Carol faked a cry. “Look at what he did.” She pointed at a bruise on her arm and wrist. Her face scrunched up. Boy, she’s good! She could win an Academy Award for her acting! “No, I’m not beating her up. Carol needs some kind of help… counseling… or something.” Jeff’s heart stammered, hoping the police didn’t think he was to blame. “But… look at this, officer, see…” Carol held out her arm and wrist. The officers looked towards Jeff. “Damn, that’s not what happened,” Jeff said. Suddenly, he was afraid no one would believe him. “Why don’t you tell us what happened then,” the officer said. “She attacked me.” His mind drew a blank, unable to connect the right words together. What should I say? Carol pouted, forcing a tear to roll down her cheek. “He’s been hitting me for a long time.” “That’s what it looks like,” an officer said. “She isn’t crying. She’s fake-acting.” Jeff’s chest ached while he slumped over. “Officer, please help me.” “You beat her?” The officer looked at Jeff. “That’s not true. No I didn’t.” “Tell me why we shouldn’t take you in,” the officer ordered Jeff. “She came at me with a knife. See, there it is.” He pointed with a shoulder and squished his brows together, glancing around the room looking for more evidence. One officer walked closer, inspecting the knife. “Did she cut you with this?” he asked. “Yes, see, she stabbed me right here.” Jeff grimaced, leaning to one side towards the officers so

they could see the blood. “I see. I’ll get an ambulance out here,” the officer said. “It’s just a scratch,” Carol said. “I’d say a little more than a scratch; we still need to have it looked at,” the officer said, nearing Carol. “Thank you.” Jeff stumbled back a step, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, feeling his knees buckle. One officer removed the cuffs from Jeff. “How did you get in?” the officer asked Carol. “We both live here. He’s my boyfriend.” Carol smiled sweetly. “He threw me down and hurt me.” “It’s true, we both live here.” Jeff caressed his wrists after the officer removed the cuffs. “And… when I told her I wanted to break up, she went psycho.” He sagged against the wall and bowed his head. “Oh, honey.” Carol’s voice dripped sugar. “I know you love me, Carol.” Jeff crossed both arms tight against his chest. “Damn right!” She shouted. The officers watched. “But, I told you… I have to get away from you. You really are psycho.” His body rocked as he pointed at her. Carol sneered, “You ain’t seen psycho yet.” The second officer approached Carol with a set of cuffs. “Jeff and I want to get married.” Carol switched back, now acting all girly sweet. “Tha… that’s a lie,” he shouted angrily. “Please stop talking like that Carol.” “You asked me to marry you last night.” Her voice sounded like a sweet sixteen-year-old. “No… uh… again, that’s not true.” “You charged at me with the knife!” Carol screamed.

The cops looked back and forth at the two. They must have decided that Jeff was telling the truth. He was the one with the knife cuts, so they let go of Jeff and grabbed Carol. “You bastard,” she rasped when the cuffs’ click locked on her wrists. “No! I swear he’s been stalking me!” Carol told the police in desperation, as they dragged her outside. “No, you got this all wrong!” “Young lady, you’re coming with us.” “Oh God…” Jeff breathed easy. There were no words to describe the relief. He drew in a deep breath and made the sign of the cross. Tears welled in his eyes. With very little ruckus, Carol and the first officer were gone. “I’ll never date someone like Carol again.” Jeff felt every muscle gradually relax and his mind stopped whirling like a hurricane. The sensation of wanting to be held by someone, to be cherished, and be given warm shelter overwhelmed him. He needed nurturing for body and mind; he yearned for this. He exhaled a long, deliberate sigh. Two paramedics approached, checking, prodding, and helping Jeff towards the ambulance. Safe at last. “Here’s the patient. You can take things from here,” the officer said. Jeff knew he needed to sort some things out in his life. God, thank you I’m not dead. “I’ve some serious thinking to do,” Jeff told the officer. Then, he left safely inside the ambulance. He was on the way to the emergency room. Facing evil and possible death inspired some deep thinking in Jeff. He recognized he had been acting like an immature teen needing a woman’s validation. He always sought female attention and approval, allowing primal urges to control his daily thoughts and endlessly chase women, obsessed with them. He competed with other men, hoping to falsely win a female prize like a virgin; inexperienced in romance or sex, he bestowed expensive gifts upon women and allowed lust to sidetrack logical decision making. He now set aside time for himself. His past slavery to any woman made him embarrassed. After months of reflection, Jeff understood how he had organized his life around sex and women who would give him sex. Today, he is self-confident and avoids being controlled by others, keeping his eyes on his path in life. He questions his own passions before acting, and asks a potential date questions before things

get serious. He dates and enjoys women. He’s not bitter. He is careful and remains single. Jeff vows to file charges if a woman raises her hand against him and realizes it’s necessary to document a woman’s act of aggression for authorities. He feels no shame in this protection and filed an Order of Protection against Carol. He’ll never give a girl a break just because she’s a girl. His has limited tolerance for any women pushing him too far. Jeff is excited about living on his own and goes to the Colorado Rod and Gun Club often. He volunteers at the Gun Club for special events. These activities provide a well-balanced life. He knows he is doing exactly what he intended to do, living out his father’s dream, relishing in being around the sport he adores. Lately Jeff is planning an extended African safari, traveling solo, and allows the world’s adventures take him where they may. ∞∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men 50% of domestic violence is committed by women against men.xlvii xlviii Men: Never move in with a woman quickly; let emotions settle down.xlix Men: Never tolerate physical violence even if you’re getting sex.l Every 15 seconds, a woman physically abuses a man.li One man a day is killed (murdered) by his woman in the US. lii Three women a day are killed (murdered) by their men in the US.liii One in every 45 men will be stalked in his life by a woman.liv Six million men are victims of domestic violence each year.lv Women nag their loved one 7,920 minutes each year. lvi Most women dominate their men through verbal abuse. lvii lviii lix There is no reason to put a hand on someone unless it’s self-defense. Most women are more violent than men; they push, slap, and throw things.lx lxi Men are stronger than women and leave wounds and bruises. Law enforcement mistakenly assumes the man is the aggressor lxii Women are three times more likely to use a weapon against the manlxiii Women go to great lengths to control their men.lxiv lxv Most women use sex as a weapon and manipulate men.lxvi lxvii When a woman hits you, call the police and get it legally documented.lxviii Women play the victim in front of police, who believe the play act.lxix lxx Never let a woman question your manhood; she knows nothing. lxxi The law enforcement system is biased against men.lxxii lxxiii Women infer you are gay, humiliating you into their trap of love. If your woman is controlling, leave her.lxxiv Men: Beware of how fragile you are when it comes to sex.lxxv Men will make life decisions because of thoughts of sex. lxxvi Enslavement to women’s sex limits man’s greatest asset—innovation. lxxvii

Most women attack men with their relentless verbal abuse.lxxviii Men must record their women in raging bickering for evidence.lxxix Many women are spiteful and can carry a grudge to their graves.lxxx Women initiate domestic abuse by nagging their men.lxxxi Her nagging aggravates men into hurting, so she is at fault.lxxxii Women scorned are dangerous and don’t want to see you happy.lxxxiii Violent women are given a pass by much of society and authorities. lxxxiv

Chapter 4 I Am Committed Gary Perkins raced around the house repeating in his mind, “They’ll be here any minute. They’ll be here any minute!” His normal attire consisted of jeans, boots, and large flannel blue plaid longsleeve shirts. Today, he spiffed himself up for the visit, while he compulsively checked the toilet bowl for skid marks, the bathtub drain for hair, and the bathroom sink for toothpaste residue. He checked his slightly ruddy skin and sandy blond hair in the mirror. He made sure there were clean towels, hairless bars of soap, and fresh rolls of toilet paper for the bathroom. They’ll be here any minute. She wants to visit! I hope I pass inspection. He vacuumed the living room and made sure the vacuum cleaner left a pattern of straight, parallel lines on the carpet. He also vacuumed the drapes, the sofas, and the cushions. He remembered the old bat saying, “You can tell a lot about a man by how dusty his house is… tsk, tsk, and tsk.” They’ll be here any minute! The bedroom came next; he did not expect any action in this room, but the old bat might take a peek, so he made the bed. You could bounce a coin on the fold of the sheet because it was tucked in tight. He knew the old bat would say, “Tsk, tsk, tsk… you can tell a lot about a man from the way he makes his bed.” Any minute now! You could eat from the floors. If you looked at the door handles, you needed sunglasses. You could see your reflection in the credenza. Gary stood still and deeply inhaled the fresh fragrance of pine and lavender with a twist of industrial strength disinfectant, exuding satisfaction. His girlfriend and her old bat of a mother could come now, because he was ready. The doorbell sounded. Oh my God! They’re here! He ran around the carpet so he wouldn’t ruin the pattern on the carpet. A deep, frozen smile settled on his face before he opened the door. Esther Rose, AKA the old bat, and Maria, a big-boned, brownhaired, earthy sort of girl, in black pants and a red blouse, the old bat’s daughter and Gary’s girlfriend, stood before him.

Esther Rose took one glance at him and pointed at his shoes, for he forgot to shine them! She grumbled, “Tsk, tsk, tsk… you know, young man, you can tell a lot about a man from the way he shines his shoes.” Without waiting to be invited in by him, she passed under his nose and orbited twice around the room before settling her bottom on the edge of the sofa with her knees pressed as tightly together as her razor thin lips. Esther, always in his face, pensive, like a retired old school teacher whose role in life was to monitor her only daughter’s every move. Meanwhile, Gary took Maria’s hands in his and then kissed her chastely on the cheek. “Come on in, come on in… I’m so glad to have you over,” he said as he pushed his hand through his hair. He knew his voice sounded too cheerful to sound true. “It’s always a treat when you visit.” Maria pulled her hands away with a smile. “Thank you, and of course, it is.” She took her place beside her mother on the sofa. Gary opened his waving arms in a welcoming manner. “Make yourselves at home.” Esther Rose made the face of someone sitting on a pointy rock and replied, “We’re comfortable, Gaby, thank you.” “Erm… its Gary, Missis Rose… Gary.” Gary’s gut squirmed. “What did I say?” Rose peered past the black rimmed glasses she wore. “Gaby.” “Did I? I don’t think I did… you must have misheard.” Gary smiled harder. “I probably did. I’m sorry.” Christ! How awkward this is! “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal, we all make mistakes. Don’t we, Maria?” She put a palm against her daughter’s shoulder. “We sure do, Mama, we sure do!” Maria nodded vehemently. Gary felt as if his chest shrunk too small for his lungs. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Inside his head he rehearsed his next sentence. Make yourselves at home; I’ll be right back with some refreshments . . . yes, that’s it, refreshments. “Make yourselves at home…” “So you said, Harry, so you said!” Ester tapped her glasses with a finger.

He decided avoiding her mistakes over his name would be wise; thus, he laboriously continued, waiting on them. “I’ll get some err… food and beverages… err.” He turned around and walked into the kitchen; halfway there, it hit him, so he turned back and cried, “Refreshments! Refreshments! Make yourselves at home. I’ll be back with some refreshments!” “That’s nice. Larry, why don’t you do that?” Esther Rose said. He paused. “That’s not… my name’s… never mind.” He shuffled into the kitchen. Jesus, she can’t remember my name! When Gary returned, neither of the women moved nor spoke. He laid the platter he had prepared on the coffee table. “I made some lemonade and a bowl of guacamole. Can I serve you some lemonade?” Esther Rose covered her glass with her hand. “Did you make this lemonade with ripe lemons?” Esther pointed. “Yes!” he happily reported. “Yes, Ma’am used ripe lemons.” That should count for something. “I don’t care for lemons; they’re too acidic.” She puckered her lips in a painfully bitter grimace. Gary felt the words pushing their way out so he tightened his lips to block them. Lemons are acidic? And you are what . . . sweet? “I’ll have clear water, if you have any.” She pushed her glasses tight with a finger. “Sure.” “Room temperature?” “Yes.” “Tap water?” “OK.” “. . . and be a dear squeeze a lemon into it, add one spoon of sugar, and toss in an ice cube, if it’s not too much trouble. We’re simple folk, so a glass of tap water will do. Oh, get one for Maria too. Maria is too polite to ask, but I know that’s what she likes. A mother knows, she knows. Doesn’t a mother know, Maria?” Rose looked towards Maria and nodded with a comfortable smile. So, now she wants lemons? Thought they were too acidic!

“She sure does, Mama, she sure does.” Why is Maria so passive when around her mom? After peering through her spectacles as if they were binoculars, she said “Still a mess.” “I’m sorry?” said Gary. “Your apartment, Gary, is a mess! It’s in shambles!” Esther fiddled with the end of her eyeglasses, twirling them and plopping them on her nose again, looking downwards at Gary. “In shambles… ?” He looked around the room, desperately trying to find anything out of order warranting a damning judgment on the part of his guest. He found nothing worthy of the judgment. Gary enjoyed bachelorhood; he kept his house clean and tidy at all times. He kept his sink clear of dishes. There stood no empty beer bottles on the coffee table in the living room, so Mrs. Rose saying his place looked a mess was disconcerting. His garage, where he indulged in his hobby of restoring vintage cars, was spotless. At thirty-two years old, Gary Perkins’ life was in order—a simple man with simple aspirations. His dreams included someday refurbishing a 1958 Impala with all its original parts, and then driving it around his old neighborhood, the Wisconsin Dells, and the timeworn towns in northern Wisconsin, with the top down and his girlfriend in the passenger seat. For the past year, the girl he imagined and fantasized sitting near him in the roaring muscle car was Maria Rose. Maria wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the world or a lot of fun to be around, and if anyone asked Gary why he hung out with her, he’d be hard pressed for answers, but he adored the simple consistencies in life. He hoped Maria would be one of those important consistencies. Gary was consistent about where he lived, north on Northport Drive, because he had always lived there; the same held for his job. Since graduating from high school, he had worked as a toll cashier at the Dade County Airport in Madison, Wisconsin. He never thought of looking for anything else, content with life’s regularity. He worked the cashier window, dealt with customer assistance, and did maintenance work. He felt useful in those capacities. He knew his job and did it well, and for those reasons he remained in his position year after year. With Maria, it was the same. They met a little over a year ago. He remembered every detail of that meeting when Cupid’s Arrow struck him, and Maria, as well. Her car’s tire went flat, stranding her. As Gary drove on his way home from work, although an amateur mechanic, he owned all the tools. She appeared on Interstate 39, near Burke, helpless and despondently looking at her car without signaling to anyone to stop and help her. He decided to rescue her, so he stopped and changed her flat tire. As he drove closer his eyes were entertained with the site of the stranded lady with her arms crossed. He left his truck, walked close and lightning zapped between their bodies, Maria’s arms uncrossed and she stared into his eyes. “Need help?” he asked.

“Well yes,” she moved near his face. Something like lust or love moved each closer to the other until Gary kissed her with an awkward peck. She smiled and put one hand on her lips and scrunched her shoulders high while he pushed back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and dropped a hand. “No, it’s really alright, I love it,” Maria patted his shoulder. “Such an odd thing.” “I know you’re an attractive man to help save me.” Gary blushed. “I need some help with the tire… you’re my Knight in Shining Armor.” “Sure, I can change the tire. I’m good at that.” “You’re so kind.” After a moment, “I hope I can see you again?” Gary asked. She politely thanked him and looked at the ground. “Would you like to go out for a drink and get to know one another?” She said, “That would be lovely. You can pick me up Sunday at eight?” “Sure, we can go for drinks at eight and catch a movie at nine thirty.” He gave a slight head shake. “Oh, no, no, no!” she exclaimed. “Eight in the morning on Sunday?!” “Eight in the morning? You want to catch a matinee?” She laughed. “No silly, you’re taking me to Mass.” “Am I?” His stomach fluttered. “Yes! You should wear a tie. So we will look good as a couple, a couple that might stay together for a long time.”

“Really?” Confusion coursed through his veins. After discussing it a bit further, they settled that their first date would take place at church on Sunday morning. “Why not?” Gary smiled and tried to sound casual about it. “It’s unusual, but so what?” He pecked her on the lips. When he showed up at the newly built home in the Fishburg subdivision, off South Park Street, he wore a tie and carried a bunch of yellow roses. The door opened, her mother came out. “My name is Rose Esther. You’re almost late, you know?” Rose folded her arms across her chest. Gary cleared his throat apologetically and offered, “But I’m not… hmm, am I? It’s eight o’clock on the dot…” His hand trembled as he handed her the flowers. “Well, you’re certainly not early!” She massaged the left temple of her head. Esther took the flowers and laid them on the credenza near the door. “No time placing them in water now… they’ll hold until we return, I’m sure. This is my husband, Harold. We’re going along.” Gary mumbled, “I’m not late and I’m not early, then I’m on time… right on time. Hello, Harold, good to meet you—sure, the more the merrier.” Harold’s car sat parked in the front of their home. Maria, Harold, and her mother, Esther, climbed into Gary’s car instead. Maria sat in the back with her father, and Esther sat in the passenger’s seat beside Gary. Gary started the car and off they went on his first date with Maria and her Mom and Dad. Gary never liked church-going. He wasn’t religious or an atheist, neither a believer nor a nonbeliever. He just didn’t care, and as far as he was concerned, it was beside the point whether God existed or not. Men might overestimate their own importance in the eyes of God, was the way he saw it. Did God really watch to see who showed up at Mass? It made no sense to Gary. The Cathedral Parish stood among groves of lush greenery on East Main Street in downtown Madison. The Parish’s founders wanted a family-oriented traditional Catholic church. Maria looked lovely in her flowery dress. She sang the hymns with a fervent naiveté he found charming. He didn’t realize on that first date that the Sunday church ordeal would become a regular weekly affair. After Mass, he took Maria and her mom and dad home. They invited him in for a cup of coffee. He was shocked. When Gary walked into their modern living room, he noted the place smelled of cat

piss, and the sofa, every window sill, every chair, and every available flat surface was covered in cat hair. Cats played with each other; there were at least a dozen fat, lazy felines who all looked at him with superior indifference. It was filthy. I think, right now, I hate cats. Maria explained she worked at an animal shelter where she mostly dealt with cats, and she often took home the animals that were in need of home care. He grandmother loved tomcats and she was like her grandmother. “That’s fantastic! I love animals, dogs and especially cats. They’re so graceful and independent. What do you do at the shelter?” he asked. “She fixes them,” her mother offered the answer. “You mean when they’re wounded, right?” asked Gary. “No, I mean if they have balls. She cuts them off. Snip, snip.” Esther smiled and winked while tapping fingers on the table. She made a gesture of snipping as if she were wielding big scissors. Gary shivered at the thought and instinctively crossed his legs and shielded his genitals with his hands. Does Esther hate all men or just me? God help me. Maria expanded on the subject. “We must do it. You know it’s for the cat’s own good. Once castrated, they live longer and are happier. It’s important. All males should be castrated. Sure, they gain a little weight, but look at how much happier they are.” Gary grimaced inside. “You know, snip, snip,” Esther again gestured a pair of scissors cutting. “We need to do this to control the stray pet population. We also do it for if we don’t, they will fight, run away, climb trees, or kill little birds. However, once I take care of them, all of that’s over. They eat, sleep, and enjoy their lives.” “Ouch.” Gary leaned over his own balls, temples moist with cold sweat. “Yes, I see… safer, happier… they eat and sleep and you take care of them.” Trying to lighten the mood, Gary said jokingly, “What do you do with them? Keep them in a jar?” He laughed at his own joke. “Yes, I do. Do you want to see it?” Maria placed a palm on his shoulder.

“The jar?! You keep it here?!” Gary stopped laughing. “Yes, I keep it on my night table. Come, I’ll show you.” She gestured for him to follow. Gary’s mind came back to the present where he sat in his own place, away from cats and sitting with Maria and Esther who accused him of keeping his house in a mess. He decided to defend himself against this unwarranted attack on his cleanliness. “I don’t agree,” he said. “I cleaned the place thoroughly, especially for you.” “It’s not only about how poorly you keep your house, but also the company you keep.” Esther brushed his objection away with a wave of her hand and embarked on another subject. “The company with whom… what now?” Gary noticed a thick lump of mascara goop hanging off one of her eye lashes. “The hobo-like hood person who was here last week—you know who I mean.” She tilted her head back and let out a loud breath. Gary knew. He gained time to react to this attack on his best friend. “Aw, you mean Garrison!” “If this is the name of the long-haired hippie with the offensive tattoo on his forearm, then yes, I mean Garrison, and I think you’ll agree he has a bad influence on you.” She tightened her lips. “An offensive tattoo? It’s a mermaid in a Hawaiian shirt! How can that be offensive?” Gary rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s half naked! And, it’s the bottom half of a mermaid!” “It’s basically half a fish,” said Gary. “That hippie guy looks like trouble, and since Maria and you’re together, it reflects badly on us when you pass your time with people like him.” Esther Rose stood her ground with her arms crossed and hands resting on her knees. But the hippie guy is my best friend. Gary thought of many things he should say, but every time she remonstrated with him, the words collided in his brain, so he couldn’t get them out in any order that made sense. He thought he would say Garrison was actually a nice guy who held a steady job and paid taxes. He had known Garrison his whole life and never witnessed him do anything wrong or bad. He wanted to say that and much more; instead, he cleared his throat and emitted several “hmms” and “errs.”

“He has long hair and wears earrings. That’s a sure sign he’s a druggy, a junky… Isn’t he? Does he smoke cocaine? More importantly, do you smoke it with him?” Esther Rose steam-rolled onward. “You don’t smoke cocaine, you snort it.” Gary waved both hands defending him in a knee-jerk reaction. “Aha! You admit you do drugs with this friend of yours! If not, how do you know so much about it? I knew it, I knew it!” “Know so much? Everyone knows that! I mean I’ve experimented, sure… but…” Gary stuttered. God, what next? Will she want to infer about some kinky-sex side of me next? “Well, up until now, I certainly didn’t and neither did my daughter who, thanks to you, is now exposed to the underworld of drug abuse. Well, I never! The underworld of drug abuse.” Esther shook her head and pointed her scolding finger. In despair, Gary let his arms fall against his sides. “Mother, I’m sure he will never use drugs in the future. Will you, Gary? Can you promise you won’t?” Maria reached out to defend him in a way that buried him deeper in guilt. Phew, thank you, someone who knows my drug habits. “Of course, I can promise I won’t use drugs in the future because I’ve experimented with them in the past, but that’s all over now, Scouts honor.” Gary made the hand and cross signal like he did when he was a Boy Scout. Esther softened her tone. “The past is the past, Gary; the important thing is you leave all this filth behind. I mean, if you’re planning on marrying my daughter and having children of your own, they can’t be exposed to these kinds of things.” “Mom! He hasn’t proposed yet!” Maria shrieked. “I haven’t.” Gary shook his head and wondered why women always bought up the subject of marriage. “Well, no, he hasn’t proposed, not in so many words, but you two are as good as engaged.” Esther turned away from him, facing her daughter and spoke as if Gary wasn’t in the room. Gary shivered because he felt stunned. He spoke to himself rather than anyone else and asked, “We are?” I don’t remember that?

“You’ve been together for a year now.” Gary sounded like an echo. “A year?” He didn’t get the significance of one year or why it was some sort of marker. “He publicly took a seat in our family pew at church,” Esther plopped both hands in her lap. “Family,” he repeated. “I’m a good judge of character, so I know underneath his bad habits and lack of proper upbringing, he’s a decent man who’ll do the right thing,” Maria added with a gleam of ownership in her eyes. “The right thing?” Gary opened his eyes wide. God, he felt uncomfortable. “Even he isn’t low enough to waste your time for a year. He has not shown himself in public with you at church and paraded you in the streets to, after all that leave you and run away like a coward!” Esther tied all the loose ends together for Maria and Gary. “Mother, of course he wouldn’t do that! He’s not a coward. Our marriage is a done deal, but I still think he’ll propose officially in a romantic gesture; that’s what all men want. However, when you come out and talk of our marriage before he has the time to buy a ring and get down on one knee, it might be a little, err, emasculating.” Done deal . . . marriage . . . emasculating . . . Something in his mind screamed, “Wait a minute! What’s going on?” The mother and the daughter continued their conversation, which he was a part of, but only as the subject and not as one of the interlocutors. They spoke of him changing the way he dressed in an effort to make him more presentable and respectable. They decided his job needed to go up a level to be more comfortable. They expected him to either earn a promotion or find employment at a higher level. Both Maria and her mother agreed it wasn’t only about the money, for marrying a girl of Maria’s class meant he should be the regional manager of something or the director of some other thing, especially since Maria would be a stay at home mom. Gary’s chin trembled. “Stay at home… mom? Mommy!” At last, Maria pointed at him with her finger and concluded, “Mother, I know my Gary well enough to tell you you’re worrying for nothing. Just like Dad, he’ll tell me he loves me each and every day, and he’ll tell me how pretty I am every single chance he gets.” “Whoaa!” Gary said.

Her dad had created a monster and Gary would need to follow suit. He grabbed for words that did not stick to his tongue. He could not do anything but cross and uncross his legs. “He tells me every day I’m not overweight,” Maria added. “Every day, really?” Gary almost laughed. But she is a little chunky. Do I lie? God, now what? “As Maria’s new man, you’ll do that too, won’t you?” Esther questioned. One of Gary’s knees bounced, and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle. “Oh, Esther, sure, of course I will.” Maria went on with her discussion. “He’s a decent man who understands what commitment means. He knows there’s a lot of work ahead, including making more money, becoming more responsible, and showing his devotion, but I know for sure he will become the perfect husband in time. You know, it’s like at the shelter, because they bring in a cat that’s all claws and teeth, but with a little work and a lot of love, I always turn them into lovable and calm animals with which it’s a delight to live.” Gary listened as his heart pounded. She makes them calm and lovable by cutting their balls. Cutting their balls! Esther lifted a finger in the air. “Say, there’s a big house down the block and it’s perfect for raising a family. The preschool is a block away, and grade school real close. You can bring the kids to visit Grandma and Grandpa.” A glaze came across Gary’s eyes and his ears pounded. School and a new place close to Esther! When the visit ended and Gary sat alone with his thoughts, the voices went away and he lost his mental thoughts. A tsunami of images crashed down the protective walls inside his mind. He saw water flooded over the well and he clawed toward the opening to save his own life. Thoughts spun in his brain. Marriage . . . look better . . . respectable . . . more money . . . responsible . . . daily I love you reminders . . . children . . . Grandma and Grandpa down the street . . . All these were mammoth life decisions he hadn’t thought deeply about before. Because he had no plans for any of these lifestyle actions, the sudden surge of overwhelming information drowned him. He felt like gasping for air and envisioned images of TV commercials featuring families buying cars and homes; husbands buying flowers and jewelry. Would he soon be doing those family things? He

wondered what the future held for him. His thoughts scattered, but he wanted to focus. He had to collect the ideas and put some form to them. It would be like summoning all the notions and words, like lyrics to a song that went unsung. He parked his butt at the kitchen table with a tall tumbler of scotch and wrote a letter: Dear Maria Rose, Since you’ve decided I made a commitment of marriage, though I don’t remember doing such a thing, and since I’ve attempted to answer you at times but failed in collecting my thoughts, I think a letter will help explain a few things between us. The marriage vows scare me. If you think for a second that the reason I’m afraid of a commitment is because I want to meet other women, then you’re dead wrong. It has nothing to do with other women. Instead, here are my thoughts. Take a look at the average vows: I take you as my wife. To have and to hold, to cherish and to keep, through sickness and health, till death do us part. Commitment is possible for as long as we’re together, but not until death. Our Sundays together are not fun. You always ask what we’re doing this Sunday after church. I can’t invite you on a fishing trip or into the garage to help change the oil on the car. It’s easier for me to do what you want to do, such as going for a walk or shopping at a place where there’re lots of people. I feel like I’m a puppy dog being shown off around to other women. I don’t see how these Sunday outings benefit me. The Sunday outings waste my time and energy. You suffocate me. I can’t be around you enough. You want me with you all the time. When I’m in the other room, you accuse me of watching internet porn. I need personal space. Your mother, Esther, judges me. Each time I’m with Esther, I get unpleasant vibrations from her. I guess I can’t make her happy. She acts like an authority on us getting hitched and all of my actions. If we marry, I’ll be attached to your mom. I don’t want to live with her hovering over me. My future is not yours to direct. Maria, you want me to give every action in my life consideration only after I consider your

needs. You want me to share every thought I have with you. You need me telling you that you’re pretty every day. Your idea of marriage is far too limited for me. You want me earning money so you can birth children, but I have grander intentions. I want to accomplish more. If you’re willing to accept this, we can discuss being friends, but as things are now, then living with you is not an option. Are you interested in redefining our relationship and turning it into a real friendship that works for both of us? I await your answer. Maria read the note the next day. “Why the hell have I been putting in a whole year with you?” Maria turned into a snarling, yelping animal, and reached her hand high, ready to slap the shit out of him. “Because you like me… you love me?” Gary raised his hands in front of himself for protection. “I like you. Are you crazy?” “I’m not crazy.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” “A boyfriend?” “You’ve been a waste of my time!” She howled like a dangerous mongrel. “Waste of time?” Gary hunched his shoulders. “Yes, a big waste!” “Does this mean we’re breaking up?” As he already realized things were over, he made a little joke. Okay, I know where this is going. “Yes, I’ve lost so much time with you already!” “So, I’m an investment that didn’t pay off?” “You’re a big failure.” “You stayed with me for a year, just to be married and have a kid?”

“Yes!” Her face gaped open. “Awww, O.K.” Gary heaved a deep relieving moan. Maria left, and the two never reconnected. ∞∞∞∞ Like people confronting a near death experience, immediately, Gary became conscious of the beauty of life, the people surrounding him, and treasures pleasures of little things. Relieved, after escaping from Maria’s death-vows, Gary exchanged boxers for the more supportive tighty-whities. After coming close to losing his balls, he’s now more protective of them. Magic unfolded for Gary as now he spends Sundays sleeping in late and wakes with a mug of expensive coffee. He wears threadbare pajamas, browses the internet, and eats cheeseburgers when he wants. He walks his new dog named Pete, his steadfast and devoted companion, and talks to Pete, knowing Pete will never confuse or lie. Pete makes life worthwhile. He goes outside, putters around in the garden, and then works out at the gym. After lunch, Gary finds joy in the garage tinkering with his 1958 Impala. He might watch endless sports shows on TV. Garrison drops by often, and when he does, they drink a few beers and smoke some pot. Ahhh, life is so good! Gary’s days without a marriage commitment match his needs. He gets drunk and hooks up occasionally, and goes out with the guys to visit strip clubs. Gary finds camaraderie with guy friends, sharing bonds not available with women. One Sunday, Gary was searching the internet and read about an organization in Peru—he donated money. An enormous sense of altruism washed over him, altering his life path; out of the blue, he scheduled an adventure to ancient Peru, near the Incan Empire and the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. To this day, he volunteers as a foreign aid worker who builds homes and shelters for the disadvantaged. His dog, Pete, travels with him. Gary loves the feelings associated with constructing homes for others in need. Gary says his volunteer work in Peru is boosting his spirits in ways that he never dreamed possible. It has become his passion. ∞∞∞∞ .

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Marriage vows do not reflect a current world view.lxxxv lxxxvi Women need a man saying they’re not fat and pretty every day.lxxxvii lxxxviii Women need men saying they love them as often as possible.lxxxix xc Women demand men consider their thoughts and feelings over their own.xci Women show other women that they caught and own their man.xcii xciii Women won’t give men peace of mind, thus man caves.xciv xcv Women who are overly controlling are responsible for breakups.xcvi Men: A pet dog will be fully loyal, and not a wife.xcvii xcviii Women: Are driven by nature to birth children.xcix c Women will nest and try to get their men to pay and join the nest. ci cii Men: You’re marrying her whole family, get to know her mom.

Chapter 5 Brotherhood Code Destroyed PRIVACY NOTICE Call them Bill Lee and Frank Cunningham, two twenty-nine year olds. They could be any two best friends with true identities needing protection from stalkers seeking to cause pain and extreme misandry. Therefore, their personal ID’s remain a closely guarded secret, tucked safely away in a basement file box at 111 Broadway, NYC… better known as the Trinity Building featured in the motion picture Spider-Man 2. The view from Bill’s and Frank’s offices on the 18th floor looks down onto the historic spire of Trinity Church. From the familiar rhythm of the approaching footsteps, black-haired, pint-sized, Italian Frank recognized his slight Chinese friend Bill Lee passing by his cubicle at Goldman Sachs. Setting the phone down, he swiveled around on his chair, and with a welcoming gesture, called out in a stage whisper, “Hey, Bill, you thirsty? Got some stuff to talk about.” Stuff to talk about? Bill’s stomach rolled, “Sure, dude, if you want. Pound & Pence after we check out?” As he spoke, Bill recalled something dreadful that had happened a long time ago. Back in the eighth grade, Frank had become involved in a humiliating event and Bill had slinked out like a coward and left Frank to deal with the brutal fallout. That will never happen again Bill thought. “I’ll meet you there.” Frank’s smoky eyes danced. “So, what is the stuff we’re talking about?” Bill bit a fingernail as the other fingers tingled. “Quiet, keep it bro code, dude,” Frank prompted in his usual alpha attitude. “Sure, no girls allowed, I got it.” Bill winked an eye and zipped his lips with quick gestures as he always did. He imagined juicy details of the best sex ever. They were both bright, savvy stockbrokers in New York City, younger than springtime in their astute sexual prime, and ready to attempt anything except marriage. Physical stature drew Bill and Frank together… both scrawny kids who were always the last two picked when time came to choose up sides for playground competitions. As outcasts, together they warded off routine tormenters. Their difference in ethnicity didn’t matter to them one bit. They grew up together and when the time came both ventured off into the world as a team. In college, they studied business and computer science at New York University, while at the same time conducting serious research into the dynamics of sex with college girls. Having studied diligently through college, Bill and Frank were well prepared for life after graduation, and immediately attracted careers in Wall Street’s financial sector.

After work, Bill walked with a bounce in his step toward the Pound & Pence Pub feeling like a kid, about to unwrap all the presents Santa left under the tree. His pulse increased with every step and he became breathless as he tried to figure out what secrets Frank would divulge… maybe Frank had stumbled into a debauched party and fucked several girls’ brains out. His feet jittered with each stride. Bill’s parents emigrated from China to Southern California and gave birth to Bill in San Gabriel three weeks after they arrived from Beijing. Eager to assimilate, they named their States-born son Bill; assuming a traditional all-American name would ease his assimilation into the new culture, but that didn’t happen. Bill was different. In grade school, other kids made fun of his features, skin color, hair and small frame. They called him names and sometimes waited after school to chide him. Bill took the abuse in stride, channeling his frustration into a conduit for success in school and now on Wall Street. Bright-eyed Bill filed into the pub, fidgeted with his shirt collar and felt immersed in the pleasant smell of peanut shells and beer. He waved at Frank who gazed over at the ESPN highlight reels flashing across a flat-screen television. Frank signaled Bill to a nearby bar stool. The décor reeked of vintage English memorabilia, accented by dark stained wood and two 10-foot sepia-toned murals representative of late 19th century street scenes. He engaged with the light reflecting off the murals and pub passageways causing Bill’s face to take on a darker flush. The atmosphere brewed a seduction making it easy to imagine being in a different time and place and what outrageous events Frank had to reveal. Bill remembered the first time he and Frank had raised a toast at the Pound & Pence. Weeks after Bill turned 21, he learned, to his chagrin; a small amount of alcohol caused a bright flush to appear on his face, raising concern. As an adult, he found studies showing half of Asians lacked the enzyme to process alcohol. He thought it’s an Asian thing. Torn between his love of beer and vanity, he endured the reddish coloring. As Bill clamored atop a bar stool, Frank motioned to Jason behind the bar. As a seasoned bartender, Jason commanded respect from the Wall Street suits crowded into the Pound & Pence. Bill admired his tall and muscular body with arms that bore the entire history of his life. Lurid scrawls from tattoos dotted his graying temples. Bill never worked up the courage to ask if the tattoos were from a gang or prison time. Jason spoke with a precise British accent. If provoked, which rarely happened in these dignified surroundings, Jason could unleash a string of devastating profanity-laced tirades in his native Texas accent with the forceful stage presence of James Earl Jones. “Gentlemen, IPA and another lager, right?” Jason asked. “What a memory,” cracked Frank. Frank chose a mug of IPA. Bill went with a lager.

“What’s bothering you? Getting some good fuckin’?” Bill wet his lips. “No, this is kind of serious… it’s about Kadie,” Frank settled back and forth on his bar stool. “You know as far as I’m concerned, she’s great. What is it?” Bill stiffened his spine and leaned closer an inch. Jason slid their drinks in front of them and picked up Frank’s American Express card. “This is between bros,” Frank bowed a nod and tipped a taste of beer. “Not a word to any chick. I got it.” Bill’s heart raced as he waited for Frank to spill his guts. “Hell no, chicks don’t get it.” Frank placed an invisible key in his mouth, twisted, locked it and gestured like he threw away the key. “All bro code, dude… no girls allowed,” Bill pointed one finger to his lips in a gesture of silence and secrecy. Bumble bees spun in his belly as he sipped his beer and rested closer egging Frank to let loose. Frank broke the silence, “Well, she’s been comin’ on strong lately, always telling me she loves me. I feel like I’m falling for it.” “Soooo,” Bills belly flattened, “what’s your problem with Kadie?” He turned one ear closer toward Frank. “I’m in love,” Frank’s face reddened and he looked down. “Are you serious?” Bill’ heart stopped a beat as he coughed on his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and scooted his bar stool closer to Frank as his entire body tightened up. He reached out and brushed lint off Frank’s shoulder as if he could shoo away his emotions. Bill had always been all ears for Frank, because he thought he needed extra guidance. Sometimes, like a lost soul, Frank needed the support of his friend in order to make decisions or succeed at goals. “You need a little of my Chinese Grandma’s wisdom,” Bill clasped Frank’s shoulder with one hand and rocked him back and forth. “Yeah, I’m wading into the deep shit,” Frank chuckled and his face sulked. “You know what she’s after, right? What all women are after?” Bill cautioned, lifting an index finger into the air. “My big dick?” Frank laughed into his beer and grabbed his crotch.

“Ha ha you wish. It’s your wallet, dude. I’ve told you before—they’re gold-diggers by nature, even Kadie. So what’s she up to?” Bill bit his lip. Frank stared at Bill and muttered, “Marriage, I think.” “Don’t do it, dude.” Bill’s gut sunk and he gave Frank a light-hearted shove to the shoulder and glanced around the pub as his underarms sweated profusely. “I like making her happy. You can’t blame me for that,” Frank grinned, wobbling to one side as he recoiled from the soft shove. Bill’s eyes squinted. “Not marriage. That’s why we call it the Bermuda Triangle—once you slip inside, you’re doomed to a life with Mom and kids. Instead of drinkin’ at the pub with me, you’ll be deciding between driving the minivan or the fuel-efficient commuter car. Once you arrive into the Bermuda Triangle, you’ll vanish without a trace.” A sour taste invaded Bill’s mouth. Time for another swig. “She says she loves me,” Frank sheepishly grinned and shrugged his shoulders as if trying to justify his decision. The look brought back high-school memories to Bill of when neither of them was popular. Once, Frank managed a date with a curly-haired hottie way out of their league and she ended up dumping him for the football jock. Afterward, Frank suffered a painful heartbreak, taking months to recover. “Wait ’til you see the senseless shit she’ll be buying with your money,” Bill choked as he downed another satisfying mouthful of beer. “Love is a powerful thing,” Frank put an open hand on his heart. “Love? C’mon,” Bill leaned in closer. “The thing that’s driving her is kids and a nice house. All she wants is a fall guy to buy her new clothes, boat, and take her on cool vacations. You’re gonna be the sucker paying for it all. I’d be careful, too. If she finds out you’re rethinking the marriage, you may discover she’s accidentally pregnant with your kid. That’s all it is, bro… it’s not love.” Bill pushed a firm chin toward Frank, and then plucked at his own sleeve. “She’s been really good to me,” Frank rubbed his heart with a loose fist. “When you fuck a girl, she falls in love, it’s some kinda law. But it’s not the same for us men.” “Then, what the hell happened to me? Why am I soaring like a gooney bird?” Frank fingered the bridge of his nose. “What if Kadie’s extorting you with love?” Bill elbowed Frank’s arm as a gesture of jostling and joking. “Extorting me? Fuck that. She loves me and says we’re best friends,” Frank’s body tensed as he

grabbed his package and adjusted his nuts. “Dude… best friends? She knows nothing ’bout being best friends with you,” Bill shook his head and thrust a hand sideways like a judo chop. Frank scowled and clenched his teeth, “That’s such bullshit!” “Women aren’t able to be best friends, and they’re far too jealous and suspicious to be best friends with anyone. Face it, bro, you’re whipped.” Bill leveled the back of his hand across the bar and scuttled it in one direction as if dismissing Kadie entirely. “Yeah… I admit she can be a little clingy when we’re out, especially when there’s a lot of other eye candy around. That’s normal, right?” Frank’s brows lifted. “They’re all are jealous. Why in the hell would you get married? Damn right, I’m telling you, when she says she’s your best friend, she’s desperate! She’s at the end of her tether. The clock is ticking and she’s desperate to birth babies before it is too late,” Bill’s breathing grew heavier, and he used the bar napkin to dry a gathering sheen of sweat off his forehead. “Desperate . . . fuck you,” Frank clenched his right fist and a deep furrow appeared above his brows. “They complain about how much pain they go through to give birth, when it’s them who won’t feel like a whole human being until they do give birth!” Bill pounded a fist onto the bar. “I hate how women always need to birth or else they would be hated by other women they know who have kids.” “Martyrs,” Frank echoed with a head shake. “Bitches… she’s got you by the balls.” Bill grabbed his own balls and tugged. “I worry something’s gonna happen to screw things up between us Frank.” “Hell, no,” Frank affirmed as he leaned back and pushed Bill’s shoulder away. “Okay. So, you’ve seen that show where the obese, dog-ugly women become pen pals with convicted murders?” Bill crossed his arms. “Ohh… yeah… then they fall in love,” Frank pantomimed with a suck-up kiss. “Desperate, right? They’re hopeless; they fall for a killer, a convicted killer, one behind bars, all because they’re too ugly to sucker a normal guy like you!” Bill made goo-goo eyes and crossed them like a crazy person. “What’s this have to do with Kadie and me?” Frank said with jerky head movements. “Stay with me here,” Bill said with overstated seriousness, “These fat, ugly pig-women always say

they’re in love and they’ll do anything to get their killer freed.” Sensing tension in his shoulders, Bill stretched an arm high to unkink the stiffness. “Right, it’s fucked up dude. And then they marry the guy while he’s locked up. What’s your point?” Frank tapped his index finger on the bar. “They think the only thing important in life is to have kids and a family! There’s nothing else for a bitch!” Bill slammed a fist harder onto the bar. “So they love kids,” Frank twitched and rocked on his butt. “Kinda like best friends?” Bill drew in a long breath as he waited for Frank’s response. “That’s stretching it pretty thin, Billy boy. I’m no convicted murderer,” Frank punched at the air and looked away. “Look, look here, it’s not so different. She’s using those love words and reeling you in… just like the prison wives who love condemned murderers and say they’re best friends. It’s a hook to snare you.” Bill tilted his forehead toward Frank as he waited for him to realize the truth, hoping some of his ideas would find their way into Frank’s mind. “Come on!” The veins in Frank’s forehead throbbed he drew a slow breath. “If they don’t show society and other women they have a man, then they look worthless!” “To hell with that!” He slid a clenched hand close to his gut. “I’m serious. This Kadie thing is going the wrong way.” Bill’s arm muscle tightened as if readying to defend him. “Don’t say that,” Frank waved his finger and leaned back. “No, I am saying that. You come on! Get a grip! You’re losing perspective,” Bill pushed Frank’s shoulder. “Don’t touch me like that.” Frank tightened his eyes and snarled. “So touchy,” Bill fired back. He knew he had touched a painful nerve. It’s the way he knew to change Frank’s hellish ideas. His head started to hurt, as it went into overdrive thinking about the best argument. “Damn right, bitch. I’m touchy.” Frank stood up with trembling knees. “Go a day or two without calling her. She’ll get annoyed and start asking what’s wrong with you. She’ll be all over your ass!” Bill pushed his face closer to Frank with one hand clasped to his chest.

An empty feeling enveloped his gut. “Just because you’re not getting any, doesn’t give you the right to talk like this,” Frank edged closer to Bill’s face. “Excuse me. Not getting any?” Bill’s heart pounded and he stood up to face Frank with burrowed brows. Frank interrupted, “You know what I mean. Not doing a normal double take when a ten walks by. Your game is gone, man.” Frank stood toe to toe against Bill and stared him down. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill pushed toward Frank. Bill’s small stature didn’t stop his temper from flaring. “Are you jealous of Kadie?” Frank’s darkened eyes blasted at Bill. “Hell, no,” the sweat bead on his hands belied Bill’s affirmation. “Then don’t fuck with me and Kadie!” Frank raised one finger from a clenched fist and pushed it into Bill’s forehead hard enough to make his neck bend backwards. Bill tried to mask his rapid heartbeat and rising voice, “I hate seeing you bein’ taken to the cleaners by some piece of tail.” “Shut the fuck up. Kadie’s not some piece of tail!” Frank growled, grabbing Bill’s shirt sleeve. He tugged hard before releasing it. “Mind your blood pressure, dude. She’ll become a bitch—a fat one, too,” Bill raised his hands as wide as possible as if illustrating the changes. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you? She loves me for who I am, not for my money!” One closed hand beat his chest. The commotion finally prompted a stare from Jason. He stepped towards them. “No, listen!” Bill yelled back with a raised hand. Frank yanked Bill by his collar with one hand and placed his face nose to nose with his own. “You need to stay the fuck out of this!” Bill felt spittle in his face. “No, you’re…” “Hey!” A loud, angered voice jarred the two of them, “Can you guys calm down? We’re running a dignified joint here,” Jason beckoned with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

“He’s bein’ an asshole!” Frank stammered as he loosened his grip. “Only ladies and gentlemen drink here,” Jason responded, raising his hand, “Just cool it if you want to stay in here.” His muscles tightened reflexively in readiness to separate the two friends if necessary. Bill took a deep breath and sat down on the bar stool again, “Okay, I guess I rode you pretty hard.” “Ya think?” Frank rubbed a hand over his face and relaxed back onto his bar stool. After a pause, Frank held an unfocused gaze and gave a shallow sigh, “You know what I’m thinkin’ about?” he asked in a calmer voice. “Legg Lake.” “Legg Lake?” Bill repeated. Hurtful memories flooded into his mind as if they had happened the day before… memories he didn’t want to recall, “We used to skip school to go fishing and get away from the bullies.” “It seemed like they hated us just because we were… us,” Frank sounded detached. “They hated me, that’s for sure,” Bill remembered those years when he wished time would speed up and land him in the future with grown up looks and good posture. “Seemed so,” Frank widened his eyes. “I hadn’t thought about Legg Lake for a long time.” “Ah, so peaceful, walking along the creek bed barefoot,” Bill spoke as if back in time. He looked down at his and Frank’s feet, remembering the rippling water and the peaceful, symmetrical rings formed each time a foot plunged into the still wetness. The memory formed a lump in his throat. He could almost feel the creek mud oozing between his toes. Bill reached down to clutch a foot as if massaging his toes; turning inward, his mind slowed. “Yeah, sure was fun. All of the crud we dealt with in school fell away,” Frank said, his voice as soothing as the calming waters of Legg Lake. “Those were good times,” Bill remembered the warm summer sun shining down on his skin. The mental picture made his face and limbs tingle. “Those were great times, I loved those days,” Frank’s eyes darted to one side then the other, trying to keep from tearing up. “Remember the time that asshole beat the crap out of me for no reason?” Bill rubbed a hand on the back of his head and winced in the memory. “Sure do,” Frank acknowledged with a nod. “He wanted to injure me. And for what?” Bill’s limbs shook and his face slackened. His eyes were

fixed straight ahead as if in a distant universe, then he rubbed his hand over his shivering forearm. “Because you’re Chinese?” Frank’s shoulder rose. “He yelled Bamboo Coon and Chink at me. All those insults made my stomach turn… so embarrassing. I grew up here in America, you know.” The thoughts brought a cringe to Bill’s face and he flushed hot. His heartbeat slowed to the pace of a slug. “God, he was an A-hole!” Frank made a short sympathetic stroke with his hand on top of Bill’s. “No kidding. Maybe he did it because I’m short.” His shoulders drooped and he pressed a fist to his lips. “Or he thought he wanted to bash a queer?” Frank jabbed back, poking Bill in the ribs with his knuckles. “What a jerk. I can’t… help…” Bill bent his neck forward attempting to gain control while reliving the agonizing beatings. “He miffed you, didn’t he?” Frank asked. “Yes, he offended me. The next time we were at the lake, I cried,” Bill’s voice tightened and his stomach spun with each flashback. He hunched over and buried his face in his hands, afraid to show the emotion he felt. He didn’t want to look like a sissy, and he didn’t know how to communicate it, but he needed comfort from Frank. He drew his limbs close to his body and looked straight at Frank as he spoke, “You can’t erase those memories, but you can bury them.” Frank sat quietly as he listened. “You didn’t call me a faggot or a crybaby. Sure I cried, but I felt safe that day ’cause you were there.” Bill’s breath hitched and a lump formed in his throat. “You’re kinda gay, but you’re not a dweeb. Never, dude,” Frank reassured Bill with a laugh before reaching over and messing up his hair. Silence enveloped them for a moment until Bill continued, “I never told ya thank you for that.” He choked out the words. “You’re my friend.” “I got one more for ya. Remember eighth grade when I left you like a chicken shit? I never told you how sorry I felt after running out of the restroom. What a chicken shit coward,” Bill’s eyes watered and lips trembled. He shot a quick gaze at Frank as if still running away in terror.

Frank responded in a way as only a friend who truly understands could, “We both took some beatings in those days. It’s over now though, so don’t worry about it.” “Well, I’m really sorry for being such a yellow belly and jamming out on you when they attacked, made you bleed. As you’re my witness, I’ll never do that again,” Bill made a fist and bumped Frank’s upper arm with a gentle force of a man who loves another man. “Thanks Bud. We survived,” Frank whispered. Then a grin broke out over Bill’s face and he laughed, “Dude, we were a pretty dorky pair.” “What nerds,” Frank rocked back, joining his friend in laughter. Any tension between them disappeared. Bill sat straight up on his stool and apologized, “Hey, Frank, I’m sorry about what just happened.” Frank looked up with a smile, “You mean the Kadie thing? It’s history.” “I took it too far. I can see you really do care for Kadie,” Bill gently patted him on the back as Bill’s heart felt full. “Two more here, if you would, Jason, please,” Frank called out. “Time to kiss and make up?” Jason joked as he pulled on the lager tap. “Yea, we’re dating again,” Frank winked at Jason. “He plays the girl,” Bill quipped, as Jason placed the second round in front of them and took away the empty mugs. “Listen,” Frank placed both hands on Bill’s shoulders, “I protected you from the bullies back in high school. Now you’re protecting me from New York gold diggers—so you think, anyway.” “And I wasn’t your bitch back then,” Bill laughed. “I guess pussy makes us do weird things,” Frank zinged back, shaking his head and laughing along with Bill. He put his arm around Bill’s head for a few seconds before settling back onto his stool. “Yeah,” Bill replied, “God gave us each a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to keep one head working at a time.” “If it wasn’t for the pussy, I wouldn’t talk to women,” Frank howled with a laugh. “Gotta get the vadge, and if it’s sweet, I’ll put up with her emotional shit,” Bill reached for his next

beer and raised his mug to Frank. “Pussy is pussy, and I’ll put on the charm to get it,” Frank trumpeted and clinked his beer against Bill’s mug. They each reached out with their drink-holding arm, extended it toward the other, bent it at the elbow and took a swig of their beer. After that, the conversation took on the distinct feel of an analytical debate. “Frank, ever notice how women let themselves go after the first kid?” Bill’s stomach bowed as he pushed it out. “Fat chicks are only good for fucking, right?” “The fatter, the more dicks they might get.” Frank quickly added, “And imagine the huge hunks of lard hanging sidesaddle on the hips! Fucking gigantic. I ain’t fuckin’ that… you’d need two seats on the airplane for that load.” “Don’t forget the lump-filled, cottage cheese legs,” Bill laughed louder. “Yup, a real ugly-assed woman. You see her fat ass going in and out of the house as the neighbor kid’s gape and laugh,” Frank squished his face like he just ate a sour lemon. “I’m telling you, Frank, it’ll be embarrassing. You better prepare yourself ’cause most women end up mammoth after they birth the little monster,” Bill warned with a wagging finger. “Yeah, the real horror show is over at the Wal-Mart in Secaucus. All the fat bitches come out of the woodwork when there’s a clearance sale,” Frank laughed. Bill chimed in without missing a beat, “She’ll be riding one of those machine-like carts. You know the ones, right? The carts you always see disabled and fat people riding on who are too lazy to walk around the store. She’d be ridin’ those carts with her fat ass cheeks drooping like sagging-skin pillows, saddle bags on both sides.” “If she farts, it’d be an explosion!” Frank pinched his nose as if avoiding the imaginary fart stank. Frank and Bill took turns stabilizing each other as they were seriously close to toppling off their stools from laughter. “Hear me, Frank; you do need check out her mother. I bet the apple ain’t fallin’ far from the tree… probably right next to that big trunk.” “Uh-oh,” Frank thought out loud, “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but Kadie’s mom… whew,” Frank gestured with his arms as if imitating a fat wobbling person.

“Fifty-inch waist and all jowls on the face?” Bill joked, pulling the skin of his cheeks down. “Ahh… what a porker. Yeah, your description is dead-on.” “That’s why God invented plastic surgery, man,” Bill chuckled. “Say hello to how sweet Kadie will look twenty years down the line. She’ll have the same saggy tits, loose jowls, and extended waistline her mother has. You said it yourself; you can’t poke a fat fuck hole.” “Plastic surgery, ugh… so I’ll need to spend more money to cut the fat off so I can fuck her ass,” Frank grimaced. “And don’t forget about the spa treatments she’s gonna insist on having to try to make up for all the abuse she’s put her face and body through,” Bill chided, “not to mention the mental and emotional abuse you’ll fucking endure. How is she gonna make up for that?” “Good point,” Frank affirmed. “What about my feelings?” “Men are people, too,” Bill added for good measure. “Wow,” Frank declared with newfound clarity, “love can be blind!” “Sorry for the reality check, Frank, but someone had to do it,” Bill preached with conviction, “she’ll nag you every day until you want to push her away. Then when you do, she’ll file domestic violence charges, when in fact, she’s the one who started it all with the fuckin’ bitching!” “Man, maybe I should walk away like everyone says.” “She’ll follow you, bitching and pushing you to your last limit. She’ll make you want to punch her! That’s what they do.” “Like some kind of bitch sickness—AWF—Abusive Wife Syndrome,” Frank said. “It’s a fact. And check this…” Bill whispered as he leaned in closer to Frank, “pregnant women gross me out.” His belly stewed with a nauseous feeling and noise roared in his ears. “Once they gain the weight, it’s impossible to get rid of.” “Super ugly, lop-sided bitches,” Bill emphasized, glancing around uneasily as he spoke. “Oh, stop it. That’s just wrong to say!” “Who made up that rule? Since when do we need to be politically correct all the time?” Bill drew a line with his finger across the bar to grab some peanuts. “That’s just the way of the world, Bill. There is a line and we can’t cross it, so lighten up on the

female hostility,” Frank exhorted. “So is God going to punish us?” Bill gazed heavenward. “Damn right!” Frank warned. “He’ll send a bolt of lightning down and terminate your China-man’s ass.” “Fuck you… you tiny dicked Italian stallion. Well, okay, I’m scared now but it’s gross, even when it’s Jessica Simpson, pregnant and posing naked. Who could get their dick hard for something that looks like that?” Bill suggested, looking at his own belly before popping peanuts into his mouth. “You’re painting a picture of a huge porpoise, or a small whale with an ovular portly belly,” Frank pointed out to Bill. He suddenly became uncomfortable, swallowing his beer and almost choking. He gathered himself and smoothed his shirt. “And when they’re on the rag, oh my God!” Bill scrunched his nose and experienced an urge to spit. “That’s bloody gross if you ask me.” Frank nodded in agreement. “That’s worse than the mood swings… and when they’re at your house during that time of the month. I don’t want that shit in my trash can.” “Before long, you’ll be using discarded tampons for vampire tea bags, dude. Congratulations on your new best friend,” Bill held his stomach and felt unclean. “No kidding, I’ll be stuck there once a month wondering who lit the fuse on her tampon.” “She’ll smell like skank-stench!” Bill blurted, pinching his nostrils shut. A sour tang flickered through his mouth. Time for another swig of beer! Frank laughed and pretended to vomit. “She’ll go out in public showing off the big pregnant belly. If not enough people see her, she’ll start posting pictures online with daily sonogram and belly updates,” he visualized, waddling side to side on his bar stool while stroking his throat with a grimaced look. Bill winked knowingly. “And after she has the baby, everything will change, man. She’ll stop craving your cock, and the only thing she’ll be wanting is more money from your bank account.” He wrung his hands like he wanted Frank to wash the bitch out of his hair. “I don’t know. It’s nice right now, being her best friend and getting all her attention,” Frank tapped his bottom lip. “The baby will be her new best friend, just you watch. And when you need pussy, you’ll be paying for it, big time,” Bill rubbed three fingers together as if scratching dollar bills.

“I can’t be second in line. I need sex,” Frank grabbed his crotch, “and women wonder why men cheat.” “Start saying good-bye to sex when the kid comes,” Bill folded his arms across his chest. “As far as I know, you don’t have a crystal ball.” “No, just two big balls,” Bill parried, “ya know… God don’t strike me down… whores are great! Once you’re married, you can try to pick up a streetwalker.” He fidgeted and tapped his foot and surveyed the heavens. “I like ’em hungry for my cock,” Frank blustered with a shit-eating grin. “Suck on da hose, ho’.” Bill framed his crotch with both hands and looked up in mock anticipation of God’s murderous lightning bolt. Frank turned serious again. “Look, if we do get married, I want to stay married. It seems like everyone’s getting divorced these days. Marriage is supposed to be forever,” he flapped his hand as if dismissing the divorce statistics. “I’m telling you, Frank, all that forever shit is fucked up,” trumpeted Bill. “I know married friends who can’t get out the door alone. No more boys’ night out for them.” The hair stiffened on the back of his neck. “But they do get their poontang, right?” Frank probed, lifting one finger. “Not like they used to. You ever heard the phrase: ‘using sex as a weapon’? You’ll fight for sex any and every time you can.” “I know I can’t go long without some lovely woman-flesh around my bone,” Frank said, and then farted. “Pardon me.” “Oh man,” Bill whined, pinching his nose, “that smells worse than a cunt on the rag.” “You love it,” Frank teased. “Fuck yer ass, whore,” Bill replied. “I’ll fuck you pretty boy,” Frank offered crudely with a sense of wanting to possess. “Okay, try it, dude. Hit that hole like it’s a pussy,” Bill pushed his rounded ass into the air. “I ain’t gay, but your ass looks good,” Frank laughed.

“Can you imagine any man who’s not getting any good pussy-hole?” Bill challenged by showing his palms and lifting a single brow. “Yeah, but the problem is the fun-tunnel comes connected to a crazy psychotic bitch,” Frank scratched his nuts. “The mood swings, the hormone problems, the bitchin’, the kids, and a bleeding slit… have to say ‘love ya’ every day. Man, don’t do it. Don’t get married,” Bill pushed his shoulder. “It’s the way of the world, man,” Frank waved one hand dismissively, “you don’t seem to get it.” “You’re the one who doesn’t get it man… and you’re going to get even less. You are whipped!” “If you say so,” Frank shrugged his shoulders as if to say we’re done. “Ask any guy who’s been there; in the divorce she gets half the money, the house, child support, and alimony. If you want to live large, pal, avoid the vows,” Bill leaned back, arms crossed, knowing full well he exaggerated the negative. “Yeah, love is grand. Divorce is a hundred grand,” said Frank. “The laws favor the women.” “There’s this law,” Bill explained, “that states something like, if a man can’t or won’t pay support and alimony, they can garnish your bank account. They can take away your car and all kinds of shit like that. It’ll leave you homeless.” His jaw stiffened and his face reddened. “I’ve heard about that, too,” Frank acknowledged with a deepening tone in his voice. “Yup, the whole divorce thing is skewed toward helping the woman and hurting the man,” Bill lifted his chest upwards and widened his legs to expose more of his crotch. “No good, cock-sucking bitches!” Frank sniped, gulping the last of his beer. “You should find out if you really love her,” Bill proposed, snapping his finger and palm together to signal an idea, “Why don’t you cheat on her and find out? Best way to see if her cunt is worth it is to try out someone else.” He issued a risky challenge he hoped would pay off. “Hmmm…” Frank muttered slowly. “You need to get real, dude. You know you’ll fuck around eventually. So do it sooner, and if it makes you feel bad, you’ll know it is real love. And if you find out the grass really is greener on the other side, then you’ve saved yourself the stress of a divorce.” “No way,” Frank said, changing his tune again. “That’s a shit-for-brains idea.” Noticing the two empty beer mugs in front of them, Frank requested two more.

“Last two,” said Bill, staring through his empty mug. “Jason,” Frank raised his hand, “Two more, por favor, and we’ll take care of the tab, too.” Jason did the wink-and-point, letting them know two more were coming up. Bill turned toward Frank and said, “All I’m saying is, hey, I’ve been where you are a couple of times. But I never felt like it was reason enough to sign my entire life away.” He punctuated the air with his fist. “It feels like the right way to go,” Frank directed a stiffened finger straight ahead as if pointing the way. Bill’s visibly lower energy level muted his efforts. In a subdued voice he tried once more, “Love ain’t everything man.” Jason brought two beers and placed them on the bar, along with the credit card receipt. “Cheers, dude,” Frank lifted his beer and clinked it against Bill’s mug. They both took a gulp. “Think about it, Bill. I might have a son or daughter,” Frank shared, staring upwards into the distance, “That’s posterity. Play baseball with the boy and beat up the girl’s boyfriends.” Bill rubbed a hand on his chin before responding, “Yeah, I’m getting that.” “It’s going to be the best thing for me. If I want kids, I have to get married. But I’m not changing diapers. I need a bitch to do that,” Frank took another swig of his beer. “A lot of guys think the same way,” Bill thought about his own legacy. “I’ll raise them, mold them, and be a better dad than the one I had.” “Sure, that could be fun.” Warm feelings radiated from within Bill making him feel taller and stronger. “It will be fun. I’ll take them fishing,” Frank wistfully lifted an imaginary fishing pole. Bill’s gut fluttered as he turned toward Frank, and with a look only Frank would understand, halfjokingly said, “Maybe you’ll even take ’em to Legg Lake.” “I wonder if it’s anything like it used to be.” Frank asked, as much to himself as Bill, “I can row out to the middle of the lake with the boy; when he’s old enough, we could put some beers on ice and kick back in the boat.”

“Maybe I can tag along as the Uncle? Yes, I can envision those good old days again.” Bill glazed over with fond memories of feeling his legs dipping into the lake’s warm waters. He felt unexpected solace thinking about sharing new moments with Frank’s children. He hummed a silly childhood tune. “What a wonderful life it could be,” Frank imagined out loud, appearing lost in thought as he envisioned weekends at the fishing hole with his kids. “Yeah, I like the idea of molding the kids into great people. That’s a huge responsibility,” Bill felt a newfound sense of awareness. “It’s a proud tradition, having kids. Without that tradition, we wouldn’t be here,” Frank reminded Bill as they toasted. “You could teach those things they need to know to grow up and maybe change the world someday,” Bill pulled in a deep breath and widening his eyes as he thought more about the process of mentoring. “Maybe one could be a politician.” “Maybe Frankie Jr. will grow up and become a scientist… invent things,” Bill smiled turning possibilities in his mind. “He could invent a cure for something, save lives,” Frank declared with his chest thrust forward. “Let’s drink to that,” Bill said with gusto lifting his beer, “To Frankie Jr.” They tipped mugs again and Frank tenderly confessed. “That would be way cool.” “You go, bro,” Bill urged Frank. “It would be so much fun doing things with them, taking them places and watching ’em learn how to do things,” Frank’s hands scattered like they were moving across a map. “A trip to Disneyland!” Bill recommended, “So much do and learn there.” “Florida is its own adventure too, man,” prompted Frank. “I see me doing things for ’em; maybe I’d buy them a puppy for Christmas.” He bounced his butt up and down on the stool. “Whoa, bro, you’d be a wonderful uncle in all of this!” Frank leaned his head back with a big smile. But just then, Bill paused, his face evened out, and his expression flattened, “Whoa,” Bill said with a startled tone in his voice. He felt his heart drop with a big thud.

“What is it?” Frank asked. “Just whoa—I’d be an uncle,” Bill spoke softly, still pensive as soured thoughts enveloped his being. “Wait, what?” Frank asked again. “Listen a minute,” Bill whispered, as fatigue flooded his body, causing him to inadvertently tilt his head away. “What!?!” “I don’t think Kadie’s going to want me around,” Bill looked down with cold eyes and wanted to be held. “Don’t be such a dork,” Frank scoffed. “You’d be their uncle. You’d be family.” “You’ll side with her and get rid of me,” Bill shook his head. “You know it’s true. We always said bros before hos, but it doesn’t work that way when you’re married.” “Never, you’re my best friend, dude. She can’t make me get rid of you,” Frank put one hand on Bill’s thigh. “I’m serious; she’ll keep you away from me. She’ll control you,” Bill pinched his lips and sensed hollowness inhabit his heart and chest. “Honest, she will,” his chin trembled. “Don’t get paranoid,” Frank frowned. “Stop being ridiculous.” “She’s not going to want you with guy friends, especially single friends, meaning me,” Bill’s flat face gazed steadily forward toward the bar mirror. His muscles weakened and the throbbing he felt in his temples made his head pound more. “Don’t worry about that, man,” said Frank. “No, Frank, She’ll be jealous of me, and she won’t want you hanging out with any footloose and fancy-free dudes,” Bill insisted, “She’ll want someone else to be their uncle, someone more responsible, or married.” “No.” “I can see her now, she’ll hate me.” Bill so wished this conversation wasn’t happening; he knew he needed to come to terms with his best friend’s new life and he felt like crying. “Dude, you’ll be an uncle. Don’t worry so much,” Frank leaned in and placed both hands on Bill’s legs.

“There’s no getting around it, Frank,” Bill stated with finality, “She won’t want you looking at greener pastures. Every time you’re around me, you’ll see how great it is. She won’t want you to be around that temptation anymore.” He held back the urge to cry as his face contorted as tears welled behind his eye lids. “Hey, Mr. Morose,” Frank tried to lighten the atmosphere. “No, Frank, I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of each other anymore. You get married and get the girl while I lose my best friend,” Bill felt his eyes and nose moistening. “Come on Bill… it’s gonna be fine, great even,” Frank assured him with his most encouraging tone and reached around him and side hugged him. “It’s just that I… I can’t say it,” Bill whispered with darkened wet eyes that looked into darkness. They sat still for a moment. The sound of the television, clinking mugs, and barroom conversation surrounded them and filled the silence. A wave of blackness swept over Bill as he absorbed the quaint English mementos and forested atmosphere. “You don’t have to say it. Thanks, man. I got your back,” Frank said. “If you invite me to the wedding, I’ll show up and wish you the best.” “Don’t cry; you’ll make me cry too,” Frank joked, attempting to break the tension with a laugh. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ll keep it respectable,” Bill rubbed his sleeve under his nose, drying the snot. His shoulders sagged and his hopes had dropped to the floor. “Wish me the best? You’ll be the best fuckin’ man, bro!” Frank barked, and held his arms wide. “You’re closer to me than my family. Really, you’re like the brother I never had,” Bill sniffled, fully appreciating in the moment that his world was a better place with Frank in it. “That’s so very cool. I needed that,” Frank confessed to Bill, with all the man love a guy could offer. He motioned Bill into his outstretched arms. Bill hugged him. “Thanks Frank. I love you man.” His nose dripped as he stayed in Frank’s warm embrace for what seemed a short eternity. This intimate world is where he felt safe and whole. Then, Bill felt a chill. “I love you, too, bro,” Frank said. They separated from the wonderful embrace, downed the last of their beers and stepped out into the Manhattan dusk, ambling away into the city skyline. After this evening, they each went about their separate lives.

Two weeks later, Bill received a wedding announcement. The following spring, he served as the Best Man at Frank’s wedding. ∞∞∞∞ Bill transitioned into the healthcare industry, where his income increased as he leveraged his individual talents. As a Senior IT Specialist, he now develops new inventions; integrating lifesaving medical information enhancing the efficacy of healthcare practices. His designs lead to improved therapeutic progress and the maintenance of good health for millions of people. He is popular with women, but will never marry. Unfortunately, Frank and Kadie’s life together unfolded pretty much as Bill predicted. After nine years, Kadie divorced Frank and won custody of their two children, ownership of their condo, and a monthly support payment based on his former income at Goldman Sachs. Kadie hired expert legal representation who happened to be an eloquent proponent of Briffault’s Law. Soon, what were Frank’s and Kadie’s children transformed into only her children. She did everything possible to alienate the kids from Frank, pushing him deeper into a dark and drunken depression. Frank barely managed to meet the expense of his small rented room. Lost in deep darkness, he became a depressed drunk in a Bowery flophouse until one day he thought of suicide and phoned Bill to beg, “Please help me.” That night, Bill’s lifetime of faithfulness to his friend rocketed into warp-speed after picking up the phone to hear Frank’s voice on the other end of the line. His old friend reached out from the edge of hell. Bill listened to a mumbled explanation of what life had become for Frank. Instead of living the dream life of marriage and children, Frank became yet another divorce statistic; a down and out man sitting alone at the bar without family support. Immediately, Bill rushed to Frank’s side in skid row and relocated him into his own large house and helped him rebuild his financial foundation. ∞∞∞∞ Recovery for Frank took time and moved in phases. Bill nursed him back to a healthy reality after Frank crashed into the lowest point in his life. Bill successfully guided him through alcohol rehab and helped him to rebuild a financial foundation. Today, Bill is in the process of helping Frank establish a new career and Frank is advocating for a Men’s Rights Organization where he works with groups and helps to raise funds for others. His spirits soared sky-high. His divorce disaster showed him previously unknown charitable motives which had lain dormant.

Currently, Frank works strenuously toward improving the divorce laws that destroy men. He spearheads activism against domestic violence, a charge widely caused by women against men. He finds is difficult to find women to date who feel as he feels. Frank is a driving force behind changing legal proceedings for the National Coalition for Men. Healing him first as he helps others, Frank’s spirit is improving as he rebuilds his life, and all because of Bill, his confidante and friend. The deepest depths of despair taught Frank his most valuable lesson. Kadie still lives off of Frank’s assets and child support while enjoying the company of another man who helps to watch over Frank’s children. She knows if she never remarries, Frank’s assets will still be hers for life. Frank is free and with his old pal, Bill, who never gave up on him. Frank’s world is moving in a positive direction with the support of one incredible comrade. ∞∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Men need other men for male bonding and nurturing spirits.ciii civ Men are honest when they bond and bitch with guy friends.cv Over 500,000 men today pay permanent alimony till death.cvi 77% (on average) of a man’s net worth drops after divorce.cvii 70% to 84% of child custody cases award children to the women.cviii cix 77% of women are jealous and suspicious; they can’t be best friends.cx The #2 reason people get divorced is women’s nagging.cxi Men: Once divorced you will pay child support, alimony, and other costs. Men: Marriage often destroys a man’s entire assets and life.cxii Most women scorned by divorce will take revenge on her ex-husband.cxiii Men: A woman will ask you to leave your friends for her.cxiv 56% of divorced men say they deplore their failed marriage.cxv 3680 divorced people each week will file bankruptcy.cxvi cxvii Briffault’s law severely penalizes men.cxviii Men are penalized by the Bradley amendment and no-fault custody laws.cxix Men: Divorce for men more often ends in suicide.cxx Many women collect money from exes and state & federal government after divorce. cxxi Most women are taught to look to get money from men.cxxii cxxiii Many men feel fine about buying sex.cxxiv

Chapter 6 A Man in Love During his Iowa City college days, Dennis Wakeland, a caring man with educated blue eyes behind square-framed glasses, was working in Cedar Rapids, Iowa at the 1928 original Vaudeville Theater building. After a 2.5 million dollar restoration in 1980, the building had been transformed into a famed, art deco, classic movie house, screening Hollywood’s celebrated old films. Dennis played the Rhinestone Barton theatre pipe organ, dominating the orchestra pit between matinees every Saturday and Sunday. The theater, beautifully furnished with ornate antiques, drew attention from movie fans around the area and gay movie buffs. Dennis gained minor popularity among the regulars and enjoyed the classics himself, especially To Kill a Mockingbird. With this cultured hobby soothing the souls of himself and his fans, he never expected his own love story might end with the less-than-romantic words, “Fuck you bitch.” Dennis, thirty-one years old, attended country fairs, amusement parks, and movies. As an adventurous soul, he said “yes” often. If he weren’t so deathly afraid of heights, he would take up skydiving. Dennis also worked hard as a lawyer; he settled for weekend warrior status and taking his cherished motorcycle out for the occasional spin. As with his wealthy ancestors, the Wakelands, before him, Dennis was a romantic, and fully enamored with the idea of love. He yearned for one relationship to fill his heart with lifelong passion. Dennis knew the right woman was out there just for him. Shifting to fourth gear, his Audi R8 convertible humming powerfully, leaning back into the soft leather seats, he squinted past the torrent of rain slamming his windshield. “Damn! I’ll never forget this night.” Dennis rubbed his arms then placed them both on the steering wheel as he looked around. “Why is that?” Joan asked. “Well, Joan, it’s because I’m here with you.” He pressed a palm to his heart. “You’re sweet, which makes my new job search easier to manage.” Joan waved her hand in dismissal. “Good and you make me feel like I can tell you everything.” His belly fluttered. Dennis and Joan laughed. Dennis’ tension eased, all the way from his shoulders to his fingers

wrapped around the steering wheel. He flashed his grin back to Joan and thought back to their first date, a vintage movie showing, Casino Royale at an art house. While watching James Bond embark on the adventure of traveling to Madagascar to spy on Melaka, a notorious terrorist, Dennis had felt his stomach groan. Joan, therefore, attentively tilted her popcorn bag towards him. She touched his hand against her own as he dipped into her box of popcorn. The touch sent a shiver across his hand and up his chest. They smiled at each other, and Dennis decided then and there to see Joan again. While zigzagging down the winding, rain-soaked streets, Dennis glanced over at Joan, often. She was beautiful, with soft, blonde hair and a slim body. “Thanks for picking me up tonight. I won’t forget this either.” Joan touched his leg. “Well, of course. I wouldn’t let you walk in this rain!” He opened a hand toward the stormy sky. She patted his shoulder playfully and grinned at him. He smiled softly and took a relaxed breath. He remembered women, other women, who did not share his sense of humor. Joan stood out as different because she understood him. “There’s the restaurant.” Dennis drove into the parking area and parked. As they got ready to make the run to the front doors, the rain intensified, beating on the car’s canvas rooftop. Joan toyed with a yellow scarf, and smiled in a way that prickled Dennis with goose bumps. “Daniel Arthur’s!” she read the glowing red sign hanging above the restaurant’s front door. “Another nice place.” “I know… it seems like I’m trying to impress you,” Dennis chuckled as he buttoned up his coat. “But we’re just getting to know each other.” Joan tied the yellow scarf over her head. Dennis took notice of her freshly manicured, red nails and blonde hair combed straight; a vanilla scent wafted through the air—what kind of perfume was it? His passions soared and he couldn’t contain himself whenever he came close enough to smell Joan. “Let me help you out of the car,” he turned the car off and put the gears in park. As he unhooked his seatbelt he thought how he never considered himself remotely handsome or attractive with a rough face, not ruggedly, but pock-marked rough from teenage acne. He didn’t like his hands that were too large for his own tastes. “It is our seventh date,” she said, “so; I think it is okay to tell you I love your new car.” “Date number seven, is it?” Dennis said over the pelting of rain. “Just like a woman—you’re keeping accurate notes.” He laughed, opening the car door and grabbing an umbrella, tipping quickly to her side of the car door for her.

Joan stepped onto the cement, under the umbrella, and Dennis closed the door behind her, wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close as they walked along the sidewalk. The vanilla scent, mixed with the fresh rain, further intoxicated Dennis—all his desires and goals were in front of him. All he needed to do was act on them. “It’s not taking notes,” she said, as they approached the restaurant. “It’s being observant.” Dennis laughed. He opened the door to the restaurant, allowing her full breadth to walk in like royalty. He pulled her chair out and lent a hand to adjust it. Fair to say that, by this time, Dennis was struck—truly in love. Everything around them, and each experience, intensified his desire to please her. His thoughts were filled with her, and his mind brimmed with happiness as he drank in how she looked, moved, talked, smelled, laughed, and walked. Of course, Dennis was a very clever man in all matters. A part of him held the idea of buying a green, window-laden home on a white beach in the Pacific, and living there by himself, swimming in the mornings and digesting mojitos in the late afternoon under an intense sun. The dwindling voice inside his head whispered about Joan. The road ahead might contain bumps, or a deep ditch; there might be a catastrophic crash; Dennis drove blind. “Order anything you like.” He reached out and gently tapped her hand. “Thank you, dear.” She bowed her head. “I’ve been having my hair and nails done all day. This is a break.” “You mean making yourself look pretty is work?” he chuckled and leaned forward. “Sometimes it feels that way.” Her full red lips pouted. “I go for the full treatment every month, just to be ready.” “Ready for what?” He placed two fingers on his own lips, rubbing the forefinger lightly. “It’s always a good idea to make preparations for what few nuances may come our way. You never know what.” A waiter appeared beside their table. “Go ahead, Joan. You order first,” he motioned with an open hand. Showing her off in public was a pleasure for him. “I’d like the filet mignon, medium rare, and the garlic mashed potatoes and julienne steamed carrots.” She tapped a finger on the menu’s item. He grinned at Joan’s differences from his last girlfriend, who lounged about in sweatpants and insisted on eating well-done steaks. Dennis thought back to his last girlfriend and her annoying voice.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” He nodded toward Joan so the server would see his appreciation of her menu choice. Halfway through their meal, Dennis and Joan were well tucked into the first bottle of expensive wine, swooning over each other. She loved the ambient light of the restaurant, and the jazz listing gently from the hidden speaker added warmth to an already wonderful dinner. The two exchanged laughs, and, after a brief pause in the conversation, Joan raised her empty wine glass. Dennis picked up the bottle between them and filled her glass. “Are you enjoying all the chivalry I’m showing you?” He grinned inquisitively. “What girl wouldn’t?” Joan titled her head to one side. “I have a question about this.” Dennis looked down a moment, knowing this was the type of question you don’t usually ask. Obviously, he needed trust to ask and trust to answer. He had made the mistake of not asking it before, so he figured he must, but he did not want to offend her. “Do you mind?” “I’m an open book to you, lovely,” she gestured with both palms face up. “Okay,” he said, placing the bottle back on the table gently. “Do you think people need to be chivalrous all the time?” Joan’s brow crinkled. He found himself staring at her face, loving the way it contorted when she pondered things. “I never thought of it, but—yes, it seems right.” “So, let me get more to the point. If we were married for ten years, you’d expect me to open doors help you with the shopping bags, and all the rest?” “Wow. Married? That’s quite a question, but yes. I’d like that. Maybe we can get a maid’s outfit for you, too.” She rocked her wine back and forth, grinned, and then took a deep sip. Dennis laughed. This did not really answer his question, but at least she had a sense of humor, even when they were being serious. Coming as a welcome relief from a past girlfriend who had insisted he hold her hand through everything, feeling like she clung to him for no reason. Here was someone special—not a girl for a boy, but a woman for a man. It makes life so much easier when the person you are with is emotionally stable—not griping, complaining, and crying for help at every turn. Dennis shook away thoughts of past girlfriends. “Do you want me opening doors for you till we die?” he parted his lips. “Of course,” she said, a bit more seriously this time. “It is gentlemanly. Don’t you think?”

He schooled his face into an impassive look, refusing to allow the comment to show any of his reactions. “I don’t want to disappoint, but I think guys have it hard to keep these actions up for that long of a time. They say chivalry is dead.” He flatted his palm down and slowed it above the table before him. “Not in you,” Joan winked. Since they first met, Dennis actually found it easy to maintain the chivalry with Joan; it came entirely as second nature. “Why wouldn’t they?” She sat back in her chair. “Well, being overly polite happens when a guy is dating, to impress his girl, and it slows down after time.” Dennis sighed and touched his fingertips together. “You mean after the guy gets her into bed?” she whispered. “No, not exactly… is that why we haven’t had sex yet?” Dennis leaned back with his hands behind his head, smiled and squinted. She laughed. “No, but I must be honest…” Dennis felt something touch his ankle under the table. It felt soft and exciting. Her stocking foot moved along his shin and clouded his mind with euphoria. Joan’s voice, quieter now, further weakened Dennis’ knees. “All this talk is turning me on,” she moved her toes and caressed his foot. He wanted to know absolutely everything about her. For the first time, he found himself wanting to know things like what she liked, what she didn’t, her favorite color, her tastes, all about her exboyfriends, and the nature of her little quirks. As the dinner continued, the two got closer, leaning their elbows on the table and speaking in hushed tones, emitting a lovely intimacy others in the restaurant would have killed for. As they revealed their various likes and dislikes to each other, the night aged marvelously. The first bottle of wine, now a distant memory—was it Domaine Leroy Clos de Vougeot Grand Cru, or Domaine Armand Rousseau Pere et Fils Chambertin Grand Cru?—Dennis couldn’t remember. They talked of how they dealt with stress until she said something that gave Dennis pause. “There’s nothing more therapeutic than good shopping sprees.” “Well, a good financial future is better, don’t you think?” he cocked his head to the side. “Maybe the difference between men and women is shopping.” “And the decorations in the bathroom,” he pointed his fork toward the nearby restrooms and laughed.

“This reminds me of a conversation I had years ago with—with a friend.” “Oh, really?” Dennis cocked an eyebrow. “This… friend. What was the conversation about?” He looked at his plate, toyed with a fork, and listened closely. “Well, we disagreed on spending. It was a love-hate sort of deal: I loved to buy things, and he hated to spend money.” She smiled, but for the first time tonight, Dennis felt she held a touch of sadness, brought on by the shared memory. “What do you think is more important?” He pushed the plate away so he could lean an elbow on the table. “That’s a tough one,” she said, and with a sudden sharpness, she continued, “I’m no expert on that. However, money is important. After all, we need to buy stuff.” “That’s funny.” He smiled and gazed into her eyes. “Well, we broke up after both of us went broke.” Her eyes sagged. “Really? You miss him?” “Yes, I thought he would be the… you know…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He was more than a friend, then.” Dennis reached forward to wipe her tears with his clean handkerchief. He touched her with gentle and reassuring hands. “Sure. A boyfriend, I guess.” She sat up and recomposed herself. “It wasn’t as serious as what you and I have now. We might be opposites with money. I’m always buying new clothes and things. I find spending money relaxing, so I’m a spender, and you’re a saver. But there’s a reason opposites attract one another. They make great lovers.” She leaned in and winked. “Well, I’m not sure of that; it’s a small thing someone can overlook.” He told the truth, now knowing Joan loved him, and he knew he loved her. “Thank you, Dennis. You’re so thoughtful.” Joan’s face oozed warmth. “My dear… I’m thrifty, even though we’re eating at nice restaurants and I drive a nice car.” Dennis tucked the handkerchief in his back pants pocket. “So, wait,” she said, her brow furrowing. “You’re gonna marry me and then starve me?” She put a hand on her stomach and frowned in a stick figure way. “Ha ha ha, that’s funny,” he held his wine glass up for a toast with hers.

While they finished the chocolate éclair dessert, a man dressed in a striking tux came to the table with a box. “Miss Joan.” “Um, yes?” Her eyes lit upon the deep red wrapped box, thin and rectangular and expertly wrapped, with the top of a single white lily, tied into the simple ribbon. “For you, madam.” He handed her the box. On top of it was a letter. Dennis handed the tuxedo a piece of money and thanked him. “What is it, Dennis?” “A show of appreciation—I thought it time for some family connection between us.” He sensed pride and a squirm of excitement, and gestured with an open palm toward the box. “It’s so pretty. So heavy.” She slowly unwrapped it, and her breath fluttered in a way that gave Dennis great pleasure. She pulled the gold chain and locket out of the box and stood up. “Help me put in on.” “My great-grandmother owned it, given to her by her husband. It’s a family heirloom—pure gold.” Joan’s smile grew as Dennis continued, “It’ll look perfect on you, watch and see.” Dennis walked behind her and placed it around her neck, inhaling the scent of flowers and hair while he fastened the clip. His mind twisted into sexual thoughts; he couldn’t deny he was falling for her. “Your family has good taste.” She tinkered with the locket. “You feel good tonight?” He hugged her with everyone watching. “Yes,” she gushed. Soon, standing outside, the rain stopped, leaving only a wet sidewalk and the crisp air of night to accompany the two as they got into Dennis’ car. Pulling up to Joan’s house, Dennis settled the car into neutral and looked over at her. The buzz of the night and the sexual tension between the two washed away any conversation. They both smiled like schoolchildren. “Would you like to visit my place next week?” Joan asked. “Yes, I would.” A stirring buzzed in Dennis’s loins. “Good.” She tilted her head. “I’ll be at your place,” he suggested and turned to face her, placing her hand into his. “What should

we have to eat?” Joan leaned in and placed her free hand on Dennis’s leg. “You, Dennis. Oh, God, I want you.” As Dennis leaned in closer, her hand came between them. “I love you.” That week, Dennis ordered a Lisianthus arrangement with a Saffron Crocus center over the internet to be shipped to her house. His heart was full. He was happy. That night he started a journal of how wonderful his life had become. Saturday night . . . The date was amazing as I knew it would be. Joan does something to me, to my insides, I can’t explain. I want to protect her. I have this urge to capture some abuser, some thief, or some exboyfriend of hers the moment before he is about to do her harm, just so I can smash him down and end him. I have never had these feelings before, and they are confusing and all-encompassing. I feel new. I feel strong. If she were to fall, I would catch her before she hit the ground. If she fell ill, I’m sure I would find the cure needed through sheer force of will. Ridiculous? Maybe. But it is the realest thing I’ve ever felt. I can’t wait to see her next week. Until then, I plan on sending her a whole bunch of shit to let her know what she’s doing to me. I will send her chocolates and flowers, the whole gamut. Wednesday night . . . Usually I’d be knee-deep in pussy around this time. This is my go-out night, but I’m not gracing the door of any strip club tonight. Instead, I’m staying here, home, to write about Joan. What could this be to turn a man into this? If it were bottled, the man who found out how to package this chemistry would rule the world. The week moved to the evening meal with Joan. Dennis rang the doorbell, bottle of wine in hand. The door opened and all other thoughts left him, seeing Joan dressed up for him. She wore a magnificent Armani dress. It hugged her figure, and, being beige, almost matched her skin tone. The effect seemed like a burst of light underneath her. He felt home at last. “Come in.” “Sure, I thought of you every morning when I woke up.” He looked her over once more before moving through the doorframe. Their eyes locked. “I trust you had a nice week.” “Just perfect. A friend extended kindness and sent me a few gifts to help the days fly by.” “A good friend?” “A close friend.” She eyed him seductively.

He walked in, she took the wine, and he moved past her. The intoxicating scent from the week prior lingered; she must have sprayed it on her body once or twice before he came. “My mind was filled with you each day, and I missed you.” He felt right about everything. She led him to the table completely prepared for dinner. On a small table sat two plates and two glasses for wine. As Joan went to the fridge, Dennis noticed an office off to the side, with a desk with scattered letters and what looked like bills. Poor girl, he thought. “I’ve got a simple meal waiting for us,” she said as she eased into her chair. Dennis turned his gaze back to her. She poured them both a half glass of Italian Brunello. “Thank you,” he sipped his wine. “Okay, mister,” she began, and Dennis couldn’t help but smile as she leaned forward over the table. “It’s time to get drunk on wine and get to know each other while the food finishes cooking. Tell me something I don’t know about you. Not like I’m curious—I wouldn’t want to come off as desperate to know you.” “Huh.” Dennis thought for a moment. He wanted to share with her some intimate thing, something others could not pry from him. He wanted to bare his soul. He wanted to talk about his big family. He wanted to trust her. “I’ve always wanted to see if I could write a novel or a screenplay.” “Oh!” Joan reeled back, grinning and half-laughing with her wine sloshing around in the glass. “That sounds so great.” “Yeah, sure.” “No, I mean it!” She laid a hand on his, and smiled encouragingly. “What would you write about?” “Well, I don’t know yet. I think I’ll take a little course in creative writing at the local college.” He sipped some wine. “What’s the inspiration?” “I think writers get some passion under their skin, and they have to share it. It is like how I feel about you.” He smiled. “That is incredibly sweet, Dennis. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” She played with her glass of wine. “Now you know something no one else knows.” “I feel privileged. Thank you for sharing that,” she said.

“I think we’ll have a great future.” “Me, too, darling. I’ll go check on dinner. Don’t go away!” As Joan rose to go to the kitchen, Dennis stood from his seat. “Joan.” She turned, her hands resting on her hips. “I’ll be right back.” “I want you to know I’m looking,” he stood still. “Looking?” Her eyebrow arched. “Well, now I’m curious. Looking for what?” “I’m looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with,” he said, as he held one hand out toward her. Her hands dropped. “Is that a proposal?” “No! Not yet… You see I know so little about you still.” “Do you believe in soul mates, Dennis?” “Now I do.” For Joan, the notion that someone was curious about her, and thought they could have a future together, was wonderful. And at that moment, Dennis fell head over fucking heels in love and almost dizzy from it all. “You’ll learn about me. Something tells me we’ll have a lot of time to learn about each other.” Joan then went into the kitchen and brought out their meals. There was pasta al dente with sauce, and steamed mixed vegetables. The wine ranked as the best part of the meal. After dinner, the topic of jobs came into the conversation. “Are you still between jobs?” Dennis looked around her home—nice, but a bit messy. “Yes,” Joan replied, as she smiled, her chest rising. “It seems nobody wants to teach a pretty little girl to work for them in today’s economy.” “You’re smart. You could teach them all something,” he said. Joan swallowed the last of her wine and looked up at Dennis. “Would you like me to teach you a thing or two?” “Sure, I’ll be your student” he flushed.

The lights in the bedroom glowed soft on the red silk sheets. Dennis explored Joan with a curiosity. The cut of her body held perfection. His hands ran up her stomach, over her breasts, and around her back. Her skin felt flawless. His hands roamed over her body, over her knees, the back of her legs, and her waist, sparking sounds of pleasure from her mouth. She let out a hollow moan, and she had one hand on his bare shoulders and the other running through his hair. His hands never stopped their wanderings, and with each thrust of his hips, he felt closer, deeper, and more in love. For tonight, they knew each other as well as anyone could know another person, not in an intellectual capacity, but a feral, natural way. They knew the way of the heart, and the way of the soul. Their night did not end; rather, it slipped away from them when neither looked. Both closed their eyes, fully spent and satisfied in each other’s arms. The next time their eyes would open, it would be morning. Dennis woke first; Joan soon cuddled into his arms and rested her head on the crook below his shoulder. Their legs danced sluggishly beneath the sheets, intertwining and then resting. “Joan?” Dennis’s eyes filled with an inner glow. “Yes, my dear?” “Will you be okay, financially?” He fumbled fingers through his hair. “Yes, my dear.” “Are you sure?” “Well…” She looked out over the bed and into the other room, toward the office with the bills. “I don’t know how I’m going to get those bills paid. I need four hundred dollars.” She looked at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help a gal pay off her credit card?” Dennis looked down at her. She gazed up at him seductively. How could he refuse? “Let me take care of it.” “Oh, Dennis!” She mooned in relief and glee. “Honestly? This would help me so much, but I feel so bad about this.” “Nonsense. Come by my office on Monday. I’ll have a check for you there.” He then grabbed her bare ass under the covers and pressed her hips against his thigh. “How could I lie here in good conscience knowing the love of my life struggled?” She nuzzled into him. “I love you too, Dennis.” “Plus, last night was worth it,” he said. “You’re a funny man.” Joan traced invisible signs on Dennis’s chest.

Saturday Night . . . I’ve had sex countless times with countless broads. I’ve fucked a good percentage of those women silly. Shit, I’ve even had the odd sensuous encounter; however, nothing was ever like last night. Last night, Joan and I made love. I feel as if today is the first day of something new and different. I feel as if I lived underground, and this morning I popped the top off a sewer cap and caught my first glimpse of actual sunlight. Joan isn’t just the sun—she’s the air between my feet and the ground. I trust her with everything I have. If I were ever to lose her, the fall would be horrifying. I need her like I need the air. I could never go back to the sewer. Joan waited twenty minutes after arriving in the office early Monday afternoon. Sitting at the receptionist’s desk, she admired the large Matisse print taking up the warm, beige wall behind. Time wore on and her mind grew hostile. She went from appreciating the elegant décor of the law office to resenting it and everyone in it. How could a business operate and keep people waiting like this? She spied on a woman in pinstriped slacks and a plain white blouse that left one of the offices. “Excuse me… Excuse me!” Joan waved, and her mouth thinned. The other woman turned and looked up from the file. “Yes, hello, the receptionist should be here any minute. She’s on break.” She went right back to her original intention. Joan noticed the woman’s subtle but sensual curves hiding under her business attire. The woman’s brunette hair swirled up in a bun and pulled away from her face, but stray tendrils fell over the side of her cheek. She looked stunning. This, for some reason, made twist her fingers together with hard moves. “I’m Dennis’s girl. He left something for me here.” The receptionist looked around on the desk and found an envelope. “Joan?” she said. “That’s right. Is it there?” Joan’s chin poked forward. The woman handed Joan an open plain white envelope with Joan’s name scrawled on the front. The woman noticed a check inside, as she handed it to Joan. “Thank you. And what’s your name?” Joan took the envelope and tucked it into her purse. “I’m Shannon. I’m Dennis’s partner.” She has a great figure, thought Joan. She thought Shannon

was beautiful and probably smart. “And you’ve never heard of me?” “I’m not the secretary. Dennis and I talk business. Of course, he’s mentioned your name here and there. Anyway, he’s been in teleconferences since early this morning. He must have forgotten to tell me he needed to give you—” Shannon smoothed a strand of hair from the side of her face. Joan pursed her lips and interrupted. “My business—his and my business—not yours, the secretary’s, or anyone else’s.” Joan’s shoulders squared defensively. Shannon said, “Of course… a pleasure meeting you, Joan. If you’ll excuse me…” Shannon nodded briefly and then turned and walked down the hall of the office. “Shannon?” Joan squinted. “Yes?” Shannon half turned back. “Dennis is a great man, don’t you think?” Joan stroked her throat. “He’s a great business partner, I know that.” Shannon smoothed down her dress. “Just don’t forget—you’re business and I’m his girlfriend.” Shannon wrinkled her brow. “You know…” She took a step forward toward Joan, the thinness of her frame seeming all of a sudden sturdy and powerful. “You’re right.” Joan wanted to scream at Shannon and tell her that she would never have him, but she contained herself. Shannon frowned. “You can see yourself out.” Joan sat with her legs crossed and pulled out a tissue and gently sobbed into it, hoping to catch the attention of someone she could complain to. “Joan?” A voice boomed behind her as Joan opened the door. “Is that you?” Joan turned around and instantly her face lit up. “Brian?” “Joan, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He approached her and they exchanged kisses on the cheek. “What are you doing here?” “Not much! How are you?” She quickly wiped her eyes then placed one hand on the lapel of her blouse, near her cleavage.

Brian was an old friend who was one of the most gorgeous guys she had ever known. Rich, tall, thin, brown hair, and green eyes, women fell in love with him everywhere. “Oh, always on the lookout for a girl like you to make me happy, but other than that, great… business is up.” Brian’s eyes glanced at Joan’s cleavage and breasts. “That’s wonderful to hear,” said Joan. “I just stopped by to see my friend Dennis. Do you know him?” “Dennis? Sure. Works for me… great lawyer. Don’t tell me you’re seeing the old dog nowadays.” Brian shoved his hands into his pockets casually. “Yes, he and I are dating.” “God, you’re still beautiful,” he smiled at her. They exchanged the look of past lovers. “Oh, Brian, you’re always so sweet and flattering.” “Say, where’s Dennis?” “He’s in conference,” Joan said, and shrugged helplessly. “And, tell me, my dear, what does ole Dennis have that your Brian doesn’t? You know I pay his bills.” “Well, he doesn’t have a couple things you may have,” she whispered as she leaned into him. “Power, I suppose.” She then leaned in and spoke something inaudible in his ear. “Wow… well, my dear—what if you step into my office, and we’ll see if we can’t figure out a solution for both our problems.” He moved closer to her, looking left and right to see if anyone was watching. No one was. ∞∞∞ Ten minutes later, Joan left the building for home to shower and meet Dennis later. A lovely evening —they lay on the hood of Dennis’s car, parked atop one of the city’s many mountains. Soundless but for a faint, occasional breeze, was all Dennis could hear. Below the lookout massed tiny lights, and every moving vehicle and building looked miniature. It looked as if it were a small stage, and as if they and everything in the city were small, silly, and fake. The only thing that seemed real was each other. The night sparkled still and clear, and the stars shined. Dennis pointed out constellations as the city undulated below. “And there, if you can see what looks like a little W—” Dennis pointed toward the star cluster. “I see it,” Joan cuddled into him. “It’s so funny to think they are so far away. What is it called again?”

“Cassiopeia, I think,” Dennis said as he gazed with focus. “Dennis.” Joan looked up at him from her perch on his shoulder. The trees were all behind them; in front of them, nothing but city and sky. “Yes, dear?” He raised a brow. “How do you know Shannon?” She cupped an elbow with one hand. Dennis paused. “From work, Shannon?” he replied as his body stiffened a slight bit. “Yes,” Joan answered, quieter and less animated. “Well, from work,” he chuckled. “Do I sense a bit of jealousy?” “No, no—it’s just… she seemed rude to me when I came to pick up the check.” Joan pouted. “Rude? No, not Shannon. Rude how?” Dennis frowned. “I don’t know. But—” Joan shrugged indolently and looked up at him with those eyes—the eyes that could break his heart in two and the eyes with the promise of his future. “But you don’t like her, right?” “My dear, I enjoy Shannon as a business partner. She’s great. But…” he said before stopping when Joan jumped in. “But if she were rude to me, I mean…” Joan’s eyes tightened. “My dear, you are a bit jealous, I think. But believe me, Shannon is nothing to worry about.” Joan’s fragrance hung like a barely-there ghost in the air. Dennis breathed it in. “I think I love you. I mean it. It’s crazy, but I love you,” Joan cooed. They smiled at each other. “Joan?” Dennis leaned down to look her in the eyes. “Yes, dear?” “I trust you with my heart forever.” “Thank you.” “I know I love you. I knew it from the moment I saw you.” He moved closer.

They kissed, and the warmth of the kiss made Dennis notice the cold slowly creeping into his jacket. “It’s getting late.” “You’re right.” Joan wrapped herself tighter in Dennis’s arms. “But when I’m with you, time doesn’t seem like a thing at all. I can see us in the future.” “I know what you mean. I imagine you with me always.” “I could see myself with you for a good long time, Mr. Dennis,” she said, giggling. “In that house of yours you always talk about by the beach. I bet it’s warm there.” They kissed, one holding the promise of more yet to come. “Hmm I could see myself in you for a good long time, Miss Joan… maybe at our home on the white beaches in the Pacific.” Dennis felt safe there. Joan laughed and slapped his jacket. “Well, this thing does have a backseat, doesn’t it? Her leg sidled up over his, inching her hips closer to Dennis. Dennis grinned. “Yes, my car has a backseat. Would you like to see it?” “It depends.” Dennis grabbed hold of her waist as it ground slowly on his pants. “Depends, does it? It doesn’t seem like it depends on much.” “Tell me you’ll be with me forever.” “Forever and a day.” “Good, because I don’t want to share you.” Her hand moved over the growing bulge in his pants. “Or this or this…” Dennis laughed from surprise. “My penis?” he parted his lips. “Yes, it’s mine. Since the first time we made love, I knew it was meant to be. You fit me perfectly. It’s like magic.” “You’re magic, Joan.” They embraced then, and would only part when the sun peeked through the windows of Dennis’s car. Dennis would be the first to wake up, and he spent a good half hour simply marveling in quiet awe at the serene beauty of his sleeping passenger. Sunday Night . . . I’ve been looking at homes. I’m searching for the type of home fit for a king, with a pool, patio,

barbeque, and extra rooms for children. And the home must be perfect for my queen. Maybe I’ll get a vacation home on the white beach in the Pacific. I’m not looking at the prices or the mortgage, just the perfect nest for love birds. It has to be a place that caters to a family. We need to enjoy it for a long time. I want a place for Joan and me to make our life happen. A week later, Dennis dropped Joan off and got ready for work. On the main floor of the law firm’s office, he pressed UP on the elevator button. As the numbers on the elevator display slowly descended towards level M, he hummed a happy tune. He always felt good when he and Shannon had meetings in the morning. Something about her—the calm and self-assurance, and, of course, the beauty —always made his day a better one. Also helping his mood, yesterday he had had wild sex with the girl of his dreams in the back of his car on the top of Point Blanke. He played back things she said to him that excited him: she loved him. He was perfect for her. Wearing a smile, Dennis and the elevator arrived at level M. The doors swung open, and Shannon appeared alone holding a banker’s box full of papers, picture frames, and a few baubles. They saw each other, and Shannon looked away, averting eye contact. “Now, where are you off to?” Dennis asked as Shannon moved, her lithe shoulder pushing her way past Dennis as she turned away. “Um, Shannon… are we still on for our 9:15 meeting?” Dennis weighed his thoughts, wondering if he had done something wrong. She continued walking away, ignoring him. The click-clack of her black leather Italian pumps in the main hall punctuated her anger. “Shannon!” Dennis called. Shannon turned, her thin arms straining under the load of the banker’s box. Her eyes leveled. “No, you have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Not me. You.” Dennis wrinkled his brow. “What—did they fire you?” “Ha! Fire me! For what? No, you don’t fire a lawyer as well versed in labor law as I am. They wish they could fire me,” she responded and laughed sarcastically. Her words were sharp. “Okay, okay—tell me what’s going on,” Dennis raised his hands up defensively. “Well, Dennis… I got transferred,” her face contracted with tense lines. “What the hell is Brian thinking? I need you! Let’s go back up—I’ll talk to him.” He used both arms in a dragging motion trying to persuade her. Dennis frowned, and he stepped into the elevator, holding it open for Shannon. She took a few slow, click-clacking steps towards him. “Oh, Dennis… you don’t even know how much trouble you’re in,” she wrinkled her face into a fake sad expression.

“What? Shannon, did Brian say something? Am I being transferred?” “No, Dennis. You’re not being transferred.” She looked at him with puffy eyes. “You’re trapped!” “What do you mean?” The doors of the elevator began to close. “Ask your girlfriend.” She and Dennis stood there, eyes locked. His eyes searched hers for an explanation and hers swelled with tears. Dennis looked at nothing on the floor, racking his mind for what she meant. What in the hell is going on? He went to Brian’s office and walked in. “Dennis, ever heard of knocking?” Brian rested his feet up on the dark mahogany desk acting as the centerpiece of his large office. Dennis swung open the door and stood his back stiff. The city could be seen jittering about from the south wall-sized windows letting so much light in on all the expensive furnishings around them. “Well, good, we need to talk, anyways.” “You’re damn right we need to talk,” Dennis raised his voice. His eyes burned from the bright sun. “Hey, now… Maybe you should sit down.” Brian lifted a brow. “Maybe you tell me exactly why you transferred our best labor lawyer—my partner—five days before one of the biggest cases in our firm’s history.” Dennis sat firmly in the chair. “I didn’t know I needed to run these decisions by you, Dennis.” Brian rubbed the back of his neck, leaned forward, and took his feet off his desk. He chuckled and plopped his feet down hard. “In fact, I’m sure I don’t. I’m the boss, remember?” “This is crazy, Brian. I don’t know what’s going on. What did Shannon do that was so horrible?” “She’s needed elsewhere.” Brian’s eyes narrowed. Dennis guffawed and his brows arched high. “Elsewhere? Where elsewhere?” “Upstate.” Brian rose, turned and surveyed the undulating city below from his expansive windows. “Dennis, will you have a problem completing your tasks at this company? Are we going to have a problem that needs solving?” “You know damn well I can handle this, but that’s not the point.” Dennis stood up, hands on his hips. “We held a meeting with the client this morning. The multi-millionaire client who liked Shannon; God, you know she has a reputation for this case, and it’s the only reason why we got this

contract!” He leaned forward as if arguing a court case. “You did,” Brian said. “Excuse me?” Dennis took one step forward, angry that Brian was looking out the window. Turning from the window, Brian adjusted his red silk tie. “You did, I mean; you liked Shannon. Not just her briefings. Maybe… maybe her briefs, too?” Brian raised his chin as if picking a fight. Dennis paused. True, he had harbored a small work-crush on Shannon ever since she transferred. He thought she liked him, too. However, he considered this mutual and unspoken until two years ago at a Christmas party when Shannon kissed him full on the lips. Dennis chalked it up to her being drunk and took her home, like a gentleman. From that point on, they forged an unbeatable legal team. Still, though, why would Brian bring this up? “This makes no sense. Why would you give a flying fuck as to—” Brian’s hand interrupted Dennis. “Well, Dennis, it doesn’t matter, anyway. The decision is final, and you’ll have to find another lovely-looking lawyer to fawn over.” Brian crossed his arms on his chest. Dennis left, slamming the door behind him. What the hell was that? Brian had never treated him with such disrespect and with such attitude. Still fuming, he came to his desk and made an admirable effort of trying to work like it was a normal day. Instead, he found himself lost in thought, thinking of times with Shannon, her laugh, her smile, how she dissected issues and made brilliant observations, and how she softly pressed the lid on the back of her pen against her temple as she wrestled with a particularly difficult conundrum. She never let him down on a case but picked up his weak points, and embellished them. He loved working with Shannon, and now he missed her. His power team was broken. Dennis left work early to settle his mind. Craving escape through a movie, he invited Joan to the Iowa City Theater, where the 1936 film Mr. Deeds Goes to Town was screening. The story was set in the mid-Depression, and followed an upstanding, small-town model citizen who inherits a massive fortune. Although Joan took a half hour longer than anticipated to get ready, Dennis sped the whole way there, and they made it with ten minutes to spare. “I’ve heard good things about this movie,” Joan whispered as she and Dennis settled into the middle row of the theater. There were only a scant few others in the audience. He noted a couple off to the back side and a single person in the front row. Dennis, still distracted by the day’s misgivings, nodded quietly to Joan. “No need to whisper, dear. The previews aren’t on yet. Anyways, I’ve always loved this show. It taught me a lot about money.” “How so?”

“You’ll see. The main character dispenses his fortune to needy people. I always liked that.” Dennis said with a thoughtful expression. “You would do something like that?” “Dear, how are your finances looking nowadays?” Dennis changed the subject. “I don’t know.” Joan innocently shrugged. “You… don’t know? Well, this is something we’ll need to sort out one of these days.” He clenched his hands in a fist. Joan rested her head against Dennis’s shoulder. “Ah, honey. You’re always the good Samaritan.” She straightened up in her seat and turned to him. “Could you give me a lift this afternoon to Greenberg’s?” “I would love to, but I should get back to work after this. I needed to clear my head,” Dennis sighed. “I was thinking…” Dennis noticed when she thought to herself or appeared about to ask for a favor, her fingertips traced along the top of his hand. He didn’t mind, and he often thought of her as an investment for his future: a beautiful wife and a caring mother. “Thinking what, dear?” He held her hand. “Oh, just that, I mean, it’s silly, but—” She turned her head away. “Out with it,” he said as he laughed. “I need a car, I think.” She peered at him playfully. “Not an expensive one, really… I need an A-toB car I wouldn’t be embarrassed driving.” “A car?” He looked at her incredulously and scratched the back of his neck. “Oh, never mind,” she said, a bit too sharply to be taken lightly, causing Dennis some alarm, as he did not want his day going from bad to worse. “No, no. I mean—one day, you’ll need one anyway. We should work out what we can do to make this happen.” He tapped his watch. He would love to help Joan with finances; another day would be the time. She suddenly grinned. “Really? Oh, Dennis!” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply. Before he knew it, they were making out like teenagers. A few minutes passed, and then the

lights dimmed and the previews started. “You never know—it might come in handy for me carting around our kids while you’re at work.” Joan grinned. Dennis remembered his dreams of the beach house, with the sun setting slowly on the ocean. He could see her there, sitting in a beach chair beside him in a silk sarong and breastfeeding their baby at sunset in the humid, clear air. The thoughts made him feel good. After the movie, Dennis drove Joan downtown, and they decided to duck into a small coffee shop before he went off to work. “Something happened today,” he swirled a packet of sugar in his mug of coffee. “They transferred Shannon.” “Oh,” Joan lifted her cup with both hands. She took a long breath of the rising steam. Her eyes fluttered and shut briefly. “Good,” she spoke under her breath. Dennis stared at her, open-mouthed. “Good?” “She’s the one who was rude to me. Wasn’t she? That’s all I mean.” She reached across the table for his hand. He loved her hands, always so soft and inviting. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sure it is difficult, but there’s always a silver lining.” “She’s a very hard worker, and this case will be difficult without her. I also got into a fight with my boss about it, which complicated things.” He felt uneasy about finding a replacement. “I suppose when Brian makes a decision, it’s made, honey.” She rubbed his hand soothingly. “I suppose so. She’s a great worker, still, and… wait a minute.” Dennis looked up from her hand and searched her eyes. “How did you know my boss’s name is Brian?” “Brian, honey? Oh, didn’t I mention? I met him, too, when I picked up the check. I had met him before, a long time ago.” “No, you didn’t mention that.” Dennis cocked his head to one side. “Well, I suppose because it wasn’t a big deal, but I do remember him being stubborn when he wanted something,” she pulled back. Dennis sighed and looked down to his coffee. Exhausted, he simply wasn’t ready to fight another fight today. “Yes, he certainly is. We were on such good terms until today.” Joan rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “Now that’s not the Dennis I know,” she said encouragingly. “The Dennis I know would buck up and see the silver lining.” She leaned in and tilted his head up so

their eyes met. She was still, would always be, stunning. “See how lucky he is? Is the Dennis I know in there?” “Yeah, he is. Yeah.” Dennis couldn’t help but smile, and then he remembered Shannon’s last words to him: Ask your girlfriend. He wondered how Joan knew so much. He cast it aside, though, figuring perhaps stressed at the time, rightfully so, or maybe there was more to it, but today he would not figure it out because exhaustion took over. Sunday Night . . . I’ll struggle without Shannon. Thank God Joan is in my life because everything else seems to be falling to shit. Of course, that’s the sting of being yelled at by my boss and losing my favorite coworker. My life is still great. I have my job, and I have Joan. Once I fantasized about Shannon, how long could I expect the work mess to last? After meeting on the job, both of us kept it all professional. Maybe it’s good she’s gone now. She won’t occupy so much of my thoughts. Joan and I went to a movie today. It reminded me of my old college days. She gave me head right there in the middle of a theater. I must be the luckiest man alive! At dinner, I found out she knew Brian, and then I remembered Shannon mentioning that Joan caused her removal from the office. I’ll talk to Joan about this soon. It doesn’t make sense, but my mind is too fried to work it all out. I’ll talk to Joan about it tomorrow. I wonder what Joan’s financial goals are. Unlike Shannon, she seems to be lacking in that department. I’m sure everything will get sorted. For now, I love her, and we’ll have to figure out what sort of car we should buy. Next up is a ring. But first, sleep. Dennis and Joan sat at her kitchen table, the overhead lamp shining bright. They sat across from each other, sorting through a stack of papers. Outside, darkness and wind threatened a storm and pushed against the windows every now and again. Dennis wore his gold wire-rimmed glasses on the end of his nose, and in his hand he held a single sheet from the pile dominating the small table. There, red ink spelled OVERDUE on the back of it. He studied it carefully. Joan looked on in worry, her hands cupping her face. “Well?” She humped her shoulder upwards. “Well, Joan. You’re in some trouble,” Dennis sighed and placed the overdue bill on the tabletop. “Bad trouble?” She whined like a school girl in heat. “It’s not good. You have thousands in credit card debt, another bunch in bills and fees, and all those student loans.” Dennis raked one hand through his hair. “Oh, don’t mention those damn things. They’re sociopaths, the people who collect on bills and school loans.” She turned away in disgust. Dennis took a slow breath. Dennis knew bill collectors were not sociopaths, but people who

wanted what she owed them. However, he decided to best let sleeping dogs lie and to pick his battles. “Yes, dear. These types of bills are scary, but you can’t turn your head away from them. They don’t just go away.” Sweat formed on his brow and a knot wrenched inside his gut. A gust of wind sent the outside rain bombarding the window, rattling the wooden window jam. She turned back to face him, and then she went back to studying the papers on the table. The deep V-neckline of her playful, polka-dot jersey dress played as part of the reason why Dennis loved her in it; it showed off so much and hid so little. The overhead light cast shadows in all the right places, but somehow the ensemble now seemed too young for her. No denying it, she was beautiful, but Dennis began to wonder if perhaps this hindered his judgment and other people’s judgment; perhaps people had afforded her so much leeway her whole life that she now found herself in this financial mess. He tried to ignore the urges bubbling up as she leaned over the pile, exposing the very edges of her innocent white bra. Attraction was one thing, but he looked forward to marrying this woman, so he needed to help her, even if it meant being a little harsh. “We need to talk about the car.” He pushed papers aside and placed one elbow on the table. “Can we still afford it?” Dennis hemmed and hawed. He hated saying no to such a gorgeous face. “It depends. How’s your credit?” “Mine? Honey, my credit is atrocious.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “But yours—” She stifled a laugh and held her shoulders back and chin up. “Mine, what?” He rested his head in his hands. “I thought you’d help me out,” she said softly with wilting eyelids. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Now let’s push through this. It’ll feel good when it’s over.” Dennis rolled up his sleeves. “You know what might feel better?” Her perfume drifted in the air and caught Dennis’s attention as he studied another bill. He looked up, and instead saw nothing but her breasts, barely covered by the satin bra underneath her dress. Joan leaned over. Her tightly-wound hair fell in bits around her face. He sighed, gulping down his urges. “Soon, dear. Let’s fix this one thing for you.” He pointed to the bills. “Fine.” She pouted and straightened up. She then crossed her arms around her waist. “You have payments to be made,” he tapped a finger on the bills and letter pile.

“So make them go away. I don’t care for these things.” “Do you keep a budget?” “No, I don’t, okay? I just pay, whenever I have to. I just get it paid.” “Well, I don’t want to upset you, but you should keep a budget.” Dennis took two bills and tossed them aside and avoided eye contact. “That’s not fair!” She pushed her bottom lip out. “Dear, you owe thirty-two thousand on your cards; two cards are now cancelled—” Dennis looked up again and wrung his hands together. The ticking changed into a quiet thudding in his heart. “Because of those damned collection agencies!” Joan threw one hand toward the table and sneered defensively. “No, dear. No. Because you didn’t pay your bills, and there’s more here.” He dropped the paper into the lot. “You have a lot of work to do.” “I guess I didn’t get the money management genes.” She teetered back and forth in a cute, girlie way. “Dear, they’re not genes. They’re practices, they’re habits, they’re saving, and they’re decisions we make each and every day.” He didn’t want to correct her; he loved her. But his feelings continued to swell, making him sweat. “Hey, now…” Joan sighed, crossing her arms over the table. Dennis got up and walked around to her side, massaging her lithe shoulders. “Don’t be that way. Don’t get up in a snit.” “I must be one of those women who grew up with tales of a prince charming who would come along and fix things. Oh, where is Daddy when I need him?” She let out a pathetic whine and pushed closer to Dennis. “Yes, dear, that’s a sweet story we read to young girls,” he patted her back and stepped away. “But I’ve found you.” “I’d like us to have financial equality,” he felt heat flush through his body. “Together, we can pay it off. This’ll bring us together.” She looked up at him, her eyes a little wet. “We can do it as a family.”

“Yes, I’ll help you. But we need to get things in order first. Can we continue?” He tucked his sleeves up to elbows again. “Of course, honey,” she nodded quietly, and Dennis walked back to his side of the table and sat. “Now, you have forty thousand owing to the student loans,” he stared at a bill. “Can we stop this? Can you do what we know you’ll do and pay this off, and we can start over again?” “No. No, I can’t do that. That’s over a hundred thousand dollars, Joan. We need to work in steps.” Dennis slapped the table as he looked up from the student loan collection agency paper, aghast and fed up. He felt like being alone so he could think through things. “But you have money.” She lifted a hand with two dainty fingers touching together. “Damn it! We need to be smart.” Dennis felt fatigued, and yearned for fresh air. “I need a man to get this taken care of for me.” She pointed firmly at the working pile on the table. “That’s not smart!” Dennis looked away as his hair prickled up on his neck. He started to have difficulty listening. “But that’s how true love works.” She put her arms under her breasts and pulled up to accentuate them. “Look! I’m angry, and I want someone who is smart.” His face visibly reddened as his heart began to race. “Smart!” Joan rose from her chair, suddenly seething. “Smart? Don’t you want to be in love, married, and happy? All of this is nonsense! Just pay it and let’s get on with our life! Unless…” she said before stopping herself, walking a few steps to the window, and staring out at the drops pitterpattering against it. “Me? Pay it and it’s all over?” “Unless you don’t want this anymore.” Her threat came with a squished-ugly face. “Stop all of these theatrics. That sounds like blackmail.” Dennis jumped up and turned away in a quick move. For a moment he felt like hitting something hard. “So, you’re not going to help me?” She put one hand on her hip. “Are you extorting me? What the hell are you doing to me?” he spat back with spittle shooting from his lips.

“I don’t know what to do—help me. It’s just money!” She spun around and threw her arms out, tears flooding her eyes, and stomping her foot. “Christ! I’m more than a worker drone!” His stomach fell; it fell as if it had been pushed off the Krubera Cave without a safety line. “Stop this… now what about your education?” She spun back around to view the inky blackness of the outside world through the window. “My business degree?” She scoffed. “You don’t want to work in business?” “No!” “Then why did you go to the university for—” Dennis’s hands trembled. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he did. His vision clouded. “Why! Why, why, why! Why, with this! Why, with that!” Joan cut him off before ending the question. She spun again once more, but this time she headed towards him. “Because men want women who have a degree!” As she advanced, Dennis backed away, and soon they moved through the hallway. “You can’t really think I’d pay for—” He had tunnel vision, anger stirred inside as his ears pounded. “A real man would!” “What?” Dennis’s heart stopped cold. “Yes, we want a man… a real man, not one that will turn his back on us. Are you going to turn your back on me?” Her face looked unattractive for the first time. “A man—” She cut him off by throwing a small vase to the floor, crashing it in pieces. And in that moment, in her hysteria, Dennis noticed something. Here was the body of the woman he wanted to marry, but where was the mind? Where was the kind and gentle soul, sometimes mischievous, who wanted to be with him forever? Crushed, his heart battered high speed; Dennis continued moving away from her. He took note of her cleavage, exposed as she flailed in front of him, and he felt an urge—but not one to make love. Rather, to just take her . . . that Neanderthal urge of putting a wild woman in her place. It was a purely automatic, physical response.

“Help me!” she screeched. “You’re like this, Joan, because you get your hair and nails done each week, you spend thousands on useless products, and you’re in debt because you waste money on clothes and jewelry! Just what the fuck is wrong with you?” Dennis cracked his neck from side to side. He needed release and was angry. “You have no right to talk at me this way!” she yelled, and pointed a crooked finger at his face. “Have you been conning me like a street hustler?” “How dare you! For that crack I’m never returning the gold necklace.” There settled quietness, the type usually reserved before the gunshots of a firing squad. The two looked at each other, assessing and reevaluating. Joan saw Dennis as a man—as a terribly obstinate man, as a man who was one of these modern ones, and as one who wouldn’t be her meal ticket. He had her number. The love fell from her now-squashed face. Hot putrid soup stewed inside his gut. “Brian was right about you,” Joan snipped. “You’re not in my league at all. I shouldn’t be wasting my time on you.” “Excuse me?” Dennis squinted and his veins pounded in his temples. “Brian fucked me!” Her hands traced along the V-neck of her dress. “And it was great, too. He’s a very handsome man.” “What the fuck?” Dennis’s face went blank. God, how he wanted to vomit and felt more enraged— but more powerful—with every word. “You cheated on me?” His heart stopped dead. He felt every muscle weaken as the white beach home in the Pacific, wife, children, and future all faded away. “That’s right. Shannon leaving was his big payoff for some great sex, right in the chair you probably sat in as you argued with him!” She threw her head back and laughed. “Jesus, I never thought you’d be so evil!” Dennis turned to walk away while his heart collapsed bit by bit. Looking over his shoulder, he opened the door. It was his doorway to a new life without his love, without his wife, and without the visitor at his retirement beach house. “By the way, you’re nothing in bed… just a piece of shit with a pock-marked face that only a dog could love.” “Fuck you bitch… you’ll never see me again!” Dennis yelled.

He walked through the door, slammed it shut, and ran to his car. He spun the wheels and raced off into the street. In the rearview mirror, through rain spattered windows, he peered through teary eyes to see her standing in the middle of the road, her polka-dot dress hanging loose over her beautiful frame. He kept driving. Saturday Night . . . I’ve never felt more worthless! My chest’s been torn apart by a cannonball-sized wound. Every part of my heart aches; it’s broken. I only leave the bed to take a shit and eat. I’m lost and don’t know why I’m alive. Nothing is worth a fuck. I hate myself for being a fucking fool. The dream life is shattered, so all I can do is nurse this emptiness. Is this how it ends? ∞∞∞ His grief overwhelmed him. Heartbroken and alone in the dark, Dennis made a stab at freedom and release from the pain; he gathered his diary notes, sat in a quiet room, and ever so slowly he wrote. “Damn! I’ll never forget this night.” He rubbed his arms then placed them both on the steering wheel as he looked around. “Why is that?” She asked. “Well, it’s because I’m here with you.” He pressed a palm to his heart. “You’re sweet, which makes my new job search easier to manage.” She waved her hand in dismissal. Every night, an ardent story unraveled word by word about a deep love gone awry. Over a year, like therapy, the story washed the pain clean, exorcising the demons gnawing deep inside. He let the words go. He penned a love story, an honest story, one describing how love confused a man. A story showing how love fought against logic and hijacked a man’s very being. A love story about an emotion so powerful it ruined the man he once knew, turning him into something he no longer recognized. Dennis penned an intense story of passion and survival. It was his story. After it was published, the novel gained popularity, and he crafted the novel into a screenplay. He completed it last month and sold it to a producer in Los Angeles. His old self has been rejuvenated into a new, wiser man. True insight always comes with great pain.

Today Dennis’s bank account is growing along with his esteem. He recently bought a condominium in the Los Angeles area, and he plays the pipe organ at the classical movie theater, El Capitan Theater, on Hollywood Boulevard, where he feels utterly at ease. Shannon called and said she is returning. Dennis swears never to allow the type of stress Joan brought into his world again. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Men: Chivalry is dead; it is an old fairy tale now.cxxvcxxvi Men: Avoid women who must purchase things all the time.cxxvii Men: Avoid women who have a large amount of debt.cxxviii cxxix Men: It’s natural for men to be attracted to women.cxxx Men: It is natural for men to act on sex when it’s offered to them. Many women go to college and then do not use their education.cxxxi Most women go to enormous lengths to eliminate female competition. Men: Avoid women who can’t manage their personal finances.cxxxii Men: Avoid women who hide their financial situation. cxxxiii Men: Avoid women who shop all the time.cxxxiv Men: Married couples’ arguments over money often predict divorce.cxxxv Men: If she bickers, there is nothing you can do to change that.

Chapter 7 Facebook Secrets Allen Dobson resembled a more muscular version of Justin Bieber crossed with the smoothness of Justin Timberlake; his manly picture on Facebook was often mistaken for Justin Timberlake, even. The difference, according to his ex-girlfriend, Felicia, was that Allen had actually caught his dad, who was a professor, whacking off on the living room couch. Such notoriety spread among the senior population at Pittsburgh High like wildfire, for if Allen, just eighteen years old, would admit such a discovery to a girl, then he’d be the hottest guy since God knows when. These tags elevated young men in the impressionable minds of hormone-gushing young women, and if Allen wasn’t aware of his impact, so much the better. The nifty thing about the situation was that Allen’s father worked side by side with Stacey’s father. The two Carnegie Mellon University professors labored under a well-endowed grant from the National Science Foundation. The two debated in terms of understanding and modifying human genomes, in addition to social trends, albeit in far more complexity than Stacey and her best friend Gail were prepared to understand more about life on their path towards graduation. “Fuck that shit,” said Stacey, a pretty blonde who was commonly acknowledged as the prettiest girl in the school. She had always attracted the boys. “I want Allen. I promise you, Gail, I’ll get him to fuck me by graduation. I’m leaving High School with a bang.” “You mean Allen Dobson? He’s Felecia’s ex-boyfriend, and you know the rules: step-fathers and ex-boyfriends are off limits. You know that’s a huge no-no, girl!” Gail shook her finger at Stacey, who did her best hair-flick, tossing her long blonde strands as if the paparazzi were taking photos. Stacey smiled mischievously; she knew if she could, she would… and… she could. Of that, she remained confident because of her secret weapon: The Catholic school uniform. Her school wasn’t a Catholic school, but Stacey had long before discovered that the girlie school uniform, when worn on her eighteen year old fine frame, fascinated the guys. Stacey owned several Catholic girl outfits tailored to fit her snugly. They showed off her sprightly curves and drove the men crazy. She wanted the boy’s dicks hard for her. The school halls and classrooms served as her catwalk where she displayed her offerings, wearing knee-high white socks and a plaid skirt folded at the belt so the hem lingered mid-thigh, instead of below the knees as stipulated by school regulations. The white shirt was always unbuttoned low enough to reveal her lacey bra. This is the ammunition she used to get what she wanted, when she wanted, and with whom she wanted. She liked looking virginal while putting out whenever she could, like a nymphomaniac.

The uninhibited eighteen-year olds, Stacey Grey and Gail Bashford, assembled on the bed in Stacey’s room for their regular after school chit chat, snickering about the other senior kids at school and acting like immature teens for the last time in their life. Both lived in the Oakmont suburb of Pittsburgh, nicknamed “One Square Mile of Happiness” by the local folk. The population of their quaint little suburb numbered a mere 6,303 rich folks. However, after turning eighteen they persuaded their parents to let them attend the larger school in Pittsburgh proper, where boy-stalking opportunities were greater. In their aloof, shadowy world of academia, Allen’s father, Dr. Robert Dobson, and Stacey’s father, Dr. Michael Grey, deliberated the motives of why men are determined to pass their sperm on to as many women as possible and why women instinctively need to bear children. The next conversation covered the incidence of male pseudo-hermaphroditism, estimated to affect between 3 and 15 individuals per 100,000 men. The incidence of female pseudo-hermaphroditism has been estimated to affect between 1 and 8 individuals per 100,000 women. In a joint paper, they concluded more research is needed. ∞∞∞ In the confines of her bedroom, Stacey told Gail, a bit chubby yet constantly critical of skinny Stacey, “I can’t help it. I gotta wrap my legs around this guy. Right now, he’s free from that Felicia, the biggest fuck-tard in town. I know she wants him back, but I’ll have the imprint of his ears on my inner thighs before she knows what hit her—know what I mean?” Gail always knew what she meant because she always meant the same thing. Stacey rested her chin on the palm of her hand while hovering over the pictures on the computer screen. She had no doubt she could catch unsuspecting Allen. “That cow Felecia has no thigh gap. When she walks, her thighs rub together,” Gail cracked, kicking her legs over her head, one after the other, “That bitch is fatter than me. She’s gonna start a damn fire with them fat ass thighs of hers. If she ever wears corduroy, you better run for the extinguisher.” Stacey scrunched her face and felt her stomach turn at the thought of those huge thighs. “If I had those thighs, I’d like totally kill myself,” she snapped, leaning closer to the screen. “Allen’s like totally hot. I’m talking rocking hot. You know what I’m saying? The two of us might have to fight over my beefcake.” Stacey lifted her clenched fists in the air, boxing style. “O-M-G! You’re such a skank,” Gail howled as she gazed over Stacey’s shoulder and pointed at Allen’s photo on the laptop while licking her lips. Stacey moved her chin off her palm and gave Gail the stink eye. “I know you didn’t call me a slut, did you girl?”

“Hey babe, pick your own word. If you don’t like skank, then try slut, hoe, tramp, prostitute, hooker, nasty, or maybe dirty,” Gail arched her brows. “We graduate in a month and I’ve got my eye on him, so back off!” Stacey warned pointing a menacing finger toward Gail’s round face. “Whoever said he’d want your skinny ass?” Gail teased, looking at Stacey with sparkling eyes. “I heard some boys like us chubby girls because we try harder to please ’em.” “Listen, ya little ho, you keep your hands off my man meat, ya hear?” Stacey stared directly at Gail. Gail grew red in the face. “Listen Stacey, I’ll kick your ass into next week. You’re nothing but a bully in a skirt!” Gail raised her chin. “Try me, slut. I’ll wipe the floor with your sorry ass. Got it?” Stacey screamed back, moving her head side to side to add emphasis to her threat. She lunged and pounced, wrestling Gail to the floor, where the two scrapped and yelled like they were the farthest things from friends. “Did I stutter? I ain’t scared of you.” Gail raised a fist ready to slug it out, still teasing Stacey. “Just watch and see. You wanna piece of me? What are you waiting for?” “Leave ’im to me or I’m opening an industrial size can of whoop-ass on you!” Stacey grabbed a fistful of Gail’s brown hair. “Ouch! Okay, psycho-bitch, you’re a bad ass popular girl, but I’m your best friend, remember?” Gail jumped beyond Stacey’s reach. “Just back off.” Stacey held a hand-stop sign, arm extended, as she rose from the floor. “O.K. O.K. Fall back, Stace! You’re messin’ up my hair over this fucking dude,” Gail patted her hair while looking in her compact mirror. “I got no beef with you as long as ya stay away from my man, but if you don’t…” Stacey pointed a finger and cocked an imaginary pistol. “Shit, keep him. He’s all yours. I’m busy planning my graduation party.” Gail tossed her hair. Stacey sat down, still agitated. Gail was accustomed to her friend’s outbursts; she knew she blew like a volcano, erupting at the drop of a hat if something stood in her way. However, she quickly regained her equanimity. “How can I help?” Gail leaned her chin on one hand. ∞∞∞

A few miles away in Carnegie Mellon, Allen’s father proofread the email Stacey’s father had sent him from his office down the hall. “The potential to duplicate and compound the interactive misunderstandings between men and women is bothersome. Look at adults with anxiety and depression. Some adult males have a history of being transvestites. Associated personality disorders are more common among males than among females who are currently being evaluated at adult gender clinics.” Dr. Robert Dobson replied to Dr. Michael Grey. “Yes, I think you’re onto something. Let’s get a drink and discuss.” ∞∞∞ “Just remember, I want him. If you interfere, I’ll tell everyone you shit in your bed, and I’m not kidding.” Stacey waved her finger at Gail. “Yes yer Highness. I will do as you say, Princess Staceeeey,” Gail curtsied. “Look at how he’s built. He’s very sexy,” Stacey swooned. Her interest in boys’ bodies made her try to picture what lay under Allen’s tight jeans. “You’re such a cock-hungry slut,” laughed Gail. “Hold on.” Stacey held her forefinger right up in the air. “I gotta think here.” The room went quiet. “I think I have an idea,” Stacey suddenly popped, tapping her lip with one finger. “What is it?!” Gail’s eyes widened. As her longtime best friend, Gail knew that when Stacey did that gesture, it was a sure sign some interesting stuff percolated. “Hmmm… what iiiiifff…” Stacey thought, biting teasingly on her lips. She paused for effect, knowing Gail liked this type of game, and she enjoyed having her friend squirm on the edge of her seat waiting for her stroke of genius. “What?!” “I’ll write him on Facebook and tell him what I’m feeling. Will that get him?” Stacey’s eyebrows arched. Gail scratched her head as if thinking hard. After a moment, her eyes abruptly lit up: “That’s one way to go, but… she pondered. Stacey grilled her, “But what?”

“. . . I got something better.” Gail propped herself up on her seat. “Shoot! Whatcha got?” prodded Stacey. “I think you should create another Facebook account and invent some cute guy, then post on Allen’s wall and tell him to keep his dirty paws off you,” Gail responded with a know-it-all smile on her face, typing in the air as if on an invisible keyboard, “He’ll get all curious-like and think you’re in demand and shit. You know… if you tell someone they can’t have something, and then they gotta have it.” Stacey snapped her finger in the air three times in the shape of a Z to punctuate her statement: “Just… Like… That… Perfect! You’re a crafty bitch! I love it!” “I know, right? I’m brilliant,” Gail bowed her head in a false gesture of modesty. “Yeah, you are! It’s because we spend so much time together my genius is rubbing off on you.” They high-fived, putting an official stamp of approval on their evil plan. “Good, let’s get this catfish operation into gear… hook, line, and sinker! This is going to be so cool. He’ll never know. Oh my God, there’s so much to do,” she rubbed her hands together menacingly. Stacey signed into a Facebook page and created a new profile. “So… what now?” Stacey waited for Gail to call the shots. “You could get the imaginary guy to write you a message,” Gail looked pleased with her devious plan. “I’m doing it. I’ll give him a cool name… like… Evan, Evan Strauss. Sounds sexy, yeah?” Stacey tapped a finger on her chin while waiting for Gail’s approval. “Yeah, I like that. Put him in Jackson Junior College.” “Men are so easy because they’re weak,” declared Stacey, puckering her lips like a little child with a teasing voice, “just smile or wink and they’re yours to play with. They can’t resist pussy. Just wiggle your ass and they come around sniffing like dogs seeking a bitch in heat; sometimes it’s too easy.” “Tell me about it!” scoffed Gail. “If they catch a scent of nookie, they’ll be all over your ass like bees on honey.” “Like bees on honey, or in your case, like flies on shit,” Gail said. “You know, when I used to laugh at my dad’s jokes, he’d buy me anything.” She made a “haha” huffing sound with a wicked smile.

“Haha! Even the old fuckers can’t turn down hot, young snatch.” Stacey flipped through the screens, typing here and there. “Especially the older guys!” Gail chimed in. “You should see the looks I get from some of the teachers! They’re nothin’ but old pervs, and, if given the chance, there’s not one who wouldn’t kick his wife curbside to get a ride on some fresh ass.” She forced a laugh before continuing, “I’d wink and tilt my head at my dad and get my way every damn time… else, I’d throw a big-ass hissy fit and cry.” “Yeah, me too, when my dad sees me cry, it’s like I’m on fire, and he has to extinguish me with buckets of money instead of water. I could always win the fights with my little brother with a good cry ’cause I acted wounded and brokenhearted,” Stacey bragged, “my brother never got the best of me once after I learned that.” For a moment, her voice drifted into a vague, yet serious, almost lonely tone. Stacey then shifted back into high gear. “Check out these photos and all these fly dudes!” She motioned to Gail. They sifted through a Google search, uttering seductive remarks as they perused the mark. “Yes, I like,” Gail snickered, “hey, find one in swim trunks. Find one showing his big package.” “I love me a fat dick better than a long one!” groaned Stacey. Gail doubled over with laughter, “You sound like the last ho in Pittsburgh!” “Eat my pussy!” “I’m just saying,” Gail cracked back. Together, they created mature college man Evan Strauss on Facebook. With the help of Photoshop, they gave Evan a tight, stud-like body with six-pack abs and a face borrowed from an obscure Romanian movie actor. They used social media to spread fake photo-shopped images around to their school peers. Gail created the death-defying email sent to Allen and backed it with a scrawl on Allen’s Facebook wall. “Dude, you twerp, if I ever catch you even looking at, much less talking with, Stacey Grey, they’ll find your mangled body under the yellow iron bridge that goes over Fort Duquesne where the Allegheny joins the Monongahela. Even if she does give the best blow jobs, stay away!” Stacey and Gail giggled until Gail crossed her legs so she wouldn’t piss herself. “The blowjob comment is sick, Stacey. I worry about you sometimes. You can be such a skank,” Gail slammed her,

trying to speak clearly without laughing. “This is making me want his cock. I’m getting wet.” “You’s a whore, girl,” Gail chided, “that’s a fact.” Stacey then found her own Facebook page and posted a message on her wall from Mister Six-Pack, Evan, “Hi, I think you’re really pretty. Are you available? What’s up?” “That’s so cool… wonder what Allen will think? Tomorrow at lunch let’s sit near him… see if he notices and looks at you. I bought a new push-up bra. I’ll let you borrow it,” Gail said and their vile plan was officially underway. “Haha, it’s my time to shine. Look out world ’coz Stacey’s about to get some tail,” she leaned back in the chair and placing her hands on the back of her head, “and don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” “It’s our secret,” Gail promised. The next day Stacey and Gail tittered on the way to the cafeteria, where Allen sat with a group of friends. The girls walked past the table of math geeks with their big, black rimmed glasses. Some of the math geeks had their heads down and engrossed in books, while others debated the validity of some scribbled equation on a piece of paper. As far as Stacey was concerned, it was a bunch of numbers, letters, and mysterious signs. “Such losers—I can’t wait to get away to college,” Stacey mumbled to Gail as they passed. Then, they hit the “Glee Club” table, with people playing air guitars and other invisible instruments. Finally, they passed the jocks strutting around and bopping one another on the head. Spitballs flew from plastic straws. They high-fived, fist-bumped, and chest-slammed while uttering cryptic exclamations like “Steak sauce!” and “Slam dunk!” and “Touchdown!” Stacey recognized the friends at Allen’s table as the same friends she’d seen him with all year; all three of them seemed a little odd. They were like the “loners,” except for one in red hair. Stacey and Gail sat at the adjoining table so they could eavesdrop over what the guys were saying. The three boys shared their table with a quiet, shy looking girl. “This loser’s got to go,” Stacey murmured, nodding toward the reserved girl. Stacey sat down beside her and wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders as if they were best friends. She situated her lips close to the girl’s ear and whispered, “You don’t want to mess with us, loser. I want you to get your fat ass out of this seat and find some other place to sit your loser face. At the count of three, I want you to disappear, bitch,” Stacey growled with a low voice. “One…” Gail began counting.

“Two…” Stacey joined in, slowly removing her arm. Before they got to three, the frightened girl bolted away from them with her head down. “See yah ’round, girl and so nice meeting you,” Stacey waved her hand at the poor girl as if they’d had a pleasant conversation. “So nice,” Gail said. “Retarded spaz,” she added in a whisper. Stacey and Gail pushed the table close to Allen’s, then listened to one of Allen’s friends talk about a TV show he’d watched the night before. The others chuckled and quoted one-liners from the show, but then the conversation turned to the upcoming Pirates baseball game on Saturday. “Anyone heard of someone named Evan Strauss at Jackson Junior College?” Allen looked for acknowledgements. No one answered, but the redheaded boy with freckles and red hair said, “No.” “Just wondering,” Allen said. “I hear the Pirates have a community center where we can go and play with other guys our age,” the redhead said. “I heard about that place. It sounds cool,” Stacey interjected with thin slits for eyelids, “I think it would be fun to go there.” “Huh?” asked Allen quizzically, looking at Stacey with a blank face. “Girls watch sports too, you know!” Stacey tossed her hair while she winked at him seductively. “That’s funny,” Allen chuckled. “Are girls welcome?” “Yeah, they actually are. I heard the whole project is coed. It’s supposed to promote sports,” the freckled redhead said. “Hey, my name’s Murphy, and by the way, s’up with you dime pieces?” He moved his eyes toward Stacey and then gazed at her breasts like an animal hunting down prey for dinner. “You’s a looking good,” he volunteered with a nod. “S’up, Murphy, my name’s Gail,” she chimed in, tapping her fingertips together under her chin. “We’re going to the mall tonight. Wanna tag along? We don’t mind.” Stacey thought the mall idea was brilliant. “I’d go along with you guys, but tonight I’m taking my girl to buy things for graduation,” Murphy explained, “maybe some other time?” He sat seductively with an open body position as only a guy would do, his belly tucked in and his chest inflated.

“Who’s your girl?” Gail bit her lower lip, shamelessly flirtatious. “Her name is Melinda Jonson. I think she knows you guys. You know her?” Murphy asked. “Sure, Melinda, I know dat bitch,” Gail laughed. “Haha,” Murphy giggled. “Everyone knows us.” Gail pulled her shoulders together to accent her cleavage. “They been going together for about two years and thinking of marriage soon,” Allen pumped up his chest, basking in the reflected glory of his friend’s ability to have a serious woman. Two of the friends elbowed each other, intimating they knew their friend Murphy probably got some good sex with Melinda. “Must be serious.” Gail softened her voice. “I’m sure… is it that serious?” Stacey cooed like a dove in the spring. “Well, um… I guess so,” Murphy answered in a whisper. “Anyway… you girls can come to the Pirates Center too. Let me know if you wanna go, I’d love to go with you.” “Okay,” Stacey gave Allen a sexy look. Allen turned red. “Uh, okay.” “I’m pretty small, so I think I can play third base,” Stacey said demurely while gesturing to her body. Allen didn’t notice the overtures. “I could be the catcher,” Murphy tried to keep himself in the conversation. “Allen, you’re a big guy. You could probably be the pitcher,” Stacey attempted to boost his ego. Allen relaxed and smiled. “Oh, thanks. Actually, I’ve played some ball,” he admitted while his cheeks reddened. “You’re so handsome. You’ll be the star of your team,” Stacey provocatively waved a finger at him. Allen swallowed hard. “Nah,” was all he could muster. “Hey Allen, what’s shaking dude?” Gail asked in her friendliest tone. Allen looked in her direction and responded, “It’s all good, Wassup with you?”

“Are you here with your car?” Gail asked with a big smile. “Yeah, but what’s it to ya?” Allen eyed Gail suspiciously. “Would you be a lamb and drop us at the mall after school? We’ve got things to do… places to go and people to see… we’re very busy,” Gail placed on fresh lip stick. “I don’t think I can,” Allen disengaged eye contact. “It’s no use, Gail; we’ll never get there on time. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. This is awful,” Stacey moaned as she began pouting, managing to fake a tear. “I’ve got my car, but I’m pretty busy right now, so I don’t know,” Allen insisted. “Oh no, I can’t believe this,” Stacey looked down with one finger rubbing under her eye lid. “What’re you sad about?” Allen asked with concern. Stacey convincingly tried to hide her fake pain. “My mother’s really sick, and I’m supposed to pick up her prescription from the pharmacy, but it’ll be closed by the time I get there. If only… no, you’re too busy. I understand. I can’t ask you to go out of your way.” Another crocodile tear fell from her eye. “Are you crying?” Murphy asked like a knight in shining armor in the presence of a damsel in distress. “I love my mother so much, you know,” Stacey’s voice cracked as she turned on the full water works. Stacey shook her head and continued, “My mom slipped into depression when my dad left us for some whore. She hasn’t been the same since that day. I’m taking care of her the best I can, but a daughter can only do so much.” She lied flawlessly, a testament to the dedication she had exhibited to her art. Murphy cleared his throat. He was moved to tears by Stacey’s tragedy. “I’m so sorry to hear about your mother.” Allen looked down for a long moment, deep in thought. He finally raised his head and offered his assistance, “Well, I guess I can get you to the mall, so you can go to the pharmacy right after school, but it’ll have to be quick. I’ve tons of stuff to do.” “Oh, thank you so much,” Stacey beamed appreciation. Her little act had worked its charm. “I’ll come with,” Gail said.

Allen mumbled an okay toward Gail. “Thanks again! You don’t know how much this means to me,” Stacey confided with her most inviting smile. The bell rang for the start of the next class. “I got to get to class… see you guys after school,” Allen rose from the table. Stacey walked toward Allen as the other students scattered, heading for classes. “You really saved my life, Allen. I’ll make sure and make it worth your while.” Stacey placed a hand on his arm and rubbed. “No problem,” Allen kept walking. “Listen, you want to go to the Lakeside parking area Friday?” Stacey pounced with a beaming smile. Allen answered in partial shock, “Uh, I don’t think so.” “What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” Allen looked away from Stacey. He seemed more interested in the floor. “You’re not gay or anything, are you?” Stacey’s face frowned. “No!” his eyes snapped back at her, jumping on her accusations as if on auto pilot, “I don’t dig dudes. I like girls… a lot… I’m not a… I mean, I’m straight, totally!” “There’s nothing wrong with that if you do dig dudes.” Stacey said, knowing to challenge a man with the possibility of being gay struck fear in his heart. “Well, I’m not,” Allen stared at the floor and kept walking. “Then, what’s wrong?” Stacey kept pace following next to him. “Nothing…” “Okay, remember, I’m there for you,” Stacey encouraged with a seductive wave. She made the shape of a phone with her thumb and pinky and mouthed the words, “Call me.” ∞∞∞ “I’m not sure about Allen,” said Stacey after he had dropped her and Gail off at the mall. Allen had

been quiet and non-talkative all the way. Stacey couldn’t figure it out. “Normally a guy would jump head first if I asked him to go ‘park’ somewhere. I mean, what I said is short of saying ‘fuck me.’ That’s as explicit as it gets, no? But Allen reacted as if I tried to sell him a Reader’s Digest subscription!” Stacey pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her chin, “He said he had more important things on his mind.” “I wonder what those important things are.” Gail thought out loud. “He did act a bit strange.” ∞∞∞ Dr. Dobson sat at the computer in his office, dictating research results for another email to Dr. Grey. “I came across some additional information you might find interesting. According to one longterm study called ‘Adolescent Male Sexuality and Associative Reproductive Dysfunction,’ the number of young men in general suffering from some form of ARD is significantly higher than initially reported, with males representing an appreciably higher percentage of those experiencing difficulty with what is considered normal sexual behavior. This evidence could bolster our conclusion regarding the effect of intrinsic sexual inclination being a compelling factor on male sexual ambiguity.” ∞∞∞ That Friday, after much plotting on Stacey’s part, Stacey and Allen did hook up at the Lakeside parking area. They kissed and groped one another, and attempted to fuck, but Allen’s dick went limp while still inside her. Heavy silence filled the car. Stacey finally interrupted the quiet, “What’s wrong?” Her disappointment felt palpable. “I… I don’t know.” Allen blushed. “Are you some kind of zombie?” She asked. “Oh, God, just thinking about graduation I guess.” Allen muttered into his own hands. He wanted to hide. “I am too. Just take me home,” she demanded as her blood pressure rose inside her veins and head, she was determined never to speak to Allen again. The following week Stacey came up late starting her period. It scared the Bejesus out of her, so she caught up with Allen at school. “Hey, we need to talk!” Stacey told Allen in the hallway. “Sure,” Allen avoided direct eye contact.

She grabbed his arm firmly and made him look at her. “Look, dude, I’m late, so I think I might be pregnant. I also think it might be your kid,” Stacey uttered with panic in her voice. “Hell, no! It can’t be mine… we didn’t even finish, you know that, Stacey.” His back stiffened. “Time to grow up! Haven’t you heard of pre-cum, you doofus?” Her mouth flapped. “Obviously, I’m not as schooled in the science of fucking as you,” Allen blurted. “The way I hear it, there’s no chance I’m the only guy you’ve fucked this month.” He looked around in a circle as if there was an exit hole he could run through. “Too bad for you, but yes, you are the only one! I know it’s yours, mother fucker!” Stacey pushed a finger into Allen’s chest. “What about that Evan Strauss college guy?” he smirked. “Are you seeing him?” “I don’t think so,” she lied. Stacey didn’t want Allen knowing Evan was a figment of her imagination. She’d rather die than admit she had played him all along. “I checked him out. He ain’t real. Are you catfishing me?” Allen pointed a finger toward her with a threatening face. “Hell, no!” “I don’t believe you… and I don’t trust you,” he moved his head back and forth. “Fuck you!” “Yeah, Jesus, we’re just turned eighteen! What the hell? This is so fucked up!” Allen’s brow wrinkled. “Still, you need to step up and act like a father!” Stacey put her face in front of Allen’s. “I need proof it’s mine. I’m not lifting a finger until you have a DNA test proving I’m the father,” Allen waved a dismissive hand. “It’s yours. I know damn well it’s yours,” she swatted a backhand in the air. “If it is mine, then you should get rid of it. You tricked me, and it was an accident… your accident,” he moved back a foot and put a hand up. “An accident? What happened, you tripped and fell dick first into me? As far as tricking you… you’re a piece of work, you know that?” she grit her teeth bulging her jaw muscles. “I didn’t want to fuck you. You forced me into everything with your stupid games. I want you to

have an abortion, and I want it now!” Allen’s words caught in his throat. “You want an abortion? Get one!” Stacey screamed. “Have them scrape your uterus you useless piece of shit! You’re such a serious pussy… you know that? Nobody screws me over and gets away with it! Why don’t you man up and face this thing?” “I can’t,” Allen gazed downward and his eye muscles sagged. “What the fuck?” Stacey pushed his chest. “You don’t know” Allen stumbled back a step. “I don’t know what?” “I can’t… say…” “Say what?” She pushed her face near his. Allen turned pale, “I think… I’m… I’m gay!” His stomach dropped into darkness. “I knew it! A fag, a queer, and a pillow biter… I knew you batted for the boys’ team. It’s the only explanation for not wanting this!” She ran her hands up and down her body. Allen gripped Stacey’s shoulders and pleaded, “Please, don’t tell anyone about what I just said. It’s my deepest secret! If word gets out, I swear Stacey, I’d die of embarrassment. And don’t ever call me a fag, I’m beggin’ you!” His hands went clammy, and he fought to hold back tears. “Okay, fag, I’ll only tell my dad,” Stacey swore. “God, no… he’ll tell my dad!” Allen’s heart raced as blood rushed through his body making him tremble. “So, what?” Stacey crossed her arms. “Wait, didn’t you say you think you’re pregnant? Allen asked guardedly, “You don’t know for sure, right?” His heart pounded with every word, thinking how fucked up life would be if she had his kid. “Yeah, numb-nuts, but I missed my period. That doesn’t usually happen to me. I’m very regular when it’s time for Aunt Flo. I’m like clockwork,” she rolled her eyes. “Okay, let’s get a pregnancy test from Walgreens. That way, you’ll know for sure,” he proposed. His mind searched for a way to make the nightmare disappear. “Fine, but I know I am,” Stacey affirmed with a firm jaw.

The two raced to the school parking lot and drove to the nearest drug store. Allen had a hard time concentrating on his driving while thinking about how he would explain the situation to his dad. Once in the pharmacy, his hands shook as they picked out the cheapest brand of pee-stick spare change could buy. They walked out of the store and sped as fast as they could to the nearest McDonald’s. Stacey emerged from the women’s restroom a few minutes later with a deadpan look on her face. “This might be your lucky day, mother fucker!” She held up the stick that indicated she was not pregnant. Allen exhaled a long breathe. “Thank God!” “Asshole,” Stacey said. “Stacey… please don’t say anything,” Allen’s backbone bowed forward. “I’ll do anything if you promise not to blab about this.” He imagined schoolmates taunting him everywhere. “So, your dad doesn’t know?” “God, our dads work together. It would kill my dad if he knew,” nauseous food stewed in his gut. “That’s too bad, you fucking gay-geek. I’m telling them everything. In fact, I plan on spreading this news like wildfire all over this fucking town and maybe across the state,” she did a tip-toe dance. “Please, anything but that. I don’t want my dad unhappy; he’ll be so disappointed in me,” Allen’s arms hung limp at his sides. “Oh, boo-hoo do you think I care?” “You can’t tell anyone at school either,” he told her. “Please, we graduate in weeks, keep this quiet.” He could well envision the future if his sexual preferences went public. Everyone would ridicule him. They might even threaten him with a knife like they did to the kid in trigonometry class. He knew friends would turn their backs. “Now, why would I do that,” she laughed. “Seriously, Stacey, you know they’ll call me names!” Allen cringed. He could already hear the taunts, “Hey faggot . . . cock sucker . . . eat this, you queer.” “They’ll fag bash your girly ass!” Stacey laughed.

“God no… I can’t,” he mumbled, almost in a whisper. Thoughts ran through his mind with images of bullies beating him and making fun. How could this girl be so mean? “Hey, you’re a strong girl,” Stacey jeered, “suck it up.” Allen held two limp shaking arms toward Stacey. “They’ll beat me up like they did to that skinny kid in trigonometry class.” “Fags get bashed and beat up all the time. You’ll get used to it. In fact, I’m sure you disgusting pervs enjoy a good beating,” Stacey smirked. “It turns ’em on!” “Please, Stacey,” tears filled his eyes. “Hell, no! Fag gossip is the best kind of gossip,” she twirled on one toe. “Please, let me put in the end of the year before anyone finds out,” Allen touched her shoulder softly. Every muscle in his body trembled. “Now, you sound like such a queer. I’m telling everyone,” Stacey brushed his hand away with a flick. “Please Stacey, No, I’m begging you,” he clutched his arms to his chest and feeling his fingers turn cold. “Look at what a fag you are!” Stacey threw her hair over her shoulders and walked away. My life is ruined! Allen thought. He felt like crying some more and screaming at the same time. His shoulders rounded in total defeat. He wondered how he could hide or become invisible. He thought of suicide, but reasoned the worst bullies at school would probably kill him anyway. They would bash him to a pulp. They would destroy him. ∞∞∞ Stacey made good on her threat, spending hours on Facebook and her iPhone spreading her vitriol. The next day, the news of Allen being gay, including his erection problem, spread across the school like fire in a hay field. She sent an anonymous letter to Allen’s dad, outing him as being gay, preventing him from telling his dad himself. The reaction to the news produced the exact opposite effect of what Allen and Stacey had expected. Stacey’s Facebook campaign backfired. Instead, many classmates defended Allen, congratulating him on coming out and being courageous. Students smiled at him while whispering the gossip of last night. Allen’s gut sprung like a slinky coil. His tension slowly disappeared. Some of Allen’s friends were

so inspired by his “coming out,” they announced, “Allen, I’m gay too.” People filled him with the kind of hope he had never experienced. Allen flew higher than he had ever flown after diving so low. The depths of his despair transformed into hope as the vision of new horizon he could see with a promising graduation. The biggest rumor of the day was that Stacey became the laughingstock of the school for being so unattractive she couldn’t keep a man’s dick hard. ∞∞∞

Today With his father’s full support, Allen joined the army one year after all the graduation festivities. The army turned out to be the best decision of his life. With his life pointed in a career direction, he became successful in the armed forces and loved every minute of it. While courageously serving his country in Afghanistan, Allen decided to make military life his vocation. Over time, Allen became comfortable being gay, and never felt the necessity to rescue a woman in any way; empowering Allen to concentrate on life’s other interests. Relationships with other men seemed easier than what he saw his straight friends experience with jealous females, most of whose interests in marriage, kids, and becoming homemakers made women seem like critically needy creatures. It appeared all aspects of the male and female connection demanded that men do all they could to meet women’s ideal standards, to push men into giving their money and souls, only to end up married and empty. What a neurotic way to live, thought Allen over and over again. With a strong army career, Allen now envisions finding a man and building a home together. He hopes to have a marriage based on his standards, not on society’s traditional ideals. He understands same-sex couples can raise children, and is grateful for the trailblazers who promoted marriage equality who have stood before him, who fought against staggering odds and all who helped change public mores and acceptance. They are the heroes who provided a healthy prospect for Allen and his future partner. With wholesome future options at his disposal, Allen plans to do everything possible to remember and honor those earlier activism efforts. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Most females tend to be nasty bullies and meaner online than males. cxxxvi Most girls learn how to manipulate men in their early childhood.cxxxvii cxxxviii Many women use crying to blackmail and manipulate men.cxxxix cxl cxli Many women use “gay insinuations” to manipulate their man. cxlii Women say “If you were a REAL man . . .” to manipulate their man. cxliii Women use sex as power and manipulation over men.cxliv cxlv Men are extremely easy for women to manipulate.cxlvi cxlvii Most women use a “fake” girlie-sounding voice to get their way.cxlviii Most women are more underhandedly mean than men.cxlix cl cli Out gay men have immunity to the wily ways of women. Gay men must develop a comprehensive plan to have children. 40% of all women make unwanted pregnancy mistakes.clii Most young girls are treacherous, mean, and gossipy.cliii cliv Most women are mean, pushy, and nagging by nature.clv clvi clvii Many young girls use the games they learn as teens when older.clviii Many women use pregnancy to get their way with men.clix Most girls read how to manipulate men from women’s magazines.clx People on social computer networks are not truthful.clxiclxii

Chapter 8 Shame on You Bob shopped at Wal-Mart religiously after work before his day off, where he found everything from breakfast cereals to motor oil for his pickup truck at exceptional prices. The people who shopped there represented a microcosm of society. He felt a certain sense of free rein while walking the aisles alongside overweight shoppers in tight clothes, men in dresses, women in sweat pants, people who carried on conversations with themselves, and the other crazies who browsed the same aisles as normal families. For Bob, shopping at Wal-Mart was always an adventure. On one occasion, he spotted a naked man in an astronaut helmet pushing a Wal-Mart shopping cart in the parking area with a feather sticking out of his ass. Once, on aisle five, he shopped ten feet from a man in a Donald Duck costume. Anonymity suited him—anonymity and the freedom to be and wear whatever he chose. He worked as a waste management employee, a fancy name for “garbage man.” His uniform consisted of a grey jumpsuit and bright orange fluorescent vest that said “Waste Management” on the back. Bob was the guy who arrives early mornings in a garbage conveyance truck collecting trash. Wal-Mart worked great for Bob, especially with twenty-six-year-old Janet in the store. She worked the cashier at Till Number 23, and once a week Bob rolled into her line with a giant cart full of frozen meat, canned vegetables, bottled beer, and toilet paper, with a firm resolution to hit on her. By the time he reached her cashier’s station, after standing in line behind the coupon queen with her pile of coupons or the guy demanding to pay with Confederate Dollars, when finally face to face, a smile, a lot of nodding, and a mumbled, “Thanks you sir. Have a nice day.” On one occasion, he pointed at her name tag. “Err… Jemima…” “Actually, my name’s Janet,” she finally said one day. “Janet!” his face glowed and smiling teeth sparkled, “You’re a very pretty name! I mean your name, not you. Not that you’re not pretty, because you are! And I was saying…” He stopped himself and playfully shoved his cart into position. She cut him off. “The name tag ain’t mine. Jemima was the girl who worked here before me; she quit when she got married. They never got around to making a new tag for me. I don’t mind though—it gets me funny looks sometimes. So, what’s your name?” she asked. “I’m Bobert! I mean Bob, Kelley, Robert Kelley,” he finally managed to say. At that moment in time, Bob had no idea that one day in the future he would ask Janet to engage in a perverted sex act.

“Kelley? I like that… Kelley…” she repeated, “I see you in here a lot.” “We should have dinner sometime,” Bob looked at her nose instead of her eyes. “Sure. I’m off at six, wanna pick me up?” Janet nonchalantly replied, without looking up from the items on her scanner. “Sure, yes, I’d like that…” Bob said, as his eyes widened and brows lifted. He had finally asked Janet Stevens on a date. The morning after his first date with Janet, and after sleeping only a couple of hours, Bob suited up in his overalls and jumped on board the “trash-mobile.” His “partner in grime,” Christopher, was a tall bear of a man as wide as he was tall, and ready for the haul. Bob considered Christopher a good comrade, always lending a hand and excellent company both at work and on Friday nights. The “grime fighter” crew always got together at the Johnson’s Creek Bar & Grill to start their weekend with beer and Buffalo wings. Bob’s and Christopher’s typical day began at three-thirty in the chilly morning. As Bob climbed into the passenger seat of their garbage truck, Christopher would turn the ignition key and rev the engine a couple of times to wake it up. They rarely spoke on the way toward their turf, the neighborhood in which they collected the garbage from the trash cans in the back alleys. They had operated the same zone for five years, and knew it so well they could finish their pickups in four-anda-half hours even though the route calculated in the office was complete in six hours. This job efficiently left them with an hour and a half of free time before they rallied at the recycling station to empty the truck’s container of the day’s harvest. That extra time became sacred for Bob and Christopher, because it allowed them plenty of time to stop at the pancake house, where they ate copious amounts of breakfast food while relaxing and chatting. It was their daily ritual. A new ritual was about to begin, called marriage. Bob viewed his job differently than others. He saw it as a wholesome exercise that kept him fit. He always said not many jobs combined jogging and weight lifting as well as his. In some instances, the conditioning came in handy when early morning druggies tried jumping them… street fighting. Bob valued inhaling the early morning air with its wisps of fog. The job built his body into a “Marlborough Man” stature, and when he wore fitted shirts and jeans, Bob looked like a model. Dealing with refuse every day made Bob extra careful about cleanliness. His apartment was spotless and his overalls were washed and pressed every day. So well organized was Bob’s life, he volunteered at his local soup kitchen four hours a week, even during the holidays when he worked double shifts. On the morning following Bob’s first date with Janet, having collected their quota of garbage with the usual time to spare, Christopher and Bob sat in front of a tower of pancakes and mugs of steaming hot coffee. As Christopher sipped his java, Bob asked, “Christopher, remember that girl I told you

about?” “What, the one from the store?” Christopher squeezed the last of the maple syrup onto his plate and shook the bottle in the direction of Ann Lee, the waitress. “Yes, the cashier at Wal-Mart, the little brunette with the dimples. Well, long story short, we went out last night, and it got pretty hot and heavy!” Bob moved his plate closer. “What, on the first date?” Christopher raised his eyebrows. “I’m telling you, Christopher, that girl feels right. If things keep going well, I’m thinking of moving in with her!” ∞∞∞ Things went so well for Bob and Janet that after a few weeks of dating, Bob suggested they move in together. Janet clapped her hands and jumped up and down. She cleared a couple of drawers for him, emptied a couple of shelves, managed to create a couple of inches of wardrobe space in the closet for Bob’s very clean clothes. Six months passed smoothly, and Bob felt good about his new living arrangement. He helped Janet with the housecleaning, and Janet insisted on preparing homemade meals, and like a good Stepford Wife, she always waited for the commercials before interrupting him when he watched TV. Then, one day, he came home from work and found her a little more excited than usual. “Sweetie, dinner’s almost ready,” Janet sang out to Bob. Bob clickety-clicked the keyboard of his laptop. “Inna mii-nute!” he sang back to her, “I found a great fishing spot online, I want to email the link to Christopher and the guys at work.” He caught her reflection in the screen of his computer as she crossed the room towards the kitchen carrying the “good plates” from the display cabinet in the living room. These were not normal good plates… they were China plates they bought along with crystal flutes. “We’re not eating in front of the TV?” Bob cocked his head in the air. “Nope,” Janet replied. “Tonight, I thought we’d dine like grownups, in the kitchen.” Bob smiled. He enjoyed living with a girl—this girl in particular. She was so cute and sweet, with her cut flowers, her little soaps, her dishes of potpourri, and matching towels. Sometimes his knees went weak when she accidentally rubbed against his body. “O.K, why not? So what’s on the menu?” he inquired, as he got up and rubbed his hands.

“Aye cooka da spaghetti, delicioso, molto bene…” she replied with a false Italian accent. “Thank you, bella ragazza, spaghetti is my favorite!” Bob whispered in her ear, making his stomach flutter. Janet stacked a mountain of pasta on Bob’s plate and ladled a generous helping of Bolognese sauce onto it. She placed the plate in front of him and then sat down in front of her empty plate. “We need to talk,” she began. “About us, you and me.” His heart skipped a beat. He looked at her through the steam rising from his plate. She continued, “Hmm, that’s right… need to talk.” “Okay, what is it, Janet? What’ve I done this time?” Bob asked as he cleared his throat, and then looked at her, and then down at his plate. “You haven’t done anything, silly!” She burst out laughing. “Good, I have something to talk about, too. It’s not urgent, but it is important to me.” Bob had been sitting on his thoughts for some time. He wasn’t sure how Janet might react to what he had to say, but felt determined to finally open up. “Sure, we can talk about that too. By the way, you haven’t done anything wrong, have you babe?” “No, of course not,” he spun his fork in the pasta. “So what is it you wanna talk about?” He shoveled a tightly wound spiral of spaghetti into his mouth. “It’s about us Bob, how we never go shopping together, how you spend all your time at that soup kitchen where you volunteer… I miss ya…” Janet said in her soft and alluring voice. As always, when she wanted something and was not sure how to go about getting it, she spoke in a slightly whining little girl’s voice and batted her eyelids seductively. “What is it, then? You think we don’t spend enough time together?” Bob replied with his mouth full, and his pulse rate increased. “Yes,” she said. “And no.” “Yes-no?” he frowned. “Yes, that’s what I think, and no, we don’t spend enough time together.” “Look, Janet, I work long hours, and the soup kitchen thing, well that’s something I treasure doing. I love helping others; life should be about more than taking and working all the time. I feel lucky I’m able to at least give some of my time.” Bob smoothed his hair backwards with both hands, feeling confident of his commitment.

“I know, I know, you’re like Mother Teresa, you are.” “So?” Bob pointed an ear in her direction as his hand lingered against his cheek. “Did we decide on an engagement ring yet?” Janet sat upright with both hands flat on the table next to her plate. She removed her rings and laid her naked hands on the table like a silent accusation. “Yes, Janet, no.” He felt his toes curl. “Yes-no?” She arched her eyebrows. “Yes, you mentioned it several times. I heard you, and no, we didn’t decide on an engagement ring and you know it.” Bob sat still. “So when, Bob? When do I get my ring?” She played with an invisible ring on her finger. “When are you going to propose? When’re we getting engaged? When do I get my ring?” Bob hunched over his plate and said nothing. He tensed the muscles of his jaw. Between clenched teeth he uttered a response, “You go on and on about that ring, and honestly, I don’t know.” “You don’t know what ring to get me? Think diamond and think big. It’s as simple as that.” She puckered and softly pressed a finger on her lower lip with her head leaning at one side and her eyelids flapping like butterflies. She looked cute as a button. “Look Janet, I haven’t decided yet; I’m still on the fence.” He pressed his hands on his eyes and rubbed his face downwards, feeling an ache at the back of his throat. “You… you don’t know yet? You… you’re not sure if you want us to be engaged?” Janet demanded with eyes glaring. “It’s time we take our relationship to the next level, no?” “No. I mean, at least not yet. What’s wrong with this level? Why do we need another level anyway? What next level? What the heck is this level thing in a relationship anyway? It’s like we’re on a game show or something!” His shoulders relaxed forward. “But Robert, if you were engaged to me, people would have more respect for you… they wouldn’t look down on you,” Janet stacked her own plate with food. “What do you mean, ‘people wouldn’t look down on me,’ and what does that even mean? Who looks down on me? Are you looking down on me? I’m not respectable enough for you?” A vertical line appeared between his eyebrows as a slight pain radiated in his jaw. The verbal duel was on. “I’d love to see you at a higher standard,” Janet pointed a thumb upwards. “Are you talking about my job, because I collect garbage?”

“No, I’m not talking about your work.” “Good, because I love my job,” his frown flattened and he smiled with his lips closed. “But hon, every man wants his gal on his arm, right?” “Hmm… maybe, I guess. But what did you mean with all that respectable business you brought up?” He pushed his plate a few inches away from him. “All I mean is there are men and there are boys. Men ain’t afraid of commitment, they don’t run away, they stand by their woman and forge a destiny as a couple. That’s what I meant.” She joined her hands together as if pleading. “So what, now I’m a flake, I’m not respectable, and, I’m afraid of commitment? Is that it? “You’re far from being a flake, but don’t you want a family?” “I’m not thinking about a family?” His lower teeth ground together. “Don’t you want to keep a happy family around, Bob… a family you can depend on?” “What do you mean keep—as in work like a donkey providing for your needs?” With his palms upwards, he pointed at his own chest. “That’s not what I said. All I’m saying is a man should be a man.” “You make it sound as if I’m bailing out, like some kind of deadbeat. And what’s with the voices? One second you sound like Heidi and the next, you sound like Judge Judy! That doesn’t work on me, you know!” Bob’s forearms began sweating. Janet ignored his comments about her voice. “I just know real men get married and make their wives happy!” She punctuated her sentence with a determined thump of her forefinger on the table. “So I’m not a real man? I need to get married to you, and hope you’ll validate my manhood? Is that it?” Bob’s face flushed and the veins in his neck inflated. “All our friends are either engaged or married. Men get married, that’s all I’m saying,’” She insisted. “You’re making me angry.” He lifted a hand and placed a finger against his lips. “You can be a traditional man.” “Look, I told you what I think about that. Men are more than commodities, servants at the service of their wives. Men are more than ATM machines! A couple should be a team, partners, comrades who push in the same direction. Isn’t it one reason why we moved in together? If it’s about exchanging my

paychecks for love, well…” he did not finish the sentence, but his soapbox implication seemed clear. “So how do you want to do it? I should be the one who works and you’ll be a stay-at-home husband?” she sarcastically suggested with a frown. The little horizontal lines on her nose, which he had always found so charming, suddenly made him mad. The word “snout” exploded in his mind out of nowhere. “You know that’s not what I said or want. There shouldn’t be a giver and a taker. We should be there for each other. That’s what a partnership is all about. Two people working together and sharing the fruits of their labor.” His muscles quivered, and he gestured as if slicing through an imaginary cake in the air. “Still, I’d like to know what your plans are.” Janet leaned forward. “I’m still thinking through all this. Living with you helped, but I haven’t decided anything about my future.” He chewed and swallowed food. “Why can’t you see my point of view?” Janet kept silent for a while, letting him cool down. After what she thought felt an appropriate amount of time, she rallied, “You know we looked at that nice ring at the jewelers.” “Yes, yes. It’s a nice ring; for eight grand, it better be!” His belly rolled as he exhaled out loud. “Or even better, we could get a wide screen TV so we can watch Sunday sports.” “I don’t like sports,” Janet said. Bob’s mind did a skip and jump-flip into the future, pushing Janet and her voice out of his mind. This is man’s ultimate ritual in life. His heart dropped and his brain focused on those grand football Sundays. How could they be non-existent? Football at home was cheap, with easy parking, and the view on an HD flat screen was better than in a real stadium. Bob couldn’t miss fantasy football, rooting for his favorite teams, enjoying his favorite pastime that’s best appreciated hunkered down at home, cozied in the man cave, and surrounded by his beloved sports memorabilia. Life without Sunday’s flankers, wide receivers, and pass-happy quarterbacks, and fans, who scream bloody murder after unscrupulous NFL calls, would be unbearable. And Super Bowl Sundays were not just a sporting event, they were a religious retreat. What would he do without friends eating fun food, whistling at cheerleaders? How would he ever fill up on pizza, chicken wings, and beer until dozing on and off to sleep, without a game? Would he enjoy shouting at the TV, scolding players when they drop the football, celebrating jumping up with a brash cheer when his team got a big score? It became obvious: living without sports would be torture. His thoughts of living without football, beer, chicken wings, sofa, and HD TV disappeared, vanquished by the sound of Janet’s voice. “I can imagine the look on their faces when I show it to them!” She raised her hand in the air, fingers extended, drawing Bob back into her reality.

“Competing with your friends, is that what it’s all about? Making them jealous?” His eyebrows rose. “None of them come near a ring like that! Their men didn’t make the effort to buy anything really magnificent.” She coaxed him, and a mischievous flicker played in her eyes. “So if I throw eight thousand dollars at it that will make you feel special?” Bob smirked. For a moment he recalled a twelve-year-old murder experience, police lights outside, when he had looked across the street and seen a neighbor on a stretcher in a body bag. He felt the shock of seeing a dead person for the first time. It was a murder scene; the street was filled with police cars, an ambulance, and flashing lights. He could just visualize himself on the news the next day. It would be about the husband who had killed her over an argument about jewelry, an engagement ring. “Totally! They’ll be green with envy.” She rose and grabbed the dessert… a raspberry cheese cake she proceeded to slice and put on plates waiting on the counter, with her back toward him. “So, with that ring you’ll feel you’re better than them, is that it?” He caressed his chin. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all along, Bob! Yes! It’s more than a piece of jewelry, it’s a symbol of who you are, and who I am and what I mean to you.” Beside herself with anticipation, she ran around the table. Upon approaching him, she rubbed his head in her hand and kissed his forehead. “Their men don’t love them half as much as you love me,” Janet softly whispered. “And that’s why my ring will be twice as big!” Bob looked into the living room through the kitchen door… at the leather sofa, the deep wool rug, the velvet drapes, and the shell-shaped halogens, as the depth of the abysmal chasm that lay between him and Janet became painfully apparent. He had moved in with her, among other reasons, so they could both save toward a possible future together. And there he was, over half a year down the line, and not only hadn’t he saved a penny, his credit cards were maxed out. The territory of financial stress became new for Bob; it wasn’t the bills or the rent—they hardly ever dined out. It was the shopping—there was always something to buy that couldn’t wait. Every time Janet came back from spending the afternoon with her friends, she returned with something she had to have. He got up from the table and filled a glass with water from the tap. Bob felt smothered and suffocated. He looked outside the window and took in the city lights. He inhaled deeply and bent over the sink, splashing some water on his face. Feeling refreshed, Bob turned around and sighed. “Honestly Janet, having the ring won’t help you get a better job beyond working part time at Wal-Mart. How long do you plan on working there?” “Till I marry you,” she replied with a wink. “Wow, so if I’m getting this right, marriage for you is a career choice?” He pushed his hands into his pockets and raised his shoulders.

“Sure. That’s the way the world works,” Janet answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if to say “DUH!” “I think there’s a little more to life than that. Before I talk about what I wanted to say, let me ask you this: What kind of wedding have you got in mind, Janet?” Janet could hardly restrain herself. “My wedding will have hundreds of people. We’ll have a huge reception at the country club estate. We’ll buy an ice sculpture like Jennifer had at her wedding but a bigger cake. We should make sure the dress is spectacular, because darling, we only get married once, so we should spare no expense. After the ceremony we shuttle off to Paris for the honeymoon.” She gestured like the royalty awarding a military person for their bravery. “So, you got it all figured out.” Bob gazed at her with a stunned expression. He didn’t like how she emphasized the word “we” when talking about her marriage dream. “With all the overtime you do, we can afford it, and I’m worth it, don’t you think? My family isn’t able to pay. I’ll make sure it’s a proper wedding like normal people have. Don’t you want to be normal?” “There you go again. What’s normal?” He asked in a growling voice. “God, Janet, you’ve spent my future income and now you think I’m not normal.” “Normal is married and happy with a wife, like Jennifer. I want her and everyone looking at us and saying, ‘Look at Janet and Bob, they’ve really got it all.’” “So there’s nothing in life for me but marriage? I get the feeling you’re manipulating me into going through with this engagement. I think I’m pretty normal right now, Janet, I think we’ve already ‘got it all.’” He sat back at the table and used his fork as a stress rod, torturing the slice of cheesecake she brought for him. He cut it in half, quartered it, and then continued dissecting until the plate was all but covered in crumbs, and he couldn’t bring himself to eat a single bite, despite her assurance that it was the best cheesecake ever. “What’s going on exactly? Are you planning on leaving me for someone else? Is there another woman? That’s why you’re reluctant to commit?” Janet fired her questions like a machine gun, not leaving him any space for answers, treating the absence of answers as admissions of guilt. “You know there isn’t. Why so jealous?” Bob shook his head back and forth. “One of my girlfriends, Cynthia, wonders if there’s another man.” “What the fuck?” He straightened his back. “What do you expect, people see you tiptoe and beat around the bush, so they think maybe there’s a reason why you take so long to settle?”

“And what did you say when she basically told you I’m gay?” He leaned in, put his hands flat on hers and looked her straight in the eyes. “Look, Bob, I don’t think you’re gay, but you need some reason to avoid engagement, don’t you?” Her voice begged, rising up a full octave. “Yes!” he barked sharply. “Yes! There is a reason, but that reason has nothing to do with another woman… or another man, thank you very much!” He slapped his forehead with his open hand, and then added, “You just don’t get it, do you?” Janet kept digging with amateur philosophies, “Did someone injure you in the past? Why are you such damaged goods when it comes to marriage?” “Damaged goods? Jesus! What on earth do you mean, Janet?” He rattled his head as if unable to listen to her comments. “A real man must be with a wife. Without a wife, you’re… you’re weird, you are! Yes, weird!” “How exactly does not being married makes someone weird?” Bob’s chest tightened and eyebrows arched. “I don’t like these questions.” “You know, men who aren’t married are thought of as oddballs. People might wonder if you have a sex problem.” “There it is again. You’re trying your best to make me feel ashamed about myself—that I might have a sex problem. You’re pissing me off. I’m a homosexual, a nut-job, a weirdo, or an impotent, is that it?” He counted on his fingers as he enumerated. “My friends are all of the opinion I should reel you into marriage.” “So they think I’m a catch, then?” Bob cocked his head to one side and smiled while trying not to. “Yes. You’re handsome and you’ve a good job, I did tell them that.” Janet blinked her eyes. “But Janet, your friends have nothing to do with this. Why do you even look for their approval? They’re nothing! They mean nothing to us. You should leave them out of our business.” “They are something, they’re my friends. They want me being happy, Bob.” Her hand clenched. “And marrying me will make you happy?” He scratched his cheek. “Yup! That’s the plan.” Janet sat up. “Is that what you told them… that you have a plan?” Bob leaned forward and dove into her eyes.

“Yup! We’re friends, we tell each other everything.” “That’s bullshit! Would you run and tell them if you caught me cheating?” “You cheated on me? How dare you!” She reached across the table and slapped him. “What the… ? What did you do that for? What’s wrong with you?” He rubbed the sting out of his cheek as his stomach tensed. “You deserved it, you cheater!” She pouted. “So that’s how it’s going to be when we’re married—you screaming like a banshee and slapping me across the face?” Janet got up and turned away from him. She tapped her foot nervously. “Who was it? Let’s hear it, who was it?” “Who was who?” His hands trembled. “Who was the slut? The whore you fucked behind my back!” She screeched, whipped around and glared at him. “Are you hearing yourself? I said ‘if!’ What part of the word ‘if’ don’t you understand? But you know what? It doesn’t matter; don’t ever raise your hands on me, you hear me?” he warned, as his nostrils flared. “Don’t cheat on me, you won’t get slapped. Simple as that.” “Oh really… simple as that? Look at you—what kind of behavior is that?” A twitchy feeling raced through; he wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “What’s wrong with my behavior? Tell me!” “Seriously, look at you… all red in the face, screaming like a boiled cat, foaming at the mouth! It’s like I stepped into a zombie horror movie from the fifties!” Bob slung one hand back. “You can’t hurt me!” She stood firm with her arms crossed. “And you can’t slap me!” “I’ve been hurt before, you know?” She wiped her tears with her fists. “We’ve all been cheated on and betrayed, so what?” He resisted asking if that made her “damaged goods,” but didn’t want to cause added pain.

“You better not cheat on me, I can tell you that!” she cried. “Well, if I cheat on you, it’s me being me.” Bob explained. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” “I’m wishing you’d ease up on the cheating thing. You’re out of control.” He pressed his fist against his lip and pushed. “Cheating, I hate that kinda shit!” “Well get over it. You act like you have immunity to feeling betrayed.” “I’d hate you for that.” Janet seethed. “And I hate you for slapping me! Where did you learn you can put hands on someone for cheating?” He refused to look at her. “I guess I saw my mother do it. I remember as a little girl and my dad walked in the door, home half-drunk with a lipstick stain on his collar… my mom slapped him silly. She kicked his ass nine ways to Sunday!” “You know, there’re laws against domestic violence, and it’s not just for men who rough up their women, it goes both ways. I could have you arrested, but won’t because that’s embarrassing for a man to get beat by the woman.” “Okay, fair enough! I’ll never do it again. When did you cheat?” She raised he brows and pressed her nose forward. “Janet, calm down a moment. I’m just asking, if I did cheat on you, would you tell? Would you run back to your girlfriends and tell them I cheated?” Bob stood up and walked his dishes to the sink. “No, of course I wouldn’t. Why would I?” she thought for a second. “If you told them, you’d start drama in the group, right?” He looked out the window, entranced by a cricket entangled in a spider web. It gesticulated, but the more frenzied it fought, the more entangled it became. The sticky strings of the web never broke; they extended, cocooning the cricket it in the deadly trap. Janet gathered the rest of the dirty dishes and carried them to the sink. Bob continued washing his plate, and kept on washing the rest of the dishes. She stood next to him with a dish towel slung on her shoulder. “My friends, they would side with me, naturally.” She sounded proud.

“Would they?” he asked with a crooked smile, and before she could reply, he drove his point home. “Like you sided with… what’s her name again… your friend whose husband dumped her and moved in with a woman twice her age?” “Muriel.” Janet hung her head. “Yes, that’s the one. Only after her husband bailed, you started calling her ‘Mooo-riel.’ You and your friends sat right here in our living room and went on and on about how she was a fat ass who wasn’t good enough for him and how he probably left her by jumping through the window with a parachute made out of one of her bras and underwear.” “Yes! For her birthday, the girls bought her a bell on a necklace! But this is completely different!” “Different? How different?” He finished the dishes and dried his hands on Janet’s shoulder rag. “Because, err, because… it was! It was different!” Janet stuttered. “Yes, so you said, but why?” “Because she was fat, that’s why! But that’s one girl, and she was fat! My other friends are all happy in their relationships, very happy. That’s what I want for us, don’t you understand? I want to be like them, have what they have, is that too much to ask?” she pleaded. “You think what they show you are who they really are? It’s not. They show you what they want you seeing; that’s not their real life. It’s like a restaurant, you walk in and all you see are carpets and chandeliers, mahogany furniture and expensive China. What you don’t see is the greasy kitchen and the rat-infested dumpster.” “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong! I’ve been at Jenifer’s house and I did see my friend’s kitchens! I don’t know, Bob; I think Jenifer got hers at Ikea. She went for pine cabinets and marble tops. They didn’t do metal floors back then.” “What?” Bob asked. “Look, forget the kitchen. What I’m saying is that people, people in general, including your friends, show off the good parts of their lives and hide the shitty parts. So, when you say that you want your life to be like theirs, it makes no sense, because you don’t know what their lives are like in reality” “I know my friends well enough to know I don’t think they’re unhappy.” She frowned and waved a hand through the air. “You don’t know that. Maybe they fight all the time, maybe they drink, maybe they cheat on each other. For all we know, they might actually hate each other and they’d never tell you, like you wouldn’t tell them stuff that reflects badly on you.” The dishes complete, with Bob engrossed in the argument, he let the water run. He forgot his important information as the soothing background sound of flowing water muted the irritation he felt

with Janet’s voice as it grew whinier by the minute. Janet fished a cigarette out of her pocket. Bob lit it for her with the kitchen gas lighter resembling a prop from Star Trek. He hated Janet’s smoking, but had given up arguing about it long ago. “Yes, yes, of course they argue, of course they fight, everyone does, but that doesn’t mean they’re not happy together. You need to see the big picture: married people are happy people.” Janet puffed her smoke in his face. “I don’t think that’s true, Janet. At least not for men—from what I see around me at work, the married guys aren’t as happy as you make it sound. They take every opportunity to spend time away from their wives. In fact, Giorgio, this guy who works the same shift as Christopher and me, won the lottery about six months ago—not millions, but enough to retire early. Well, he’s been married for twenty-odd years, and he didn’t tell his wife because he’d rather work and collect garbage than spend time at home with her!” “How do you know that?” “I go by what men say and how they tell jokes about their wives.” A slight headache throbbed. “And your male friends aren’t happy?” He thought about every married man he ever knew. “Hell, no!” “Maybe they married the wrong women?” “All I’m saying is you need to stop listening to your friends. I don’t think they’re a reliable source. They act so perfect, but I don’t know them and you don’t either.” Janet took one last drag of her cigarette and flicked the stub through the window. Bob followed the tiny missile; he felt amazed, seeing it fly through the spider web he had observed earlier, freeing the trapped cricket, enabling it to spread its wings and fly away, free, with a new lease of life. The analogy was not lost on him. Once again his private thoughts got interrupted by Janet’s conversation. “You wanted to tell me something?” Bob took a moment. “Yes, but it can wait. It’s been waiting for a while. I need a break; let’s stop, okay?” Bob knew Janet was under a tremendous amount of pressure from her friends. As the only one left who wasn’t married, being reminded of it almost daily must be putting her through things he could not imagine. He’d let the argument slide this once. ∞∞∞

Work today made Bob want sex from Janet; he rushed home. But it wasn’t long before Janet was at it again. After working for a couple weeks and mulling over the prospect of getting married, Bob felt exhausted. It had been a long week at work; his partner in grime had been sick half the week and he was replaced with a sub who didn’t know the route. All Bob wanted to do was come home, see what Janet had cooked, and snuggle up on the couch with her and a good action movie. When he got home, though, he immediately became aware he would get ambushed—again, on the front door was a printout of the ring Janet had her heart set on. As soon as he opened the door, he got a whiff of another favorite meal: Bleu cheese steak with garlic mashed potatoes. “Hi, sweetie! I prepared a nice meal for you.” She spoke in her chirpy, sweet voice. Usually, that meant she wanted something. Bob sat down at the table, and it wasn’t long into the meal that they picked up their argument from a few nights before. “Alright, something else, you know, my parents, my friends, everyone, they always ask me, ‘So, did he propose already?’ I feel like an idiot every time.” “Jeez! That’s a whole lot of people who’re interested in our lives! They should get a life of their own, don’t you think?” Bob remembered looking out the window into the night weeks ago and thought of the little cricket’s miraculous escape from certain death. “And also,” Janet continued as if he had said nothing, “what about children?” “What about them?” Bob turned around, tapping one foot on the floor with slight amazement. “I want to birth your children, because I love you.” “What? We said nothing about children. I’m not sure I want any.” Bob felt cold sweat run down his spine. “That’s what people do, Bob. People get married, Bob. People have children, Bob. People work hard and provide for their children, Bob. That’s called ‘doing the right thing,’ Bob.” She instructed, waving her finger at him as if he were a little boy. “And I suppose when you say we’ll provide for them, what you mean is you’ll quit your part-time, minimum-wage job and stay at home while I work double shifts?” Bob crossed his arms defensively. “I agree with you, it makes no sense for me to work if my salary only covers the price of day care for the children, I might as well be there for them. That’s what people do, Bob.” Janet sounded like lecturing another diatribe. “That marriage you describe sounds like a lot of being at home with the kids and enjoying life for you and a lot of working long hours, coming home exhausted at night, and never seeing my kids for

me.” “But that’s love… that’s life… that’s what people do.” She came closer to Bob and slung her arms around his neck. “Not all people.” “And it’s a lot of fun making the kids… right?” she whispered in his ear as she hung on his neck. “You know what, that’s another thing, sex.” He unclasped her arms from his neck and stepped back. “Love?” she asked. “No, not love, sex. I’m talking about sex. This is what I wanted to talk about.” Janet lowered her voice, “Okay, sex, what’s there to say? We do it, no?” “Yes, we do it once a week, you lie there looking at the ceiling and I feel like a necrophiliac.” “A what?” Janet asked with a blank face. “A necrophiliac, someone who has sex with a corpse.” “That’s disgusting!” she gasped. Bob opened his eyes wide, “No kidding… unfortunately I know what it feels like and I don’t like it! And it shouldn’t be like that. We’re young, we should be having sex a lot more, we should do stuff, kinky stuff, exciting stuff. At our age, we should be fucking each other’s brains out like rabbits on steroids! Instead, we do… well you know what we do.” “I don’t get it, what else do you want to do? We go all the way, what more do you want?” Janet blushed into the roots of her hair. He leaned and whispered in her ear. “Yuk! That’s disgraceful! I’m not doing that!” she screeched. He whispered something else in her ear. Janet recoiled, “Ouch! That’s painful! You’re not doing that!” He whispered one more time. “Pouah! Who does that!? Certainly not us!” “So, where does that leave me? Am I supposed to give up having a fulfilling sex life in the name of

love?” Bob threw his arms up as a gesture of surrender. “But all that stuff, that’s sick! It’s dirty, it’s degrading,” she sniveled. “What’s sick about it? What’s degrading about it? If I put my…” “Shut up, you’re a pervert! I don’t want to hear about it!” “If that makes me a pervert, then all men are perverts. If I’m a pervert, then so be it, I’ll be a pervert. And if I don’t get it with you, what should I do? Get it somewhere else?” He raised his voice. “So that’s why you want to cheat on me! I knew it!” she cried between sobs and tears rolled down her cheeks. “We need better sex or no more us.” He pointed toward her heart and then his finger made a thud, pointing at his own heart. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Couples need good sex experiences, Janet, that’s what keeps people together.” “Sex is for procreation.” “I don’t think so.” He felt his temperature rise and strengthened his posture. “But… I can’t…” Tears continued running down her face. “Normally, I’d console you when you cry. Not this time.” “Why not?” She lowered her head and wiped away a tear. “Hell no! Who made the rule that men come to their crying women’s side?” “I don’t know, maybe God?” Janet answered with a cracking voice. “Maybe God, you sound like an idiot!” “I really don’t know, but I want you,” she whimpered. “Stop all the crying. Is that what most normal people do too?” he said sarcastically. “You don’t care about me.” “Fuck that shit. Stop making me feel like I’m wrong. You’re mad because I didn’t fall for your

plans.” “You’re an ass,” she shouted. “Are you crying because you’d lose face with your girlfriends and family if they found out I’m not satisfied with you?” Bob took a stayed look. She looked up in wonder. “I would never tell them, I’d be mortified if they found out!” “Tell me then, why are you crying… tell the truth.” Bob took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I’m crying because you’re mean to me.” “That’s not true; I may be mean to you, but that’s not why you’re crying.” Bob shook his head. “I’m crying because you never loved me!” she insisted behind her pouting façade. “That’s not true either. I did love you even before we spoke at Wal-Mart and I think I still do, and you know it. So tell me the truth, why are you crying?” “I’m crying because I love you so much and I wish I knew how to make you happy and fulfilled. And when we get married, I’ll do everything to make you happy,” she swore, arching her eyebrows and making puppy eyes. “You’re just interested in pleasing your girlfriends.” “No… Bob… no… I love you.” “You’re more interested in putting on a show for your girlfriends, family and friends with some kind of fantasy marriage with a big ring, than in having a serious relationship with me,” Bob spoke, with loud and definite words. “No, but… I really love you,” Janet cried. “Bullshit Janet, you’re crying because it’s the last arrow in your quiver. You’ve been manipulating me into marrying you and you used every trick in the book to achieve your goal. You tried tricking me, bullying me, shaming me, daring me, enticing me, belittling me, threatening me… but nothing worked. So now, you use this last trick, your crocodile tears, to see if that will melt me. Let me save you the effort: it won’t work.” Bob pinched her chin and spoke slowly and deliberately. “What exactly are you getting at?” Janet’s eyes widened. “Janet, I know I don’t want a wife who’ll quit her job the day after the wedding and sit on the couch all day eating bonbons and watching daytime TV. I don’t want a sex life where I should be grateful if

you open your legs and ‘let me’ do ‘it’ once a week like it’s a chore. I don’t want children I’ll never see because I’ll be too busy breaking my back, providing for them. In short, I don’t want…” “Don’t say it, Bob!” Her voice hitched and quivered. “In short, I don’t want to marry you. I’ll go now and come back for my things when you’re at work next week,” he almost exhaled his last word in gratefulness for his new life ahead. “B, but, but… please don’t go Bob.” “And you can stop calling me a dozen damn times a day bugging me and checking up to see if I’m faithful. I fucking hate that!” “No,” she said as a last gasp. “I’ll pay three months’ rent and bills. That’ll give you time to find a roommate if you find yourself strapped.” He thanked God for all the freedoms he was about to embark upon. That night, he rented a room in a motel close to his workplace; the next day he returned to Janet’s and collected his clothes and CDs. He took nothing else. Janet posted an ad, looking for a roommate. ∞∞∞

Today Like an antacid tablet, relief came immediately, and ended the hourly annoying phone calls of a jealous woman chasing her man. The headache of nagging text and phone messages at work was cured overnight, and Bob took time to travel and made friends. He had sex with a lot of beautiful women while drinking a lot of beer. After a hiatus of three months, he returned to his job and his well-organized life where Christopher and he eat breakfast every day at their usual pancake house. He has continued to visit Wal-Mart once a week. Bob doubled the amount of volunteer hours he puts in at the soup kitchen. His interest in making a positive contribution to the less fortunate expanded, and one day his eye caught sight of a new girl who volunteered twice a week. Her name is Julie Lopez; she is very pretty, has black eyes, and black curly hair. Julie recently graduated from business school and plans on launching an online business selling her own line of baby clothes. He’s resolved to ask her out next week. In the past two months, Bob has become interested in recycling careers, the kind of jobs utilizing waste smartly. He researched techniques using discarded products to benefit the environment. He then applied for a management position at a company that specializes in recycling refuse products, converting waste into combustion fuels. His spirits now soar as he participates in something to benefit future generations. By using an inventive part of his brain, and inspired by a spiritual calling, he is positioned for a great future. Bob smiles a lot these days. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men 63% of women are jealous of their married friends.clxiii Men: Women use social situations to pressure you to marry.clxiv clxv Men: Women nag and pressure men into a marriage.clxvi clxvii Women nag their loved one 32 continuous days each year. clxviii Divorces are caused by women’s nagging.clxix Women “network” 30% more than men discussing relationships.clxx Most single women are concerned about how friends/family will judge them. clxxi Most women slap their men and they do not report the incident to authorities. Most women instinctually need to get married and have children. Men do not need engagement or marriage to be decent or whole. Men can hire someone to manage the home and prepare meals.clxxii A lot of women ask if their man is gay in order to control him. Women do not think about what equality means in a relationship.clxxiii Women require lots of affirmation from men because daddy spoiled them. If a man doesn’t talk to his girl daily, she will get grumpy and difficult.clxxiv Men: Women slap you if they think you cheated.clxxv clxxvi When you marry, you put up with the wrath of mom, family, and friends. Men: Beautiful women; they can suck the money out of you.

Chapter 9 I Want a Family Lisa Woods and Craig Johnson met and dated for several months, ignited for all the usual reasons; Craig, fresh out of the college at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, with time on his hands and a bottomless well of testosterone, and she… well, she liked the idea of having sex with a college graduate who drove his own car; neither with forethought toward the future after their wild sex flings. The telephone rang. Demonstrating his prowess, Craig dashed back from the kitchen, pizza and Coke in hand, and jumped over a chair. He slid towards the coffee table, and bent over the couch beside which the telephone sat on the coffee table. A swift maneuver, he thought, except for the corner of the coffee table catching him in the knee. “Ho fluff!” he exclaimed. “I guess I need a dad-nab wireless phone!” he added, talking to no one in particular, swiping aside his dark hair that fell across his forehead. Living alone, he had developed the habit of talking to himself. His first time out on his own, Craig loved his studio in the Eberwhite District, though his income as a Teacher’s Assistant forced him into frugal budgeting. Down-to-earth, sound, and dressed as though he was ten years older than his real age, he wore heavy-framed glasses and buttoned-down shirts. He looked like a mix between Clark Kent and an accountant. Unlike Clark Kent’s bespectacled alter ego, Craig wasn’t into saving the world. He enjoyed afternoons at the museum and evenings at the opera or the symphony. He tried his hand at composing a classical piece in the style of Aaron Copeland, his favorite composer back in college days. The fluff word, another idiosyncrasy, went back to his childhood, nine, maybe ten years old, when he had overheard his Dad, whilst driving him to school, mutter at a driver who cut him off, to go fuck himself. That day at school, he made sure to give the same advice to school mates, and to some of his teachers, who, instead of following his counsel, wrote his parents about it. A sound thrashing and a bar of soap in the mouth later, he promised himself solemnly that he would never ever use foul language again. So, venting frustration, Craig created his own lexicon of pseudo swear words sounding as close as possible to the four letter ones used to replace: fluff, sit, motor-farmer, clockchocker etc. The phone rang again, rattling his nerves. “Jelow,” he said, because sometimes he forgot, and he did the word replacement thing with regular words.

“Allo, Craig? It’s Lisa… erm… are you home?” “You call me on my home phone, I answer, and you ask if I’m home? That’s funny!” His throaty laughter and feelings of camaraderie reminded him of the fun he had in bed with his caller. They visited one another every so often, whenever he got horny or she, lonely. Lisa worked as a shelf stocker at the West Liberty Street 7-Eleven a couple of blocks away from Craig’s little bachelor pad, convenient for both of them. Most people called them “friends with benefits,” or what Craig called “fluff buddies.” “Anyways… it’s good to hear your voice; I haven’t seen you in ages.” Craig’s pulse beat faster. “I hope you’re well.” Lisa replied. “Actually, I’m great—the weather’s fantastic, the sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and that always puts me in a good mood.” Craig fidgeted with the phone. From the window, Craig looked at the warming blue sky where a bright white cloud lingered. “Look, we need to talk…” she sounded nervous, impatient. “Is it all right for me to come over?” “Sure, why not,” Craig sat motionless, “what’s it about?” “I’d rather tell you in person… err, if you don’t mind. I can be at your place in ten minutes, cool?” “Cool.” She already hung up, and he felt like pacing. Craig speculated about what she might say; maybe she wanted to break up, maybe she’d met someone and she wanted him out of the picture. He patrolled around the living room, straightening up, putting things in some order, and twiddling. He decided he didn’t care if she wanted to leave him, because he never thought of them as a couple, more a friendship based on mutual attraction, and not emotionally invested. In fact, apart from good physical chemistry, they didn’t have much in common. He recalled their first awkward meeting: her eager fingers had mapped the planes of his muscles all the way to the clasp of his pants. She opened them, nipping along his neckline, and reached inside. She groaned as he slid or almost nervously jammed his shaking fingers across her breasts and lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom wall and, with one arm, quickly shoved his clothing out of the way. The doorbell rang. “Hi, Lisa.” Craig greeted her with a kiss on each cheek, European style. His hand quivered a little as invited her in. “Can I get you a drink? I have orange juice…” Without waiting for her answer, he strolled into the kitchen, rapidly returning with a carton of juice and two glasses. “Thanks!” Smiling up at him, she sat with ease on the couch. He poured, and she took a sip of juice and made a funny mouse face because of the acidity. “So . . . can you guess?” One hand floated as if it were conduction an orchestra.

“Err, guess what?” One of Craig’s feet jittered as he moved towards her. “Can you guess what my big news is?” “Big news? Hmm, no, not really. Did you win the lottery?” “No silly! Well almost, but no, not the lottery. Well, for one thing, I dropped out of school. I’m not concentrating on my career.” She placed her hands together at the palm and placed then under her chin, like praying. “What no career?” He rubbed his chest. “Yes, school got in the way. I’ve got more important things to think of now.” “More important than being an engineer? I thought that’s what you wanted to do.” Craig put down his glass on the coffee table, but then he realized he didn’t know what to do with his hands so he picked it up again. “It was what I wanted to do, but not anymore. I have new plans—a whole new life, really.” She giggled as if she had made a private joke. “What is it? I think you might be making a mistake,” said Craig. “You should stick it out, at least until you get your degree.” He weaved on his feet, back and forth. Lisa cleared her throat, then she put her hands on her knees and looked Craig in the eyes with a huge smile, “Baby, I’m pregnant! You’re a baby daddy!” Craig almost dropped his glass, so he promptly put it down on the coffee table for safety. “What the fluff! Really? Are you fudging with me?” “I’m pregnant,” she lifted both hands out to her sides. “Noooo,” Craig’s voice whooshed as he felt as if a trap door had busted open under his feet and he tumbled into a bottomless abyss of nothingness, his chest collapsed inwards, crushing his lungs and making it impossible to breathe. “So, what should we name him?” Lisa grinned. “What?” Craig’s chest stopped breathing. “Or her? You’re right, we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… though I’d love a little boy,” she said, before adding, “Or a little girl. We don’t know, do we?” Lisa used both hands to twinkle her fingers together.

“We don’t know… I’ll tell you what we don’t know…” His brain spun in turmoil. “We don’t know I’m the father. That’s what we don’t know!” “Oh, but you are the father.” She rested poised. “But that’s impossible! I’m not a father, I’m not. I can’t be. I’m not!” Craig’s breath hitched and he dropped his shoulders. Her calmness infuriated him. He repeated his own words as if by doing so it would become true. He stood over the ruins of his future and wondered how outside the window the sun kept shining and the birds sang while his life exploded into a thousand pieces, a thousand hours and days and years of misery and unhappiness. “Impossible?” she cocked her head aside. “Didn’t your Mommy tell you about the birds and the bees?” “Ooh,” Craig hung his head and stared at the floor. Yes, he had fucked her, all right, nine ways till Sunday. Missionary, doggy style, bent over and cowgirl… he did it all… they did it all. But still, it was about fucking, having fun, enjoying life, not about making babies and starting a family! With his whole life was in front of him, all life goals he still wanted to accomplish. Are my dreams destroyed? “You can moan all you want, you’re still the father.” She crossed her legs high and he caught himself looking up her skirt. What the fuck, man! Stop looking up her skirt; that’s what got me in this mess in the first place! “O.K., wait! Wait one second.” He felt like someone had pointed a gun to his head. “I’ll wait, take your time… we’ve got nine months.” She smiled. “It’s a joke. It’s a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg, you’re fudging with me. O.K.! Good one, you got me, ha-ha. Now tell me the truth… it’s a joke, right?” His gut churned rocks. “A joke?! You think I’d joke about my little baby?” She cradled her imaginary bump with both hands. “But, are you sure? I mean are you absolutely sure?” His heart thudded. “Sure, I’m sure! A mother knows… I’ve missed my period and I never miss my period, I’m very regular.” She impersonated a ticking clock. Craig put a hand on the wall, steadying himself. “Let’s not jump to conclusions… let’s keep our wits about us… let’s not panic, right?” He sensed a weighted down feeling and his posture wobbled. “You think I panic?!” she shrieked. “I don’t panic. I missed my period. I never miss my period. It’s as simple as that.” Craig scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, obliterating the picture of a horror scene manifesting

right in front of him. God, help, someone please throw me a life preserver. “Still, but, how can you possibly be pregnant? You said you were on the pill.” “I was!” she nodded repetitively, adding, in a slightly lower voice. “Most of the time.” “Most of the… what now?” Craig’s eyes widened and brow rose upwards. “Most of the time,” she replied, “I was on the pill… most of the time. Except when I wasn’t.” “What’s that even mean?” He moved back slightly, giving himself more personal space. “Well, sometimes you forget, right? You think you took the pill and then it turns out you didn’t. It happens, sometimes.” “It happens!” he roared. “It happens?” She looked at him very calmly and self-assuredly. “Yes, Craig, it happens. What, like you never forget anything! Only the other week, you were supposed to bring flowers to my Mom’s birthday, and you forgot. People forget things, Craig.” “Flowers for a birthday! You think that’s the same thing? You think it’s comparable?” He felt flabbergasted and his gaze momentarily went unfocused; leaning his back against the wall, he sagged slightly, worrying what the future would be. “Forgetting’s forgetting, and you do sometimes forget stuff. I forgot one little thing… It’s not the end of the world.” “Not the end of the world?” He slapped his own face with both hands. “Well fuck me!” he broke a lifetime promise of not cursing. And once the first fuck came out of his mouth, the rest poured out. “Shit! Fuck! Just bend me over, slap my ass, and jizz on my back! I mean for fuck’s sake, how could you forget some bullshit like that!” Shaken by his explosion, she lowered her head and her voice: “I have no excuse, Craig… I just forgot.” Seeing her so contrite all of a sudden calmed him. He shook his head despondently and mumbled. “It’s fucked up, that’s what it is, it’s completely fucked up,” his body went limp and he fell with a flop onto the couch. She reached over to him and tapped his knee with her hand consoling him. “But sweetie, it makes no difference now; the important thing is we’re having a baby. I’m so excited about having the baby… and I’m so glad I’m having it with you. You will be a great father.”

He pushed her hand away and turned to face her. “Excited? What’s wrong with you? Did you hit your head or something? We need to act fast, we need Plan B.” “Plan B?” “Yes, Plan B.” He impatiently tapped his pockets, making sure his car keys were there. “Plan B, as in, the morning after pill, you know. We should hurry; the drug store is only a few blocks away!” “The morning after pill? That won’t do.” She laughed. “Why not?” His brain stopped. “Hey, Einstein! The name says it all, no? It’s ‘the morning after pill,’ not ‘the following month, a week after you miss your period pill,’ genius!” “And why exactly didn’t you take it the morning after? When you realized you forgot to take the contraceptive pill?” “It’s too embarrassing to go to the pharmacy and buy it; you have to ask the pharmacist… they judge you, they look at you like you’re a slut or something.” She blushed. He opened his arms wide, letting his sarcasm fly. “No, no, you’re right; asking for the pill is embarrassing! Much better becoming pregnant and having a child than have strangers think you’re not a virgin! Do you hear yourself?” He face palmed as he let out a nervous laugh. “Next time you can go and buy it!” She pouted. He paced around like a caged animal. “No—you told me you didn’t like how a rubber feels so I didn’t need protection. You wanted it raw.” He loosened the open collar on his shirt; more certain than ever he didn’t father the kid. “Yes, I did.” She rubbed her nose. “And I wore a condom anyway,” he remembered. “Condoms fail all the time, fool.” She made a small frown. “That’s impossible.” He raised a shoulder high. “Condoms aren’t one hundred percent protection, silly.” “What kinda cockamamie fuck shit’s this?” His neck muscles bulged and lips pinched together. “It is what it is.” Her arms moved in slow motion.

He leaned to one side, plunged his hand in his pocket, and brought out a fistful of condoms he threw at her. “There, you see? I’m always packing!” “It makes no difference. Condoms fail all the time, they’re far from being 100%, you know?” She brushed the condoms from her lap and said in a derisive tone. “But we weren’t even a serious couple, we weren’t dating… we fucked around, for God’s sake!” Craig ran fingers through his hair. “Last time I checked, fucking around is exactly how you make children, you know? And let’s face it; it’s great I’m pregnant. I couldn’t be happier!” She laughed. “Happy? You’re happy about that? This is completely fucked up, that’s what it is!” Craig tried to clear his mind. “You should be more positive, look at the bright side, the silver-lining. Really, why can’t you be more positive?” “Positive? I’m positive! I’m positive this is the worst thing in the world, this is a catastrophe! Of that, I’m 100% positive!” He tapped his hand on his chest. “We’ll be OK, don’t worry…” She put one palm on her tummy. “We? What do you mean ‘we’?” He raised his hands defensively. “Well it’s our child.” Lisa raised her eyebrows. The room went silent. “Oh fuck! Fucketty fuck fuck fuck!” “Don’t be silly, Craig.” She forced a laugh. “I’m hurtin’ here. I’m not happy about this.” He balled up a fist. “Well, this might be a good thing for us.” Her face brightened. “I’m shaking with all this.” He stretched out a trembling hand. “It’s gonna be okay.” “Okay? But, shit, I don’t want a kid.” “Oh, come on, Craig.” “Come on? Come where?! I’m not ready for all this.” He pushed his arms in the air. He couldn’t

reach her thoughts, and imagined pathetic images of poor, starving, unwanted children, begging, futureless. He wished she wanted out of this horror movie scene as much as he did. “It’s hard, I know,” she said understandingly. “What about abortion, have you thought of that?” he blurted out. God, what an ugly word. But he couldn’t think of anything else. “Abortion?” she shrieked. “That’s a sin!” She crossed herself several times. “Look, I know it’s not the man’s decision, but you’re pro-choice, no? I know I am, so here you go! You’ve the choice, choose!” “No.” She intertwined fingers and dropped her hands in her lap. “But you have to!” “I thought you said you were pro-choice?” “I’m, I’m pro-choice, and that’s why I choose you must have an abortion.” “That’s not what pro-choice means—you know that! Pro-choice means I get to choose and I choose doing the right thing. We’re keeping the… our baby, end of discussion!” She raised her finger, shutting him up. “Aha! You said ‘we’re keeping our baby!’” He slapped the back of one hand into his other hand. “Yes, so?” She looked at him with a blank face. “So you didn’t say ‘my baby,’ you said ‘our baby,’ so this means I’m part of the decision, I have a right to choose!” I got her. “I’m not killing my baby! It’s a sin; it’s against my religion!” She stamped her foot. “First of all, my religion says I don’t want a kid. Secondly, I’m entitled to have my say about an abortion, and thirdly, if you’re God’s so against abortion… well… well… you should’ve fucked him instead of me!” He counted on his fingers. “Shut your mouth. God won’t like what you’re saying,” she pointed. “Oh Jesus, here we go. Don’t you think the man should have a say?” “No, it’s my body. I’m the person who decides.” “But two people made the decision to make the kid?” He raised two fingers in defiance.

“Don’t matter, it’s my body.” “But I was involved from the conception.” He wrung his hands together and felt a sting in his chest. “You can’t make this decision.” She moved one finger back and forth. “And I’m one who you want help raising it.” “We’ll both raise it… so what?” “Damn it, don’t you see I’m an important part of all this?” “No, I don’t see that.” she said, her face set in stone. “I’ll pay for the whole thing, I’ll get you the best clinic, everything!” He tried desperately bringing her on his side. “I’m not aborting!” Her lips quivered, tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s murder! You hear me? Murder!” Stunned for a moment, unable to see why Lisa remained so persistent, he came up with another idea. “O.K., just one second, what about adoption?” And I get to walk away scot-free and never see you crazy bitch again in my life! “I don’t think so. I’m already attached to the baby.” “My God, Lisa, do you know what you’re saying?” He felt like a rat in a cage. Anger rose through his chest like smelly shit rising up his throat. “I’m sure about this. I already feel like a mommy. I have maternal instincts.” “But you haven’t given birth yet. I know when dogs birth puppies the she-dog learns by instinct, becoming a good mother only after the birth. She cleans the new puppies with her tongue. She eats the placenta.” Oh God he hated that idea, but he wanted to be as graphic, putting her off. “I’m not a dog!” “You’re not a dog, no, you ain’t. Dogs are smart, trustworthy, and loyal! You’re a bitch, that’s what you are!” he snapped, remembering her fucking doggy-style. His anger and fear bubbled up from the depths. Is there no way out of it? Am I trapped?

“Don’t say that. I’m not a bitch. I can’t help it if I feel protective of our unborn child.” She protectively covered two hands over her belly. “You have feelings already?” His brows arched. “Yes, I love the baby already.” “So for his sake you should give him up so he can have a better life, a future with parents who love him.” He moved one hand toward her, fingers twitching then he slowed his hand into a fist and placed it on his heart. “No I’m not giving him—or her—up,” she tugged her tummy tight. “But, but… Oh God, I don’t know what to say anymore! I feel like crying!” His breath escaped in a gasp. He looked at the floor, feeling an urge to cry. His face squeezed into a weeping expression. “Don’t cry, I like being with you, and we’re the same age, and with a baby on the way, don’t you see? We’ll be together forever and ever,” her voice said, sweetly. In his head the words resonated like a never ending echo. “Forever and ever and ever and ever…” His mind zoned full circle around the idea and he returned to square one. “But wait a minute… weren’t you seeing others?” he cracked his knuckles and looked hard into her eyes. “No.” They had rarely talked and just got down to sex. Craig checked those faded memories while reading something in her eyes. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” “No. Why would I do that?” She closed her eyes with a pained expression painted on her face. “I don’t know why, I can’t think straight right now.” He cracked his knuckles again. “Look honey, it took me a while before this all sank in that I’m having a baby. At first I couldn’t wrap my head around it, but you’ll get used to it.” “I’m not stupid, Lisa, I know half the women who become pregnant out of wedlock do it by tricking the man into it; they poke holes in the condom or they ‘forget’ to take their pill. You think I don’t know that?” “I’m not like that, Craig—I know I’m not deceiving you.” “How do we know it’s mine?” A pain zinged through his chest. “Well,” Lisa stuttered. “How?” He repeated.

She returned his gaze for a while, and then said, “Well, I guess I don’t know for sure… but the one other guy’s married, so… it has to be you.” “So, I might not be the father after all?” He stood still and felt his heart stop. Did I hear you right? “A slight possibility you’re not.” She pushed lint off her shoulder. “You just lied to me! You admitted you lied!” “Well…” “Oh God! You fucked a married man? Why?” His expression tightened and he felt wobbly and lightheaded as he scooted down the couch far away from her. He wanted distance. He squeezed towards the furthest armrest and clung on for safety. “He found me attractive, and I guess I felt alone. I hope he’s not the father.” She fidgeted and rocked back and forth. “Hope he’s not the father. I can’t believe my ears.” “That’s my hope.” Lisa seemed surprised. “You’re lying. You wanna convince me I’m the dad!” “I’d love for you to be the dad.” “But you’re not sure. So I’m your first choice because I’m single? If the baby’s mine, I want it aborted, and if it’s not mine, I want nothing to do with it, or with you.” He leaned his face a little closer nearing her personal space with a tilt of his body. “You’re an asshole.” “So, if you did put a hole in the condom, it could be my child?” “I told you… all sorts of things can go wrong with a condom, especially with you being so well endowed.” She tried flattery, coaxing him. “If I’m so well endowed, why did you need to go and fuck the other dude? How often exactly did you sleep with him?” He grimaced and let out a bitter laugh. “Aww, that’s sweet! You’re all jealous and everything. Don’t worry sweetie, he meant nothing to me, I thought of you the whole time.” Her eyebrows rose into sweet half hoops. “Jealous! I could kiss the guy for having stuck his dick into you, you deluded freak! Give me his

address, I’ll send the poor bastard a gift basket!” His underarms sweat. “You can laugh all you want, you’re the father. You’re the father and I’m not getting an abortion, so keep the gift basket for yourself and get used to being called, ‘Daddy!’” “Do you think this is fair? If I’m the father, don’t I have a say?” He slammed a fist on the table. “It’s not your body, it’s my body. It’s not your egg that made the baby, it’s my egg.” She patted her tummy proudly. “It’s your egg, but it’s my sperm! I get to have a say!” He pointed toward his cock. “Ha! You squirt out three drops of jizz and you think it gives you rights over my body?” She sniggered. “Say what you want, without my three drops, there’s no baby, so there!” His jaw tightened. “You want your three drops back? There you can have them you useless bastard!” She glared at him and spat in his face. Instead of infuriating him, her spitting in his face sobered him. He wiped it off with his sleeve. “I give up.” He raised his arms in the air. “I’m glad you realize it’s a sin, getting an abortion; finally you understand you must do the right thing, the Christian thing.” “So having an unwanted baby is the Christian thing? And what about fucking around with married men? Then lying to me is that the Christian thing? You’re a hypocrite, that’s what you are.” She shook her head stubbornly. “Committing adultery and cheating on the guy with whom you’re committing adultery by fucking with me! You’re a saint, really! No, you’re Mother-fucking-Teresa!” “I’m keeping it, and you can’t stop me.” “Now you sound like a kid yourself. I know women lie, but did you lie about being on the pill?” He felt cornered. “I’d never do that. I made a mistake. Honest, I forgot to take the pill.” Lisa pouted. His mouth felt parched and a bad taste spoiled inside his mouth, a rotten flavor. He got up and walked to the kitchen, brewing some coffee. Through the kitchen door, as he stood in front of the coffee maker, he could see her on the sofa, with her innocent air of an early Christian martyr.

“But you’d lie, wouldn’t you?” he said loudly. She tried to reply but he cut her off. “You would lie… trapping me, like you did already. You said you forgot to take your pill, but why should I believe you? You lie and you cheat, and when you get caught, you just lie some more!” Again she objected, but he jumped directly into the middle of his next sentence. “Women lie all the time! The woman cries ‘rape,’ and the guy’s thrown behind bars. The woman cries ‘domestic violence,’ and the judge slaps the guy with a restraining order! The woman says, ‘You’re the dad,” and the guy pays child support for the rest of his life!” He returned with the coffee. “I’m not like that. I wouldn’t do any of those things!” She put her hands on her knees. He knocked over a glass and it shattered at his feet. “But you did do that! You’re making me the father of a kid who probably isn’t even mine. Why don’t you go after the other guy and stick him with a paternity suit!” “But I keep telling you he’s married!” “So you come to me and unload this shit on me. You think you can somehow pin it to me, you can sit on your ass for the rest of your life, and I’ll work like a slave while you watch TV! Having a kid is a career choice for women like you!” His gut wrung. “I’m not like that, I’m not like that,” she repeated. “Oh no? And what’s the first thing you did when you found out you were pregnant? You dropped out of school. Because you know where your next thousand paychecks are coming from!” He tapped his finger on his chest, repetitively. “Everyone else is having kids, I want one too.” She jutted her chin. “Don’t you see? Women shouldn’t have kids when they can’t afford to?” He poured two more cups of coffee and passed her one out of habit, without asking. “What do you expect from me? I just moved into this apartment. I’m just starting my life. I can’t afford all the furnishings yet.” He swung an arm around the room. “I know.” “Don’t expect my help pay for the kid.” “Only if it’s yours?”

Craig shook his head and looked away again. He pondered long. “All right, all right, I accept you made a mistake, but Jesus H. Christ! What now?” I’m trapped! “I’m going to have the time of my life having this child,” she said. “You got no job. You work at the 7-Eleven. You live with your mom. What are you thinking?” He shook his head. “I’d like you as part of our family. Me, you, and our child—doesn’t it sound good to you?” Her eyes twinkled. “Look, I don’t like spending time with you and I don’t fucking love you. I don’t wanna live with you.” He dragged himself up from the couch and leaned on the opposite wall holding his coffee with both hands. She’s making me ill. I’m not the family man type of guy. “You’ll learn to love me?” Lisa flapped her eyelids. “Hell, no! I don’t think so. Right now, I don’t think I even like you,” he said, sensing the wall supporting his weakening body. “Oh, come on.” She placed one hand on her tummy again. “I saw on the news today, it takes over $240,000 raising a child until its eighteenth birthday.” Craig patted the back pocket of his jeans, on top of his wallet. “God will provide, have some faith…” She put her hands together in prayer. “God has enough on his plate with the kids who’re dying of hunger all over the world. He doesn’t need you assigning him homework on top of all that!” “We can do it together. You can get a second job.” she said, with a bubbly voice as if she’d birthed the best idea in the world, and, she added, “That way, we’d be a ‘two-income family.’ I read somewhere two-income families live very comfortably.” “You think that’s what it means? You think two-income families mean the guys working two jobs?!” “It’s two salaries? What does it matter who works as long as we get two salaries? Don’t be petty. Being a full-time mother is hard work, and if you want me taking care of your kid, you have to take care of me.” She kept smiling as if she had life completely figured out. His mind sizzled into a dizzy spin; he didn’t know which part of her insane plan of life he needed to address first. “I don’t want you to take care of a kid, who’s probably not my kid, and whom I don’t want anyway. I don’t like working two jobs taking care of a woman who I don’t want to be with just so she can take care of a kid… she can’t afford having in the first place!” He spoke too quickly with too many words to say at once.

“Exactly!” she declared. “That’s why we need to stick together as a family, for the sake of our baby, and that’s why you should get a second job.” “So you got it all under control, hey?” He lowered his voice and shook his head. “But this is what people do… they live together and raise a family.” “You don’t own my fucking life!” “Family’s important.” “I’ll say this only one time more. I don’t want a family with you!” Spit flew out of his mouth. “Even still, I’m excited.” A deep glow flushed across her face. “And also, I’ll be a good mother.” “Can you give a baby a better life than the one you have for yourself?” This is going to cost time, money, and . . . my life. “Naturally, I can.” “You’re full of shit.” “Well, what should I do?” She sniffled. “You’ll need to decide. You can get an abortion, give your baby up for adoption, or raise it on your own.” He came over and sat on the coffee table right in front of her and put his hands on her knees, looking her deep in the eyes. “God, alright! I suppose,” she cried. “It’s not likely you’ll be able to work and do the whole mom thing.” He sighed, and then said, “So, what’s in a marriage for me?” “You’re a horrible man.” She turned pale and vexed. “I’m a horrible man?” She nodded. “So it’s horrible I don’t spend the rest of my life working my ass off for a woman I don’t love and who, let’s face it, and doesn’t love me either? We already established that you see me as a convenient choice for a husband, and I see you, at best, as a good fuck.” His arms dropped by his sides. “I hate you for saying that!” She rose from the couch and walked slowly toward the door.

“I agree! You hate me, so why would you want to share your life with me?” He exhaled a long breath. “How’d you become such a creep asshole?” “Big fucking deal if I’m an ass. I’m sick of this shit, leave me alone!” Craig jerked the door handle. “Don’t get violent; I’ll report you for domestic violence.” She raised one hand while walking past him through the doorway. “Fuck you! Report me for rape for all I care. That’s what you women do anyway, that would be one more lie! If we find out I’m the father, I’ll be there and help pay for my child. Nothing more!” He felt like he had carved out a workable plan. I pray I’m not the Dad. “We’ll see. You haven’t heard the last of it.” “Whatever! Go trap some other poor sucker into a lifetime of misery! I’m done with you!” He slammed the door shut. Months passed after their visit, and DNA tests established Craig was not the child’s father. Thank God, was all Craig could say as he let out a long exhale. ∞∞∞

Today Shaken to his core by Lisa’s pregnancy scare, Craig elected to get a vasectomy. He vowed to never put himself in a situation like the one with Lisa ever again. The “close call” he experienced brought the universe together, showing Craig another direction to turn. He understood his freedom to do as he pleases is fully contingent on his ability to avoid unwanted fatherhood. Craig dates women, but is hell-bent against marriage, preferring to live his life in his own way. Craig left teaching and entered the software engineering world, where, within months, his meager salary tripled. Over the years, Craig forged strong friendships from diverse backgrounds of friends from the Far East across to the West, whom he considers family. Five of these close friends united together as roommates, moving into a sensational Victorian flat, an arrangement suiting Craig’s needs and passions. It provides an astounding sense of bliss and of being home and where he belongs. On monthly celebrations, the flat mates and friends prepare their favorite foods, exploring each other’s cultural roots. Ginger beef from China, Philippine adobo, spaghetti, and all-American corn dogs decorated the long oak table last month. Craig prepared baked beans on toast with black pudding, and to his surprise, everyone appreciated the dish. Making good money, several times a year Craig splurges, purchasing twelve front-row seats for the Ann Arbor symphony, inviting his household and friends. Life is truly good, and he never worries about whether he impregnates a woman or not when they have sex. He is in charge of his life, love, and future. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Men: Use a condom 100% of the time.clxxvii Men: If you accidentally impregnate her, your financial future is grim.clxxviii 2/3 of families by young single mothers remain in poverty.clxxix 1 out of every 3 newborns is unwanted, over 3 million/year.clxxx Unwanted children suffer financially and have cognition problems.clxxxi The average cost to raise one child is over 240,000 dollars. clxxxii Men: Never raise another man’s child. clxxxiii Men: Never allow a woman to assign the child to you. clxxxiv Men: Women will plan your entire future; protect yourself.clxxxv Men: Your future is valuable; don’t give it away to a woman. clxxxvi Many women trick men into marriage or taking care of their child clxxxvii clxxxviii Most women get ridiculously stupid and giddy over pregnancies.clxxxix Women are unrealistic about raising a child and need help doing so.cxc Men: Never trust women’s birth control efforts; protect yourself.cxci Some women forget to take birth control in order to birth a child. cxcii Some women pretend to be pregnant to trap a man. Women poke holes in condoms and resort to trapping tactics.cxciii Some women lie in order to get men hooked on them and have families.cxciv Women want kids; it is instinctual even if they can’t afford them.cxcv Men must pay for the mother and baby for a lifetime. Women can get another man after divorce, while the EX continues to pay. Men: If you get her pregnant, she will hold you hostage for life. cxcvi Men are misused and asked to sacrifice by pregnant women.cxcvii 6 % of all rapes filed yearly are falsely claimed against men.cxcviii 9% of child molestations are falsely claimed against men.cxcix Most women are not whole until they have a child.cc cci

Many women ignore abortion, expecting others to pay everything.ccii Men are left out of all the birthing decisions except to pay for it all.cciii Men can define a family in their own way not requiring marriage.cciv Men: You must protect yourself from impregnating a woman.ccv Many women try to inflict pain on the men when scorned or cheated on.ccvi

Chapter 10 Monogamy Sucks Thirty-four year old, Professor Tom Peterson swiped a sweat bead from his forehead. (Breathe.) He sped down the freeway, away from his Burlingame condo. (Breathe.) He felt frustrated about having been delayed by Shirley. (Breathe.) She wanted to spend more time eating out with him, and for him not to work so much on his lecture. (Breathe.) His hand grazed his untidy eyebrows as he half-trotted across campus. (Breathe.) Misfortune crackled on the horizon. (Breathe.) He was running late for his speech at USF’s Malloy Hall. (Breathe.) His cell phone vibrated. (Breathe.) A text from Mother requested Tom’s attendance at tomorrow’s Denver funeral. Tom imagined his frail mother holding his father as he gasped for his last breath. His chest deflated and her face wrenched. Tom breathed in discombobulating air, tormenting himself. His last visit to his Denver home, since moving to the San Francisco Bay area, was over twelve years ago. Oh, shit. Memories of Father weighed inside his gut. Tom’s eyes misted as he texted his mom a confirmation message. Walking toward the lecture hall, he made a mental note to tell Shirley about the Denver trip. He felt warm for a moment, envisioning Shirley’s fine-featured porcelain face, and her deep green eyes that sparkled with mystery. At ten years his junior, Shirley was always meek, quiet, and sweet. Shirley’s habit of wearing tight sweaters and short skirts had set his heart soaring the first time they’d met. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity of zapping human urges coupled them. Tom moved closer, beaming. Both took savoring breaths as they introduced themselves. She specialized in cooking and worked as a professional organizer. The attraction that brought them together felt so perfect to Tom. “Good morning, Professor Peterson,” a female student said, smiling as she strode down the steps of the lecture hall. Campus legend cast Tom as popular, especially with females. Tom squinted at her through moist eyes, and blood rushed to his groin. “Good morning.” He lunged up the modern steps. The dangerous aroma of a freshly showered eighteen-year-old penetrated his nostrils. He hurried through the glass doors and trotted under the high entry arch. Heading inside the lecture room, he made his way down the aisle. Doing a quick survey, he glancecounted more than sixty students and noted his regular students filling the front rows sitting like fans at a concert. In the darkened corners were newer faces, some likely to drop out by the semester’s end.

Within a mini-second, he had identified both the most highly achieved student and the troublemaker. “Hi Tom, er—Professor,” said a black-haired female with a smile and a low voice. Tom recognized the warm come-on. “Good morning, Betty, is it?” He paused. Of course he knew her, the flat chest and olive skin. Destined for high scholarly achievements, Betty didn’t need to exchange sexual favors for grades. “Yes, I’m Betty, here for today’s lecture, Professor,” her eyes batted in exaggerated moves. “I’m your Asian persuasion from Pattaya, Thailand.” Her mascaraed wink wormed lust inside Tom’s gut. “Hi Betty, yes.” He stepped forward, drinking in her thin hips and long legs as a surge of adrenaline pumped inside him. Betty was fine and Shirley was perfect he thought to himself. “You know I like you,” Betty cocked her hip to one side in order to adjust her books and large purse-like carrying bag. “Of course I know, but sorry, I’m running late. Lecture begins in a minute and I hope you enjoy it,” he breathed, and moved on, feeling another familiar groin urge. A male student dressed like a jock winked at Tom and tucked a hand in his jeans, one finger pointed towards his crotch area. Like the consummate professional, Tom traversed to the end of the room platform, placed his laptop on the lectern, wrung one hand on his wristwatch and looked at its face, noting the time. He patted the right-hand pocket of his tweed jacket, checking for his keys. Completely at home, observing the audience, he mastered control of his breathing and snagged Betty’s wide, dark eyes, which momentarily landed his attention. “Good luck,” her lipstick-perfect mouth whispered. Tom widened his stance, sensing the strain of his father’s death. He’d invested so much time and personal passion in today’s lecture. He pushed aside the feelings, smoothly flicked his computer on, and mouse-clicked the slide show, illuminating the screen. An electric zing spun inside his stomach as the ten-foot monitor blazoned his inspired words and graphics. Pushing back his rust-brown hair, he straightened himself into the stance of a respectable professor before taking a deep, preparatory breath. “Good morning. This is USF’s Arts and Humanities Lecture Number Twenty-Seven, by me, Professor Tom Peterson. If you’re not here for lecture, please feel free to leave now.” His authoritative voice commanded attention as he let his gaze catch the eye of every student, and recalled their names. He stood firm, in a light blue shirt and dark slacks, his brown tweed jacket accented with elbow patches. As he surveyed the gallery, one student left. “All right. Today, we’re covering a subject mankind has pondered since the beginning of time. It may be the most valuable resource on our planet: human ingenuity and the act of creation.” Tom noticed alert faces and began the lecture with his graphics and bullet points in the PowerPoint.

DECLARATION OF INGENUITY AND CREATIVITY Creativity one: Creating family and children All of us have experienced the need to create and fulfill biological needs. These desires lure us every moment; some of us get these urges more often than others. All of us are products of family traditions and we habitually marry without giving it much thought. We marry because it’s the life path expected of most of us. The media usually portrays the family unit as a wholesome ideal, satisfying nature’s needs with little downside, but there are disadvantages. That downside is nurturing a family will demand great effort and time. The parents role in a new family will take a lifelong devotion and can easily remove the search of other undertakings. Before becoming parents, few of us consider the impact and drawbacks of making this choice. The lifestyle can look like enslavement. When unplanned Pregnancies occur; more problems come toward the parents. With unexpected pregnancies there will be unplanned conditions and increases in the financial struggle to support the child(s). A never ending need for money can force family members to work hard at any job just to support the day-to-day needs for food, shelter, and clothing. Some men are so busy working that they don’t have the time to enjoy their own families. Today, traditional marriage and family ideals are changing in order to provide alternative choices. The old model, where the male is the sole provider has lost momentum. And as proven by the growing addition of same-sex couples in the body of marriage more changes are on the way. There is a rising movement of men who are turning away from marriage as an ideal lifestyle. These men see few benefits in the marital relationship, and have chosen to reject it. “Okay, then.” Tom paused, looking at his audience and noting a few angry faces. “Raise your hand if you plan to have a family.” He recalled his father, who had worked two jobs to provide for Tom, his two sisters, and his mother. Tom took a refreshing breath, knowing he avoided that kind of bondage in his life. He gazed at the intent student audience, who clearly connected with the lecture material. Some of the students held up their hands and nodded. “Any questions so far?” A female student raised her hand and Tom pointed. He recognized Jennifer, an easygoing student who contributed often. “Haven’t men avoided marriage commitment for a long time? So is this new?” “Jennifer, in your life, do you see men avoiding marriage?” He placed one hand inside his coat

pocket. “Sure, but most of the men I know are pretty young and I wouldn’t expect them to want marriage yet.” Yes, that’s true. Usually men are not as directed towards marriage as women might be. Today there are growing numbers of men who want to go their own way in life. It is a new movement.” “Do they prefer men, or living alone?” Jennifer’s brows rose. “Do you see changes in women’s lifestyles?” Tom pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and gestured toward Jennifer. Jennifer thought for a moment. “I guess I see more independent women and single women raising children without a man.” “And men are changing, too,” Tom concluded. “But isn’t having a family the goal for all of us?” another student asked. “Men now say the marriage laws work against them.” Tom sensed stiffness in his neck and turned his head to one side to stretch the muscles and ligaments. One student turned to her neighbor and whispered, “What bullshit!” Tom heard the whisper, but chose to ignore it. “The point of this lecture is that there are goals beyond marriage. There are obstacles to climb, beyond the marriage mountain. We have loftier choices in front of us.” The hall went quiet. “Let’s continue.” He turned his attention to the PowerPoint and returned to the speech. Creativity two: Inventing a better tomorrow Our world expands because people continue to cross new frontiers. These people unshackle societal chains and pioneer dramatic changes, leading to new innovations. History is full of ingenuity in areas like electricity, steel, tunnels, railroads, medical cures, and skyscrapers; all visualized and built by people with pioneering spirits. These creative people claim it is a privilege to change our world into the world that is yet to come, and that it is emotionally gratifying. Not everyone invokes their creative capabilities, yet each of us possesses the ability. Today, in this lecture, you’ll learn how to invoke the ingenuity of your own creativity.

The Romans believed creative musings were spiritually inspired, and historically, creative feats were thought to come from heaven. In fact, Your own mind is the engine of invention and can be directed to create. Every one of us can create, given the ingredients of time and intention. The following step-by-step outline will allow your mind to create. STEPS TO CREATE: Step 1: Creation begins with wanting or intending something and taking time to work on it. First, determine to act or think in a certain way, and FOCUS your mind’s intention on a small part of thIS idea. Step 2: Purposely consider this small spark of an idea and let it increase in size and weight. Spend an interval of time dreaming and pondering, allowing the spark to collect more thoughts. With more time, the original idea will grow, like a snowball rolling down a snow-covered hill; it will accumulate volume. Let the brain act as if it is putting a puzzle together; assemble pieces of information. Let your mind conduct accretion, allowing bits of data to be pushed into place, creating a mind space for your idea. Step 3: Let this mind space, or location in your mind’s eye, examine memories and experiences; objects and situations. Allow these concepts time to churn around and TO attach to the original intention. Utilize more time and incorporate colors, shapes, and sounds, as well as the books you’ve read, the food you’ve tasted, and the clothes you’ve tried on. Everything within your lived experience will begin to appear alongside the idea. The mind space will fasten pieces of the puzzle together and gain mass. After allowing them to grow, let all these designs merge into a single entity. Step 4: Given still more time and intention, the mind will start to crave input. It will seek new information by reading, checking out, and testing fresh notions, as if they are objects being manipulated in the head. BY Questioning, probing, and examining, the mind will build upon what exists. Step 5: once The idea is fairly large, let the brain evaluate all information input. the brain will reject some, and WILL accept and enhance others. This assessment process takes over using judgment to differentiate solid ideas from weak ones. A flaky idea will fall away. The mind will discriminate, and a concrete concept will evolve. The original scratch of an idea will mature into a tangible concept. This is the process of all creation for mankind. I hope you will put it to good use. “Any questions?” Tom asked. “Are you saying people have to choose between two life paths, one of family or one of creative endeavor?”

“Are you trying to decide between these paths?” “I think I am, and I keep thinking about having children. It’s always been in me to want kids, so are you saying we should avoid making a family?” Not exactly, but I’m saying a creative role requires dedicated time.” “So we need to decide?” Tom knew that was true for him, so he always used condoms when having sex. No kids for him, he’d already decided. “That depends on the two people involved. It’s an individual choice, as well as decision to be made by both partners. A person who creates will need time from his or her partner. I have some quotes here, which support this claim.” “I know I want children one day, does that mean I can’t also help build our future?” “What future are you creating for yourself?” He asked. “Do you mean women are discriminated against?” “Yes, they are. Let me explain further, by looking deeper into famous quotes by people who helped create great things.” QUOTES FROM FAMOUS INVENTORS “The first requisite for success is to develop the ability to timely focus and apply your mental and physical energies to the problem at hand—without growing weary.” Thomas Edison “Work fills a large part of our life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking.” Steve Jobs “When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking.” Albert Einstein “The spread of civilization may be likened to a fire; First, a feeble spark, next a flickering flame, then a mighty blaze, ever increasing in speed and power.” Nikola Tesla ∞∞∞ Another hand shot into the air. “Yes,” Tom pointed to the student he recognized as Rinki Ortease. She had short, pink hair spiked

like a boy’s cut and was well-known on campus as a radical feminist. Tom knew she once started fires in campus trash cans as part of a protest she attended. “Why are all your examples about men?” Rinki questioned, her hands turned up in exasperation. “Good question. To the ladies in the room, I don’t want to offend you, but our history books are full of men who have created and built our civilization.” Sensing a twinge of heat inside his chest, he briefly closed his eyes and made a mental note to improve the lecture. “So where are the women in your examples?” Rinki jumped in. “Traditionally, men were the breadwinners and worked long hours to support the family, but some of these men, such as Isaac Newton and Nikola Tesla, never took on a wife and family.” He turned his torso away from the student, as if shielding his heart. “Were Isaac Newton and Nikola Tesla loners?” “Isn’t it true that each of us our doors and spend time alone in order to generate a paper or project?” Cords pulled in his neck, as he became keenly aware that he needed to balance and adjust the lecture. “What about Madame Curie? Aren’t you being a little misogynistic?” a student asked, scooting forward in her seat. His stomach looped while he explained. “In the past, women took care of the family. Also, traditionally, men did the heavy lifting on job sites. There are still few women performing jobs that require hard labor or health risks, such as working on oil rigs and mining coal.” “Not all women are that way!” Rinki’s short pink hair wobbled as she shook one arm. “That’s right,” a male voice chimed in. “What the hell,” someone murmured. “No, no, no, that’s not—not all women—no, I didn’t say or mean that,” Tom took one step back. He wrung his watch a half turn and patted his right coat pocket, feeling the weight of his key ring. A hand shot into the air, “Where are the women builders today?” “Yeah,” two other voices joined in. “Do you think there are any women working eight hundred feet below Manhattan, drilling a new freshwater tunnel? Are there women under the Bay Area right now, digging the new BART channels? Men have always been the heavy lifters when it comes to creating a great world!” Tom’s brain steamed, and for the first time he felt a deep hatred for the women of today, who lived off men’s labors. He paced in a tight circle.

“What the—?” Tom looked at the floor, to avoid making eye contact. His stance wavered. He saw the students’ blank faces and felt he’d let them down. “Are there any women here who are builders or hard laborers?” “Ohhh,” someone moaned. No one raised their hand. “There are loads of women writers! You sound like an ass!” Rinki tossed her hand with a downward thrust, as if tossing a ball. “I’m not saying women haven’t been there for our civilization, but men built America.” “If it weren’t for women, there’d be no men!” “You’re right, look—I’m saying if a woman spends time to create, she can be a great inventor, but often women prioritize relationships ahead of all else.” His posture stiffened and he rubbed his brow to lessen his growing headache. “That’s sexist bullshit!” He heard another whisper between friends. “Hold on a minute. Just stay with me.” His eyes tightened. He scrubbed one hand over his sweatbeaded forehead, and then flicked the projector off. “I’m not a woman hater,” he managed a grin, remembering all the hard labor his father had done to provide for Tom and the rest of the family. Dad worked on the Interstate Highway system as a cement laborer and helped to build the Interstate travel experience most people take for granted. God, he loved his dad. Tom paused, and carefully controlled his voice. “I’ll investigate and make some changes to this lecture. I’ll add more examples of women in history who helped to build our civilization. Thank you.” He hoped the tenure committee would never hear about today’s lecture trial run. He saw the official denial letter in his hands and felt a deep sinking in his stomach. The lecture had ended with a thud and a nagging need to change something in the script. While walking out of the hall, Betty waved and called, “Great lecture, Prof!” Tom waved back. He thought about changing the samples to include some women, if only to protect his shot at tenure, and to calm the students’ reaction. Walking past, another student stopped him. “Sorry, but I’m dropping your class.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” Tom said, knowing that as his Holy Grail of a tenure-track job neared review, a written complaint, or even just a rumor, would thwart the image, of the dedicated professor wreathed in outstanding achievements of true distinction that he wished to present to the department chair.

Tom’s heart was pounding. The response from the students rang inside his head and made his arms and legs shake. His body didn’t relax until he walked through the door to his Burlingame condo. As he lowered his butt onto his favorite soft chair, the phone rang. “Hello.” “Hi Tom, this is Shirley.” Her quiet voice warmed his chest. “Yes. I am back from a lecture, and—um, it didn’t go as I expected.” His tone was low. “One student called me a misogynist,” he sighed, leaning back in the chair. “I’m sorry about the lecture. You’ll fix things, sweetie,” she oozed. He scratched his forehead. “Some statements rubbed a few students the wrong way.” “Can you repair the lecture? Like, make it better?” Her voice signaled sweetness and support. “I’m already working on some changes here and there. How are you?” “I went to the second-hand store today and bought you a suit coat. It’s perfect for you to wear to work.” “You didn’t need to do that.” “It was a steal at forty dollars.” “Thank you Shirley I do like how you take of me like this.” “I’ll bring the coat over the next time I drop in but I wanted to know if Diana is going to Denver with you.” Shirley’s tone had become a little snobby. Tom pictured Diana as a child, back in Denver. Absorbed in play, she would scurry through the living room, crawling over and under the humongous overstuffed sofas. Inside the old, rambling house, the maze-like corridors and vestibules had provided cover during a few naughty games of doctor. Diana tied her long, brown hair into a ponytail and wore fake glasses poised on her long nose. She pretended to take Tom’s temperature, and gave him invisible injections of medical cures. “Yes, she is. I told you about this trip two days ago and you agreed that you’d stay here.” Tom said. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you spending time with that bitch.” Shirley barked. He rested an elbow on the chair arm and leaned his head on his palm. A memory flashed in his mind: his first sexual experience at the age of fifteen, with Diana. That was when they became sweethearts. “Why would you call Diana a bitch? She is a childhood friend of mine.” “I know, but she is a bitch, and a fat bitch at that!” Shirley’s voice pierced Tom’s ear.

“Why are you attacking her?” “I don’t like her.” “Why?” “She’s probably whore, too.” “You started this call sounding nice, but now you’re sounding mean. Can you settle down? Why are you being so mean?” “Oh Tom, I just hate her. You don’t know how hard this is for me. If everyone knew how you cheat on women, they would all know that misogynist comment is so true and hurtful.” Her syrupy voice filled with pretend pain. “Do you think I cheat all the time?” “I am sure you cheat, and I hate it.” “Shirley, you should read Release your Anger by Ronald Potter-Efron. Have you heard of that book? You might want to control your hatred for other women.” He rubbed his palmed face with one finger near his eye. “I don’t hate other women, I’m just—hurt,” she sniffled, as if she was about to cry. “Don’t start crying now.” “I hate women who you have sex,” her voice trembled with congestion. “Is that why you’re showing this jealousy and anger?” Tom calmly asked. “It’s because I love you!” Her voice grated through, clear and earnest, making Tom’s stomach contract. “We’ve been seeing each other for two months. How can that be love?” Tom lifted his head off his palm and stiffened his neck. “If you loved me, you’d stay away from that Diana.” “Shirley, please don’t make demands like that. You can’t use emotions to hold me hostage.” “What do you mean hostage?” “Don’t use love emotions in order to manipulate me.”

“Manipulate—huh?” “You know what you’re doing.” “I’m not holding you hostage or manipulating you. I want to be with you. I mean marriage.” Tom could hear that she was pouting, like a spoiled teenager. “I’ve never mentioned marriage to you.” “All men marry for happiness.” “You’re using love and marriage to make me act in a certain way. That’s holding me hostage. And it feels like you’re shaming me. Don’t you want more out of life?” “More? Any other man would do this for the woman he is dating,” her voice rasped. “So because other men do this, I should save you, too, like a knight on my white horse?” “That’s love.” “We’re not lovers. We aren’t exclusive, or officially boyfriend and girlfriend,” Tom’s back stiffened. “What the hell are we? I want more!” “We’re dating. Not to be selfish, but so far, I don’t see what marriage holds for me.” “But I want us to be the only two in your life. Who’ll take care of your home?” “Me. Or a housekeeper.” “But who will keep your life organized, and cook your meals?” “Me.” “Listen Shirley, to be honest… my salary isn’t enough to support a marriage. Where would we live?” “Well, I see… tell me then—has our time together been a nice habit?” she asked, with sugar spilled on the words. “There are other habits you could have, other than chasing this professor,” he laughed. “That’s not funny. My habit right now is to keep you from Diana the slut!” she shouted.

“Diana’s a great childhood friend. We’ve known each other a long time. Shirley, try reading some of Peggy Vaughan’s books. They could enlighten you.” His fondness for Shirley tickled up his spine and he enjoyed the feeling. He said nothing more, because he feared that if Shirley could sense his warmed-up feelings for her, it would make her think he loved her and was fully committed to her. “Diana’s trying to get between us. I want you to be with me all the time,” she whined. “You want to be with me all the time? Are you serious?” His brow arched. Although he sometimes grew tired of how Shirley made attempts to control him with shame and jealous demands, he liked her. “Yes. I deserve that, don’t I?” “Listen, Shirley, no one on earth spends all their time with another person.” His brows furrowed. “I deserve all my man’s attention. All of it!” Where’d you get that idea?” He scrubbed two fingers across his hair. “My mother. I guess I thought that was love?” Shirley’s voice sounded matter-of-fact. “Don’t you think we’d get sick of each another? And I wish you’d stop using the love word.” “God no, I could never—I love you and want to have your child,” her voice wormed bugs under Tom’s skin. “Oh brother, there you go again! You’re not having my child. I can’t afford children. I know I’m older, but you’re sounding like a one-year-old who needs her mother’s endless attention.” He flicked a piece of lint off his pant leg. “We’re having sex, right?” “Shirley, don’t confuse sex for love,” he paced in a three-foot-wide circle. “But you said you liked me, and I want you,” her voice sang. “Shirley, please—I’m sorry but we’re not even living together. Please don’t cling so much. I wish you’d find yourself in this life.” He exhaled and wished he’d never said he liked her, even though he’d grown closer to her. The question is whether I can convert some of her old fashioned ideas, he thought. I’m glad I never said I loved her, not even while fucking her. “I’ll take a flight out tomorrow so I can be with you,” her voice challenged. “Please don’t!”

“I—I deserve to be with you,” her voice splintered. “Seriously, you don’t know my family. It’s my dad’s funeral, so there’s no reason to join me.” Tom spoke in a soft but firm voice, and tugged at his shirt. “But you need me. This is why people call you a misogynist.” Shirley’s voice was shrill with jumping iterations. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the same feelings you’re talking about. I need to be with my mother now.” He widened his stance and his muscles relaxed. “Don’t be an ass. Aren’t I part of your family?” she raised her voice this time. “Shirley, I need to go now. I’ve no time for this. I’m going to grieve my father,” he took two steps forward and rubbed his thumb against his forefinger. “This isn’t love!” Her voice sent a pain inside Tom’s ear. “Didn’t I just ask you not to use the word love?” he said, like it was witty commentary. “But I really love you,” her voice squirmed. “Shirley, I want you to read a book titled The Ethical Slut,” he paced his voice, as if teaching a child not to touch the hot stove. “What for? I’m not a slut!” Her angry voice rattled Tom. “No, you’re not, it’s not that, but I’d like you to study different relationships available to us so we can discuss this again later,” his voice remained calm and logical. “I can come over and organize your office and kitchen while you’re away.” “I know you’re a professional organizer but I’m a professor and I like things messy.” “Well—” she stammered. “We have things to talk about. Later.” Tom brought his voice down. “Oh, okay then. I guess I can stay busy while you’re gone,” she said in an upbeat voice. “Sure you can, and we’ll talk when I return,” his voice was closing the discussion. “Okay, Tom! I can’t wait.” “All right. When I get back, things will be fine. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone.

Her innocence was pulling at his heart. He left a message for the Dean before shuffling into his bedroom and climbing into bed. Enveloped in pillows, he wished for a long sleep. His mind spun back to the day Cody, his collie, gave birth to seven young pups. They were so small and had their eyes closed. The tiny squealing sounds they made had lifted Tom’s heart. His dad reached into the little box where the pups lay and pulled them, one at a time, from their whimpering, angry mom. Each time Dad’s hand neared another helpless puppy; Cody lowered her head, showed her teeth, growled and cringed in terror. Tom winced inwardly as Cody uttered long, quiet moans and shivered. One at a time, Dad dropped the wiggling pups into a paper bag, and took Tom with him to the South Platte River Bridge. Dad dropped the bag over the side of the bridge and drowned the newborns. “We can’t afford feeding any more dogs, son, I’m sorry.” Tears came to Tom’s sleepy eyes. The rest of his night was quiet until the early foggy air woke him. That morning, Tom and Diana flew to Denver and grabbed a rental car. Raindrops pelted the windshield as Diana drove to their old neighborhood. Sure is colder here in Denver than at home near San Francisco. Tom winced as he felt Diana squeeze his palm. “Tom, I’m sorry, but we have to hurry. Everyone else is probably already at your mother’s house.” “I feel so sick about this. My stomach is twisted in a knot.” Tom rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I know your father loved you,” she said, leaning over and placing a hand on his shoulder. Tom lowered his head and felt his stomach roll, “I think he did. And I loved him.” “You were his little boy.” “I was just daydreaming about how I wanted to be just like him.” Tears welled. “When I’m with you I feel free to express my emotions.” “You’ve done well. I’m sure he was proud of you. I mean look, you’re a professor at the University of San Francisco.” She lifted one palm up and placed it back on the wheel. “I know. I’m the cool professor,” he made slow air quotes. “You’ve grown into your career. And you’re popular with the young students, both boys and girls.” “Oh sure, I’m always getting into trouble with the freshmen,” he shook his head. “I’m sure if you dad was here he would be impressed. If he could only see you now,” her eyes opened wide.

“Yes, I miss him, too.” Tom’s head sunk and shoulders curved. “I wish he had told me he was proud of what I’d become.” His chest weighted inwards. He gazed out the window and saw the old Dairy Queen where he would buy cones and shakes. He always walked by himself unless Diana was around to join him. “Remember going to the DQ?” Memories shuttled in and out causing fogged over thoughts. “Yes, that was fun. We’ll be there soon,” Diana whispered. “He’d be honored to see me get tenure. Dad is going to miss the biggest moment of my career. You know, I had it all planned out. I was going to take him deer hunting. We’d be resting at the top of a hill, with cups of coffee from the Thermos he always carried along on these excursions, and I’d surprise him with the tenure. I could picture the grin on his face—” Tom’s gut dropped and the dream vanished into dead space. He placed a hand on his stomach, realizing that day would never happen. “You’re gonna be all right, aren’t you?” “Sure. Thanks for helping and understanding, as you always have.” The inside of his chest felt hollow. “I’ll get us there safely, okay?” “I had plans for my dad and me. Now I’ll never—” his voice trailed off. “I know, I know,” Diana’s voice soothed. His cell phone vibrated, interrupting his thoughts. He reached into his pants pocket and snuck a peek. “Oh, Shirley’s calling.” “Have you had a chance to tell her yet?” Diana raised her chin, and turned the wheel. “I really like her, but right now she’s getting so deep. I try to explain… we’ll talk soon, maybe sometime next week.” Tom frowned, pursed his lips, and rejected the call. The phone went quiet. “She still wants to move in with you?” Diana took a quick glimpse at Tom. “And more than that. I like her homespun ways. And I’m falling for her, too.” He frowned. “Falling in love? You?” Diana laughed. “Well… not love,” he shrugged. “She’ll be disappointed,” Diana scrunched her brows and looked down the roadway. “But she might be able to move through these feelings, like my mom, who ignored my dad’s disappearances.” Tom knew about his father’s hour-long visits to East Colfax Avenue, the

streetwalker section of Denver. Tom had visited the seedy area once himself. “She might mature, but right now she’s clinging, like she’s reaching for a life preserver,” Diana said, tapping a finger on the wheel. They came upon two trampled acres at Club Circle, on the seedy south side of Denver, and pulled up to the curb. “There it is the same old beat-down place. Only the trees are a little taller.” Memories of his childhood came flooding back. He remembered his dad coming home from long days working outdoors, with thick dirt and cement crud caked on his boots. Dad worked so hard. The overcast sky added to the gloom sinking in Tom’s gut. His mother, Helen, was standing at attention at the front door. As the couple approached her, Helen extended a wraithlike hand to Diana before swooping upon Tom. “Oh, I see you imposed upon Diana to bring you along.” Tom’s single status was a constant sore subject between them. “Hi Mom, yes. Diana came along,” Tom’s voice cracked as he accepted a welcoming hug from Helen. “Tom, honey… welcome.” Her whole-hearted hug squeezed a few tears out of his wet eyes. “I wish I’d visited more often,” he managed, with an ache in the back of his throat. “Son, I’m so happy you made it,” Helen patted his back. “So good to see you again. How are you doing, Mom?” He buried his face in her shoulder, feeling like a young boy being nurtured for the moment. “I’m okay. Your dad was the love of my life. I miss him.” The embrace ended and she lifted a hankie to her nose. “I miss him, too. He made me what I am today,” Tom’s voice hitched as he shook. “You look so much like him. So handsome. You’ll make someone very happy someday.” Helen’s eyes glistened with tears. “I hope I made him proud.” Tom looked forward into the house, almost without seeing, and wished time would speed up. “Oh, of course, you sure did. He talked about you all the time to his friends,” Helen wrapped her arm around his shoulder and embraced twice.

“Thanks. I know, Mom,” he sniffled, feeling alone in the moment. “Tom I’ll be fine. It’ll take time.” His mom looked down. “Look at me I’m middle-aged, and crying like a nine-year-old.” He lifted his mom’s head up with a finger under her chin. “You’re crying because you miss your father,” her lips pursed. “I do miss him. I’ll be okay, too,” he rubbed his nose. “Well, tell me—are you working on grandkids for me?” “Oh, Mother.” He considered telling her about Shirley and how he liked her. Then he decided against it. “You know I’m not going for that, I have higher goals in mind.” “There’s nothing higher than family and God.” “Yes, Mom. You’ve always said that. I need to spend a lot of time of my work and projects. That makes it hard to be married.” Tom patted her forearm. “You know, I let your dad wander once in a while. I didn’t mind.” Her head moved left and right, and a big smile appeared. “You mean his cheating? Why’s that?” “Like you just said, there are bigger things to worry about. He always dreamed of doing big things. I think the family held him back, you know. We never had much extra money.” She looked at her feet for a moment. “I understand, Mom. He needed an outlet.” “Most women pretend everything is perfect at home, because it makes their friend’s pea-soup green with envy.” Helen laughed. “Ah yes, the fable of monogamy, protect and pretend,” Diana said. “Monogamy sucks.” Helen boomed a fun laugh. “And it was just once in a while and not a big deal. Son, I always hoped you’d do something great. Come in, everyone is here.” Helen slipped her arm through his and led him inside. Diana followed. After the short gathering and sermon, Tom twisted his wristwatch a half-turn and patted his coat pocket. The crowd grew thin, the Reverend’s departure having signaled the all-clear. He grabbed Helen for a long, warm, goodbye hug. “I love you, Mom.”

Tom quietly mingled with old family and friends. Even when he recognized a name, he simply embraced. He loved the feeling of others who knew and loved his dad. After he met and embraced everyone, twenty minutes had ticked by and his body weighed down with fatigue. “Are you ready to go, Diana? I’ve booked a suite at the Four Seasons.” “Yes, let’s go.” Driving towards the hotel, Tom felt his spirit drop. The rush and hurry of the past two days came to a holding pattern at thirty thousand feet. No thoughts, just grey-clouded dreams, wavered in and out of Tom’s entire body and mind as Diana drove, parked, and signed the couple into the hotel. “What a relief, but I’m spent,” Tom said, flopping onto the bed. “Have a drink.” Diana grabbed a mini-bottle of wine from the room fridge. She opened the bottle and poured some wine into a plastic cup. “Drink to hide the pain,” he said and smiled. “I know, old friend.” Diana pressed close. “I’m exhausted.” He put an arm around Diana and exhaled, letting his chest ease. He swallowed a gulp of wine. “It’s been a long day, let me help you relax.” She moved her hands to his shoulders and slowly caressed his muscles, working into the deep tissue to erase the day’s pain. He lay on his back. She hung over him as he nibbled at her mouth, toying with the waistband of her shorts. His eyes closed and a tear squeezed from the lids. He let all the agony escape with each admiring movement Diana made. Tom groaned. Diana let her hands slide down over his broad chest, her fingers mapping the planes of his muscles all the way to the clasp of his pants. She opened them and reached inside. Her mouth nipped along his neckline. She sat atop him, rocking gently. Soon they melted together, sharing climactic waves before drifting off to sleep. After spending a few days helping Helen navigate the painful process of clearing out her husband’s belongings, Tom and Diana headed back to San Francisco. Before they landed at SFO, Tom woke from a nap and gazed out the window in time to catch a view of the city he loved. The tall pyramid building and hazed over Golden Gate sent warmness in his chest. As he and Diana retrieved their luggage at baggage claim, Tom’s guilt-laden feelings surfaced. Determined to resume his normal life, he steered his thoughts away from the evening spent with Diana. “Hi!” Shirley waved and stepped quickly toward Tom.

“Hello, Shirley,” he said, throwing his arms open to hug her. “Oh hi, Diana.” Shirley scanned Diana critically. “So did you share a hotel room with my boyfriend?” Her nose wrinkled. “Er—well, as a matter of fact, I did.” Diana shrugged and looked at Tom. “What the hell!” Shirley frowned and her chin trembled. Her tearing eyes attacked Tom like black bullets. “Listen a minute, Shirley, don’t be angry. You know professors don’t make a lot of money. We both need to save, so we shared the costs.” His hand moved forward, palm toward her shoulder. “So you did hook up with that slut?” Shirley nodded towards Diana with a pinched expression. “Slut?” Diana quipped. “You’re a very attractive girl, but your attitude stinks.” “Shirley, I hope you read the books I mentioned last week.” Tom paused to look deep into Shirley’s eyes. He hoped to see changes, but saw none yet. “I was too sick thinking of you to read anything,” she swiped her hand aside and her muscles tightened. “You should do what the teacher asks,” Diana rubbed one finger over her other, pointing at Shirley. “I’m not talking to you!” Shirley jutted her chin, clenching her teeth and slanted her body away from Diana. “That’s exactly why I asked you to read them. They’ll help you to feel better,” Tom flipped his wrist, gave his watch a half-turn, and tapped the right-hand pocket of his coat. “About what? I’m a good religious girl.” Shirley put a hand on her hip. “Feel better about us. I’ll tell you how corrupt and wicked your religious heroes were some other time,” he placed his palm on his heart. “Wicked? What?” “You know, so we can get along better and grow. We can talk about the Bible’s polygamists later.” His fondness for her was written all over his face. “Well, okay, but if I find out that you cheated on me, I’ll be going to your funeral!” Shirley wagged a finger. “Let’s get going. I’m tired. I’ll see you soon, Diana,” Tom said. He and Shirley headed towards the parking area and Diana went her own way.

After fifteen minutes they neared Tom’s condo. Weary, and not up for heavy lifting, Tom dropped Shirley off at her apartment. Within two days, Tom and Shirley had fallen back into their routine. Tom continued honing his craft to perfection, preparing lectures, working on curriculum development, and writing scholarly articles. A few nights a week Shirley dropped in. Tonight she prepared rib eye steaks and asparagus. Tonight Tom was pushing to finish his latest article. Shirley entered his study sizzling steak on a plate and utensils in hand. “Thank you Shirley. I appreciate this. Have a seat and eat with me.” “Sure,” she brought her plate and placed in on a TV tray. Tom and Shirley ate quietly a few moments. “This is good,” Tom said. “You’ve been distant again lately,” she easily moved her plate near. “I’m working on this NCA article. It’s going to publication in two weeks.” Tom adjusted his wristwatch and went back to work. “You’re so busy.” He looked up at her. “I’m going to finish this up, okay?” “Okay. Mind if I sit here and eat a bit and watch?” “Sure, but I’ve got to get this done,” he pushed the last of his steak into his mouth and pushed a few papers aside and resumed clicking away at the keyboard. Five minutes of eating passed before Shirley spoke up again, “Is that the article for Text and Performance?” “Yes it is. Listen, I can’t concentrate with you sitting there,” Tom smiled and winked. “How about you take some time by yourself?” Shirley finished eating and thought for a moment, “Well, okay, but first can I ask you something?” “Okay, shoot, but make it quick.” “I heard a rumor while you were out of town—” “I’m a professor; there’ll always be rumors about me.” He laughed.

“Well, are you seeing someone in your class?” She pulled her arms around her chest. Her cheeks puffed and sagged. “Shirley, I don’t have time for one of those long woman talks right now,” he glanced at her. “I heard you’re having an affair with a student bitch!” Shirley glared at Tom. He felt the heat of her gaze. “Well, that’s a serious accusation. You know I’m up for tenure any day now and I don’t want rumors screwing that up.” “So if I start a rumor, you’ll stop cheating?” “We should talk later. I wouldn’t say I’m cheating. I’m open.” “No, you commit to me or I’ll spread rumors. You’ll never be respected again,” she pointed a finger. “Now you’re sounding vindictive.” “I went to Bible school when I was ten and learned cheating isn’t the Christian thing, is it?” “Don’t talk to me about religion. It takes more than Bible school to understand religion.” “Why? Because you know that cheating’s a sin?” “But you must realize according to the Bible we’re cheating too?” “Hell no.” “Hell yes. Look, I’d rather not talk now,” he said, hitting the Enter key with a hard clack. “I’m gonna tell!” “I don’t want rumors raging while my tenure is under review. I have no idea what the review team might think, okay?” He crumpled a paper in one hand and tossed it into the wastebasket. “If you really like me, you’ll stop cheating.” “Are you trying to change my behavior by threats of extortion?” “Well—yes!” “Extorting someone isn’t the way to have a friendship or relationship! You should feel ashamed.” “But I am, Tom, I’m blackmailing you,” she laughed.

“That’s not going to work,” he smiled. “What if everyone on campus thought you were a fucking whore?” “Whore-men on campus only become popular. Okay, listen. I’ve got just a little bit more work to do. Let me finish, and then we can talk about this. Let’s go to a show in San Francisco on Friday.” “So you do like me?” “Come on, Shirl,” he said, putting his head in his palm. “I won’t talk about your other friends.” She sucked in her cheeks. “Good.” “Let me clean these dishes and I guess I’ll go home. See you soon?” “Sure, hon. we can talk next week, after the show.” After a five-minute cleaning spree in the kitchen, Shirley left. Tom heard the front door close. He put the finishing touches on his article, backed up his file to the Cloud, and shut down the computer. He closed the door to his study, and poured himself a drink. Tom slept fitfully, confronted with images of standing in front of an altar with Diana, who was dressed in white. Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” wafted through background in distorted chords. In the center aisle stood Shirley. Tom wore a sparkling watch and a golden wedding band. Diana mumbled unintelligible words and waved a big Bible before them. Tom pulled one arm to his chest, curling it fetal style. His ring finger’s skin disintegrated, revealing the bones. The ring slipped off and tumbled to the dark floor with a clink. He jolted awake in a cold sweat. It was Friday night in the heart of San Francisco’s North Beach District. Tom and Shirley clapped and sang along with the Beach Blanket Babylon show in the Club Fugazi Theater, their hearts pumping in time with the hysterical pop parodies. After the show, they walked hand-in-hand, skipping and humming. They were heading toward the popular Café Sport on Green Street for an après-theater feast. “Come on now, and shake a little bit higher now… shake… a little bit louder now…” They sang the final song together, humming the words they didn’t know. As they waited for the traffic lights to change, Tom remembered Betty. How exotic her long thin legs looked and how smooth her skin felt. Feeling stirrings in his groin, he gripped Shirley’s hand. Arriving at the café, they encountered a long line. Tom grinned and said, “Reservation for two. The name is Tom Peterson.” “You’ve thought of everything,” Shirley said, beaming.

“Yes.” Tom looked at his watch. An efficient waiter helped the couple navigate the crowded restaurant. They were nearing their table. Cramped, kooky ornaments jammed their surroundings from floor to ceiling. A cacophony of mixed conversation completed the eclectic atmosphere. Menus appeared in front of both Tom and Shirley before they were seated. Walking in silence between them, Tom looked at his watch, Shirley at the chattering crowd. They were soon interrupted. “Sit!” the waiter briskly motioned, attracting the couple’s attention. Nearby diners chuckled. “What do you want to eat?” “I don’t know yet,” Shirley had barely looked at the menu. She had been busy people-watching. “That’s kinda rude, don’t you think?” Shirley gave the waiter a mean look and the people sitting nearby looked up and snickered. Shirley frowned at Tom. “Aw, it’s all good and have a great meal,” the waiter said. “Two glasses of Cabernet please,” Tom ordered. “Hon, this place is known for its rudeness. It’s part of the charm.” He pulled her chair a bit closer to him. “Okay, I see. I like it, I guess,” Shirley gave a smile of slight embarrassment. “I come here sometimes. The atmosphere sort of takes you back to the gold rush days,” Tom scratched his knee with unease. He wondered how to broach the topic that was on his mind. The couple pored over their menus. The waiter returned with the wine. Tom recommended pasta, and Shirley took him up on his suggestion. Tom appreciated her agreeable radiance. “Good suggestion, Tom,” she said, blushing. Tom placed one hand on top of Shirley’s. His stomach constricted as he wondered how she would respond to the conversation. The gesture caught the attention of some of the other diners, who smiled at the couple. This was not lost on Shirley, who smiled back. “Well, I received some good news today. I got my certificate of tenure!” Tom caressed Shirley’s hand. A nearby couple stole a glance at them. “So I can’t blackmail you anymore?” Shirley smiled. Tom laughed. “I’m really pleased about this. I’ve been working towards this notice for a long time.

It’s been a big life goal.” “I know. I’m happy for you. Congratulations, Tom.” She made a small head bow. “You know, I think I worried too much about the tenure review team. USF is a liberal place.” Tom sipped his wine. He placed his glass back on the table and tucked his napkin into the neck of his shirt. “It must be, if they elected you.” She laughed. “And get this—they want me to do my monogamy lectures at a couple other campuses.” His belly did an excited flip. “All good news.” Her face was stone and her body rigid. “Thank you.” Tom glanced at his watch, wishing to twist it a half-turn. He scanned the crowded room before staring into her eyes. “Shirley, can I ask you a question?” he whispered, his hand tapping the top of hers. “Sure. This isn’t a proposal is it?” Her elevated voice attracted the attention of the lady at the next table. Shelly let out a silly giggle. Oh my God, thought Tom. He leaned forward and whispered, “You know we’re not ready for that.” “Not ready?” The food arrived, giving Tom a chance to catch his breath. “Um, yes I know, but first I wanted to know if you knew anything about open relationships?” “No, not really,” Shirley pulled her hand back and forked lettuce into her mouth. “Okay, then. Should I explain?” Tom drew his head closer to hers. “Sure, I’m always interested in learning from you,” Shirley sipped her wine and smiled. “An open relationship is one of love, and in this love relationship, there’s an open-ended situation. Each person has freedom.” He held her gaze. Shirley dropped her attention to her plate, taking small bites and chewing thoughtfully. After a long minute she moved her gaze across the table toward Tom. “What do you mean, open-ended? I don’t think I like the sound of that.” She straightened her back and looked at the other diners, as if for help. “It’ll be okay. Between us, it’s not a bad idea.” Tom fiddled with his fork. “I hope it’s not a bad idea.” Shirley’s expression changed into one that Tom had never seen before. “You know, open relationships allow sexual adventures outside the primary couple.” He downed a

big gulp of wine. “Sounds like adultery, a bad idea.” Shirley dropped her fork-bearing hand onto the table and crossed her legs more tightly. “Well—” Tom stammered, feeling the stares of the other restaurant-goers. “But you know this hurts me.” “Shirley, I never said I’d be exclusive. And I never asked you to be loyal.” Tom finished his pasta. “That makes me sick.” “There are a lot of people who manage open relationships these days too. Some come back and share their experiences with their lover.” He took a luxuriant breath. It gave him pleasure even just to talk about this form of intimacy. “Is this some kind of shit just so you can cheat?” Shirley wagged her finger and raised her voice. The people at neighboring tables put their heads down and looked at their plates. Shirley’s fork fell to the table with a clank. “It’s not cheating if both parties agree on the rules.” Tom’s gut stilled and he plastered a goofy expression on his face. “I’m upset because we can’t be together.” “Exactly, that’s what I mean. You expect something that’s impossible to fulfill,” he winked. “I thought you said I’m supposed to have goals,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “Yes, goals are good.” “I want you for a goal!” Their neighbors smiled to themselves with gushing sentimentality. “And I always say that I don’t want that. You should look for a higher goal.” “Higher goal?” Her brows lifted. She gulped water from her glass. “I know I do. Maybe it’s only men who yearn for freedom and adventure,” he said, shrugging. “What an ass! So you betray me in the process of some lofty pursuit?” Her face was like a lioness ready to pounce. “You shouldn’t want things you can’t have. Like me,” his thumb drew towards his chest.

“Fuck you.” “Can’t you be nice?” Tom leaned in and used a soft voice. “So I’m a bitch?” Shirley scoffed, tossing a piece of bread in his face. Tom flinched and looked around. “We’re just working a few things out,” he said to the nearby diners, who laughed shyly. “Shirl, I’ve been asking you to read a few things to help us.” “I think you’re just getting all academic and saying this because you want me to let you have more women! You’re a big fucking cheat!’ Her face screwed up unattractively, and heavy lines appeared around her mouth and eyes. “Are you telling me that out of the billions of people in the world, I’m the only one for you? We talked about that! That’s a myth. It’s a fairy tale. It’s not real life. You can’t own another person. I’m not a possession!” “What the hell?” “Don’t be foolish.” “We can set rules like don’t put your dick in another woman’s pussy!” She swallowed water with a big gulp. The neighboring couple looked the other way. “Quiet,” someone whispered. “No, the rules are like vows.” Tom lowered his voice. “They’re promises people make to each other.” “Bullshit,” she pounded a fist onto the table. People glanced in their direction. “This is our rule. You can’t cheat.” Her face cracked with deep ridges. “Can’t you try?” he said, reaching an open hand on the table. “Hell no!” She took a butter knife and jabbed at his palm. “Ouch!” “Try to hush now,” the waiter put his finger to his lips. “You might learn to love being in an open relationship.” “No, its creepy and it can’t be very loving,” her voice stung. “This is for all the men who love to fuck around!” She reached across and slapped him, and then pushed away from the table.

People watched, whispering to each other. “Please I’m just trying to talk about this,” he smoothed his palm along his reddened cheek. “You want to fuck other women!” The people near them went silent as she stood up. “Well, yes… to put it crudely.” “Is this what you want?” she yelled. “I think its bullshit!” She brushed her skirt down, grabbed her water glass and smashed it on the floor. The other diners responded by flinching and making loud oohs and ahhs. “Calm down!” someone yelled. Shirley stomped towards the door. “Shirley, wait what are you doing?” Tom stood up. “I’m going home!” she huffed, and pushed her way through the doors. “I can drive you, hold up a minute,” Tom threw some cash onto their table. His face reddened as he followed on her heels. “I’m… so sorry, everyone,” he turned and said to the blur of featureless faces. He caught up with her outside on the sidewalk. “Let’s talk. What do you want?” Tom clamored. “One man for one woman!” Her nostrils flared as she swept a hand in the air with one finger extended. “I can’t afford a married lifestyle.” “Marriage is good for us.” “Sure, but did you know that’s a myth? This is why I hoped you’d pick up something written by Peggy Vaughan. She wrote the very famous book Monogamy is a Myth.” “What the hell d’ya mean, a myth?” She pushed her head forward and raised both eyebrows, talking in a controlled but loud tone. At that moment, Tom thought her nose looked like a pig’s ugly snout. She turned and paced towards the parking lot. “A myth, according to Webster’s, is a legendary story, usually concerning an event, without a determinable basis of fact.” Both reached the car at the same time and got in. “Who cares about Webster’s? So you’d cheat after marriage!” Shirley’s face scrunched and she

seemed as if she was about to cry. She breathed noisily, like a baby skunk. “Or you might. Women cheat, too.” Tom started the car. “Not me. I’m faithful!” “Can we stop arguing about this? There’s something more for you in this life. There’s something beyond marriage. There are other ways in which you can contribute to society, other than having a family.” “I’m no Einstein. I want to be in a faithful marriage and have kids. That’s all! Take me home.” She tightened her eyes. “We’ll be home in three minutes.” Minutes passed. “You’ve ruined my life!” Shirley huffed. Her face scrunched in a manner that Tom found hard to look at. “Come on, your life is not over or ruined.” “I just don’t agree. I want marriage,” Shirley finally concluded, her face reddening. “No, we don’t agree about that subject.” Shirley squirmed in her seat. “I can’t stand wondering anymore. Who are you fucking?” “You don’t know her.” “Shit!” Shirley swallowed hard. “Who is she?” “Her name is Betty. She’s a ladyboy,” he held his chin high. “What the fuck are you saying?” She recoiled and pulled her arms close to her body. “A man who is a lady, you know—a transsexual.” He looked straight ahead and held his head high. “Oh God, a Tran—lady—what?” Shirley’s eyes blazed with hatred and disgust. She shuddered, covering her mouth. “Betty was born as a man.” “But how do two men— . . . what?” Shirley gaped at him. “Are you asking how she has sex?” “What the hell? Yes! Yuk!”

“She’s still pre-op, so it’s anal. You know—in the ass,” he said, with a playful grin. “Ohhhh, stop, I can’t hear that. I want to vomit.” She coughed and put two fingers in her ears. “Don’t get ill or crazy. Betty’s a sweet and wonderful person, and she’s very scholarly.” “He, she—But how could you do this to me?” she cried. “I’m not doing anything to you.” “You cheated with a—” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Don’t cry,” Tom said, pulling the car to a stop at her front door. “If I ever see Diana or Betty, I’ll kill both of them. I hate you!” “It’s best we say goodbye. I’ve tried to be good to you, but I see I’d never be able make you happy.” Tom stepped out of the car. He went around and opened her door. “No, I don’t think you can give me what I want! See ya!” Tom opened his arms for a departing embrace. “Fuck you! Stay away from me. I never want to touch you,” Shirley sneered. “You’re a sex freak!” She lurched back and quickly left. “Okay,” Tom said, as she stormed towards her apartment door. Tom glanced at his watch, gave it a half-twist, tapped his pocket, and got back in the car. As he headed home, relief washed through him, caressing every muscle and limb. When Tom was inside his home, he sagged into a chair and took a deep breath. Before too long, he fell asleep. Tom dreamed he was hunting deer with his father. They walked through snow up and down hills until they came to a rest on one cozy hill. Dad blew steam out of his mouth. “What a great day for hunting,” he placed his hunting rifle aside and Cody came trotting into view. She panted, stretched, and lowered herself to the snowy ground at their feet. Tom pulled out cups and dad filled them with steaming coffee. After a sip, Tom brought out his tenure certificate to show his dad. He smiled wide, placing it under Dad’s nose. “Son, you damn well did it!” Dad’s eyes watered up as he looked into Tom’s. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve made me a proud father.” Tears came to Tom’s eyes. “I love you, Dad.”

Within weeks of the breakup with Shirley, Tom moved on with his life and started dating again. Tom’s happiness is borne of freedom, much like that of an unleashed dog that is free to run in the park, going wherever he wants and sniffing anything that captures his interest. His new girlfriend prefers open relationships, too. He travels along his own life path, and has found it best to engage in an early conversation about open relationships when he meets potential partners. ∞∞∞

Today Professionally, Tom still works as a University professor. He Drew upon his twenty years of experience as a researcher and lecturer on male sexuality, he wrote and published a book titled; A Man’s Guide to Cheating and Marriage. Tom’s success gleaned from this book encouraged him to delve into the unknown portions of social unrest, where another need intrigued him. Tackling an entirely new industry, he began to search for ways to modernize the electrical grid infrastructure. Tom holed himself up at his desk, leaving the house only to attend lectures and updates on the project. He focused his creativity on solving the potential serious damage caused by terror attacks or infrequent solar storms and electromagnetic pulse (EMP) outbreaks. He studied all the latest technologies that might be used in new above and belowground grid conduits. He saw that the act of saving our electrical grid would require many labor efforts, mostly by men. He prepared plans to add innovative protective barriers, including redundancy plans should one part of a grid go down He also documented newly invented wide gap semi-conductors that reduce heat and improve energy production. He created slide shows and budgets. Tom is coordinating his plans and presentations with a Senator in Sacramento and pitched financing to big utility companies, large private lenders and government funded super project. He expects the Pentagon will find interest in the plan and provide resources. “I have three presentations so far with very detailed labor and cost plans,” he said while talking on the phone to the Senator. “Do you have a ten minute brief presentation that you can show me and eight others that are forming a committee? The Senator asked. “I sure do. I have one that shows the cost savings and social importance of the project and how many men we can put to work with the project.” “Good, I have an hour set aside here in Sacramento next Friday at ten am.” The Senator said. “I also have a long list of innovative technologies and building techniques that can be used in this project.” “It sounds you’ve done plenty of legwork for us. I’m looking forward to Friday.” “I can be there.” They ended the phone call and Tom flopped himself into his soft chair feeling incredible about

living by his own credo. As he always told his students, he is now achieving something far beyond basic marriage and is fulfilling his potential. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men Being monogamous is not natural for humans.ccvii ccviii ccix ccx 50%-80% of marriages are not monogamous.ccxi ccxii ccxiii Marital monogamy is a myth. ccxiv ccxv Men’s natural-born adventure is killed by monogamy. ccxvi ccxvii Monogamy kills men’s sex drive and marriage. ccxviii ccxix Only 3% of the 5,000 species are monogamous for life.ccxx Monogamy is a great objective for some, but is hardly attainable.ccxxi Abraham, David, Solomon, and Moses had many wives.ccxxii ccxxiii Famous men like George Washington were not monogamous.ccxxiv Many Hollywood stars follow Liz Taylor’s have serial marriages.ccxxv Many leaders like Genghis Khan and Julius Caesar had many wives.ccxxvi Men: Never tell a woman you love her, if you don’t. Men love sex.ccxxvii Managing expectations results in more happiness. ccxxviii Most women want men to be true to only them and be secure.ccxxix ccxxx ccxxxi Most women want male loyalty but are not loyal themselves. ccxxxii ccxxxiii ccxxxiv Monogamy will not make us happy.ccxxxv ccxxxvi Men created and built our daily comforts and technologies.ccxxxvii ccxxxviii Women earn less than men for the same work is a falsehood. ccxxxix ccxl Jealousy can be managed. ccxli ccxlii

Chapter 11 Lady Derringer’s Sex Cecilia Barnes, man-eating lioness, was coiled on her haunches and ready to pounce on her unsuspecting victim. Watching his eyes dart about the grand ballroom, and listening to his uneasy laughter, she sensed he fulfilled the very definition of man. His innocent demeanor and handsome visage intensified her craving to find the only thing lacking in her life—a man. But not just any man. Cecilia, like many women, needed a man she could possess and dominate. Waiting in an upstairs corner at the country club’s 2011 Annual Prospero’s Masquerade Ball, Cecilia decided to follow Lady Derringer’s advice. For the moment, the secrets conjured by this illustrious name remained in her mind, where Lady Derringer would insist that these horrors belonged. Over and over again, Cecilia struggled to quiet those memories, in the hopes that eventually they would be forever silenced. But for now, they incessantly haunted her. Unlike Cecilia’s mother, these memories were impervious to murder. From the mezzanine, she gazed down at her nerd of a man. She noticed he was fidgeting. Unprotected, he lingered by the punch bowl, the only person not in costume. Or perhaps he was in costume, an extremely subtle one. In his olive suit, orange-and-brown-striped shirt, and cockeyed, green bowtie, perhaps he was impersonating a nerd. But his body movements betrayed too much genuine awkwardness for it to be an act. She wondered whether she was going to win the costume competition again this year. Two weeks ago, under telephone directions from Lady Derringer, Cecilia had bought a $79.95 copy of Miss Derringer’s famous costume, the Saloon Madame, as seen in all those seductive advertisements in Playboy, Esquire, and Women’s Home Companion. The bustier pushed her breasts up inside her green velvet dress, and her cleavage was emphasized by the pendant choker. She wore the cowgirl hat—complete with a violet feather—tilted down, shading her eyes and hiding her evil intent. Her grandmother’s tiny, double-barrel Derringer was tucked into a holster that hung low on her hips. To finish the look, she wore fishnet stockings and black leather boots. Peering down, she noticed the dancing crowd had thinned out. Her heart beat faster as the music faded to a quiet hum in the background. The night grew late. Cecilia upended her fifth glass of spiked punch, and lifted her skirt to reveal the tempting garter underneath. She flounced, like a cancan dancer, down the winding stairway’s red carpet and approached her prey head-on. They locked eyes before she’d made it halfway down the steps. When she reached the punch bowl, the young man adjusted his bowtie nervously. “The name’s Ruby Labia.” She un-holstered her Derringer and used it to tip up her hat, allowing

her glamorous, green eyes to glint at her prey. “Huh?” Nerd-guy’s brows rose, as if in shock. “I said, my name is Ruby Labia,” she said, holstering her weapon. Nerd-face’s eyes widened in response, he took a step back, sliding sideways behind the table. “Would you like a drink? Can I serve you?” He dipped the ladle into the bowl of pink punch. “You can, and you will.” Cecilia placed her hands on her hips. “Beg your pardon?” He leaned back an inch. Cecilia concluded that this cutie was a timid mouse-man, one of those who had been badgered, hounded, pestered, and destroyed in high school for their awkwardness or super-nerdy looks; a perfect patsy. “Have you ever been indiscreet?” She flashed a smile as she looked him slowly up and down. “Indiscreet? I—I’m not sure what you mean.” His young face drained of color. He swallowed, and clunked the ladle around the punchbowl. “Let me give you an example.” She put her tiny hands on the table between them and leaned toward him. Her breasts were in full view. “Take me to your place, and fuck my brains out. Oh, and don’t call me in the morning.” Her voice sounded smooth and steady. “I doubt my mother would like that,” he said, buttoning his jacket and looking away. “You still live with your mother?” Her voice was deadpan. She leaned forward against the punchbowl and put her hands on it, rubbing her vagina alongside it, in a subtle way that only he could see. “No.” The man chewed his lip and averted his gaze. “No?” she said. “Well, yes. But it’s because she’s sick, not because I’m, uh—” “A mama’s boy?” Cecilia tiptoed around the punchbowl and stood beside him. “A real nerd? Someone who can’t afford his own place?” “Hey, now…” “Did you tell me your name?” She leaned closer.

“I’m Roy. Roy Benson,” He glanced at her and then at his feet again. She suppressed her laughter and wondered if he enjoyed pain. Mingled with the smell of his fear was the scent of aftershave, which aroused her. It always had. Ever since puberty, certain smells had the ability to make her wet. She blamed this on her mother. Mom will pay dearly. Not now, my demon friend, I think I’m falling in love again. “Yeah, so…” He continued in a small voice, “Ruby, is it? Where’s that name come from?” She sneered at him with a trace of playfulness. “This is your first rodeo, Roy, so I’m going to excuse you and explain a few things. You don’t ask questions. I ask questions.” To her surprise and delight, Roy did not walk away, or call her crazy, or tell her to fuck off. He simply looked at his shoes. She liked that. “Why did you come here?” She put one hand on her hip. “To meet people, I guess.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m people.” She smoothed her dress, rubbing herself between the legs. Roy straightened his posture, craning his neck left to right. Was anyone else seeing this? He wondered. Who was this girl? “Tell me something nice about myself.” She reached out for Roy’s hand and took it up. “Uh—um…” He looked her body up and down, feeling a surge that made his cheeks redden. He contemplated her legs, her breasts, her lovely neck—she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. Yes, he’d never been to this rodeo before. “Your earrings… they’re very nice?” He took in the long, jeweled strands of blood-red rubies. “Really, Roy? My earrings? Not my outfit? My tits?” She stepped closer to him, taking his hand and placing it on her hip. “My ass? Or didn’t you get to see it? Would you have commented on my ass?” Roy let his hand lay on her hip. He felt it grow warmer—his whole body felt as if a radiating heat had flicked on at its center. Cecilia directed his hand in slow circles, the material moving underneath it, and then in everwidening circles, taking up more of her, until they were held in a close embrace with his hand, under hers, on the plumpness of her ass. He grabbed it reflexively, and held tight to the smooth material of her dress. His mind raced. “Just my earrings? Do you see anything else worthy of comment?” She leaned up into his ear, the blazing red of her lips parted.

He sighed loudly, and a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. “Your—yes, your ass is, is…” Realizing he didn’t know how to describe a girl’s ass, he stammered, “Delicious.” He winced. “Delicious?” She smiled against his neck, and allowed him to push her hips into his groin, where she found him eager against her. “Why, you haven’t even tasted it—yet.” She rocked against his hardness, rubbing her hips quietly back and forth against it, forming a slow, mounting pleasure. “You—you’re crazy…” He leaned his upper body away from her, his breath heavy. “You asked about my earrings, dear. They belonged to my great-grandmother,” she teased one of the little baubles with her finger. “My mom gave them to me before she died.” The light from the bandstand filtered through the ruby bauble on her earring and refracted into pieces. “Oh, my, I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Want to come over to my place?” His heart skipped a beat. He gulped awkwardly before answering, “Sure.” The night was clear. A light rain had recently passed, creating sparkling lights on the city’s foliage. They strolled hand-in-hand toward her apartment, the shy young man in the drab olive suit and the voluptuous Saloon Madame in red earrings and a velvet dress. Cecilia’s hand nestled in the crook of his arm. They sought to know each other—rather, Cecilia was seeking to know Roy, and Roy was seeking to know whatever Cecilia would share. Cecilia held her cowboy hat in her hand, patting her thighs with it every now and then. “Have you ever fucked your boss?” she asked, cocking her head. Roy laughed. “Fucked my boss, huh? You’ll say anything, won’t you?” “Sure. I’m not shy. You have, haven’t you?” Roy rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’re crazy. Sex with my boss? No way! I work in a laboratory searching for cellular cures. If I did I’d probably end up with herpes or something.” “What?” Cecilia frowned, slowing her steps. Does he know I have herpes? She wondered. She paused in the middle of the wet sidewalk. Away from the costume party, her costume seemed ridiculous, but the cuts of her cleavage and the flow of her legs seemed all the more sexy for being out of place. He stopped when he was a few feet ahead of her. “Oh, come on, it’s a little professional humor. I’m

a pharmaceutical research lead.” “Oh! You confused me.” She breathed deeply, and ran to catch up with him. “Sorry.” “You should be. That sounds boring.” “I assure you it isn’t,” he smiled. As they walked up the walkway and toward her apartment, the streetlights shone brightly above the leafy trees, casting moving shadows on the ground. The shadows rolled like squiggly masses of bugs eating a maggot-filled carcass. In Roy, Cecilia found a shyness and puppy-like innocence she could instruct and torment. He seemed smart, but trusting; smooth in his own unique way, but also rather bumbling and inexperienced. Her head swam with all of the delicious lovemaking scenarios Roy would be too timid to refuse. She had a plastic dildo, which she wearied of using on herself; she would prefer to push it into a willing partner. The thought made her smile. As well, there was Lady Derringer’s tiny automatic pistol, the one designed especially for Cecilia; the one with a thin, heated handle that fit between the lips of Cecilia’s pussy and hit the right spot. One day, she would use it with Roy, she was sure of it. Just thinking of such things made Cecilia’s labia ache and moisten. “Well, here we are.” Cecilia tapped Roy’s shoulder. “Okay.” “Oh! So it is.” She took a step towards the door, and then turned back to face him. “Unless—” “Unless what?” “I was having a good time,” she offered him a half-smile. “I have a question. It’s getting kind of late—” He pursed his lips. “That wasn’t a question.” She took his hand, and led him into the apartment, a smattering of uhs and buts trailing out of his mouth. Before he could discern a way to tell her no, he absolutely had to leave, he was already late for another engagement, his mother would be worried sick about him, and he needed to work in the morning, he was standing in the elevator with this vixen. He felt a bit woozy. Was this a dream, or a nightmare? “Hey,” he began, “I have to know why—”

She smacked his thigh with the back of her hand. “Hey!” “Shh! We have to be quiet on the elevator.” She put a finger on her lips. Roy frowned. It was a silent ride up, except for the scratching of the material covering Cecilia’s crotch. Roy pretended not to take notice. When they arrived at her door, Roy hesitated, but Cecilia waved her hand. Once inside, she turned on a light, casting a dim glow across the murky walls. There were rainwater stains streaking down from the ceilings. It was a plain room, and she instructed Roy to sit on the black, Ikea couch with his head in his hands and his eyes closed. Cecilia left him and went to her bedroom. Even though he was too ashamed to admit it, Roy secretly liked this loss of freedom; it freed him from doing the wrong thing, from messing up. He opened his eyes. “No peeking.” She came back, and sat in front of him on the shag carpet, her pale thighs bare, exposing light pink panties which barely concealed her. Roy stared at her legs for a few moments before he realized Cecilia’s breasts were spilling out of her top, exposing her nipples. “Your—your—” He motioned to her chest. “This isn’t my first rodeo, asshole. It’s my nipple. Do you like it?” Roy took a deep breath. Cecilia decided to get to work on taking control. “I’m always in charge of men.” “Really?” Roy was beginning to think everything Cecilia said was a lie. It all sounded too extravagant or grandiose. If this was the case, he would rather like it, because it would mean she wasn’t crazy, just kinky. Yes, he convinced told himself. She was lying. Those people, Roy thought, didn’t really exist. “And were they good? The ones you fucked?” “I’ll ask the questions. You’re not allowed to ask me questions until I give you permission.” She placed her index finger on her thigh, and casually rubbed the elastic band of her panties. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“First, what’s your favorite television show?” “Documentaries, Nature, physics, quantum mechanics. Guys like David Attenborough, Neil deGrasse Tyson.” Roy relaxed back on the sofa. Breathing heavily, she continued to touch her thigh. As he watched her breasts rise and fall intensely, he knew he was hard. He could easily come, just from the fabric of his pants rubbing against him. “Mmm. That’s good—if you were going to—” she gave a whimper, and took a few low, shallow breaths, “to say something like Family Guy, I’d have kicked you ou—ou… oh…” Her fingers moved over the material covering her labia, moving along them, sliding in between the elastic band, inside of it. “You’d be out.” She slowed down, letting her fingers rest there, and opened her eyes. “And tell me, Roy, look at me. When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?” “I wanted to be a Mister Softie ice-cream truck guy.” “Are you serious? Selling softies to children? That was your dream?” She gave him a condescending look. She sneered and looked him up and down, noticing his athletic socks peeled over his scuffed, brown tennis shoes. His face reddened as he rubbed the back of his neck and stammered, “I’m joking. I don’t often joke. I guess as a kid I always dreamed of rocketing to Mars and discovering new forms of bacteria. Today, I watch a lot of shows on the Science Channel and work on DNA replication and how pharmaceuticals interact with such processes.” He clasped his hands together. “DNA?” She had thought of him as the odd kid who everyone thought might be gay, but he was actually the nervous, science geek who isolated himself from everyone else. Of all the people in high school, she left those nerds alone. Maybe that’s where I missed out. Who could know? Fuck a nerd and see the world. “Yes, I love DNA and cell therapy stuff. I’ve been involved in three life-saving discoveries. It pays well; we own our house, just Mom and me.” “What about your dad?” “My dad? Dad passed away two years ago.” He shoved both hands in his pockets, and looked away from her. He had answered the phone call. He remembered sitting with his mother in the hospital room, watching his father’s health deteriorate with every passing day. Roy had known it was coming. That it would be slow. He had known that in the last moments, when his father cried out, Roy would have to be the one to tell him everything was going to be all right.

His father’s death had shaken him to his roots. It had taken a piece of him that was impossible to replace. He remembered hugging his father for the last time, hearing the death rattle, watching the nurses give him more and more drugs to buffer the pain. Knowing in the end, it would be the drugs— some of which probably came from the very pharmaceutical company Roy worked for—that robbed him of his life Cecilia snapped her fingers. “Roy?” “Sorry,” he said, and shook himself out of the daze. He reoriented his attention to the beauty before him. “Are you still with me?” “What did you say?” He looked back into her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear your father died. What do they say on television? We’re sorry for your loss. Isn’t that stupid, Roy? My mother died not long ago. She fell down her basement stairs, bashed in her head something awful.” “I remember you mentioned that. I didn’t know it was so bad, though. Shit. Are you okay, Ruby?” He seems to care, thought Ruby. “That’s a question, Roy.” She softened her lips into a little smile. “But yeah. Thanks for asking. And it’s Cecilia, by the way.” “You mean your real name? Cecilia it is.” Roy nodded. “Cecilia Barnes,” she added. As the night wore on, Cecilia kept Roy talking. She teased the discomfort out of him and replaced it with what Roy would later describe in his journal as a “weird sense of comfort.” Cecilia sat on the shag carpet with her bare thighs spread against it, leaning her elbows on her knees. Roy was more comfortable when he wasn’t looking at her, but doing so aroused a part of him that had long been dead. He wasn’t sure he wanted that part of him to come back to life. Feral and animalistic, and oozing with testosterone, it was all the things to which he was no longer accustomed. “We’re studying a potential treatment for impetigo,” he said, running his fingers down the curtains. They were made from some soft material, what kind he did not know. “What’s that?” Cecilia asked, though she didn’t really give a flying fuck. By now, Cecilia had learned that the best way to get what she wanted was to first give the other person what they wanted. Why wasn’t he trying to jump her by now? But this was not Cecilia’s first rodeo. She let him talk. “It’s a skin infection usually found in preschool children,” Roy said as he straightened his back. He pressed his knees together, and folded his hands in his lap. He stared straight ahead at the empty

fireplace, and then at the painting above the mantle. She widened her smile and cocked her head sideways. “Perhaps you’re the type of man who stays home because you find it more interesting than meeting people. Do you read a lot?” “I do like to read.” Cecilia stretched out her legs. She turned to search for something underneath the television stand. Roy tugged nervously at his bowtie. “I’ve got something you can read right now.” She straightened herself and pulled her legs back in. Leaning forward, she presented him with a thick book in black binding. “In fact, Roy, we should study this book before we do anything else.” “Study?” Roy cocked his eyes, and glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. An internal debate raged inside of him, a battle of brains versus hard-on. There could only be one winner. “I don’t know. It’s getting pretty late. I have to go to work tomorrow.” Cecilia rose. She stepped over the small, glass coffee table between them and stood with her hips at Roy’s eye level. She enticed his hard-on with her weapons of mass destruction. “Maybe let’s save the studying for another day.” Roy flashed an awkward smile. His resolve faltered and his brain grew hazy. He was mesmerized by the way her clothes draped around her hips and legs, leaving so much bare. She smelled like a mixture of baby powder and peppermint. He saw a freckle in the hollow of her hip. Almost without thinking, he reached a hand out towards it, and touched it softly. She moved away. Feeling slighted gave his brain the mojo it needed to regain control. He stood up and started pacing nervously about. Above the fireplace hung a painting of a building that had been scrubbed over with grey paint and the words NEVER AGAIN were scrawled over it in deep red paint. The letters filled the canvas and dripped along the bottom edge, creating blood-like marks. “Do you paint?” His voice trembled. “That’s one of my hobbies.” As she considered the words bleeding on the canvas, a feeling of sorrow crept up her throat. How could she ever share such horrible secrets? Maybe one day she’d be able to explain it to him. “Looks good.” He didn’t mean it. As startled as he was by the painting, he also reveled in it. He knew it was good for girls to have hobbies—it kept them sane, or so his married buddies told him. But this? He scanned the room with his hands in his pockets, narrowing his eyes. Were these the paintings of a sane woman? “I paint my emotions,” she said, waving her hand toward a far corner, where a childish sketch of a nude female torso with large, egg-shaped breasts was scrawled in garish colors on off-white canvas.

In the center floated a dark gray-and-black-streaked penis that resembled a sickly tree trunk. She looked intently at him; he gave her a smile of feigned recognition. “Nice,” he whispered dutifully. He returned to the sofa, having exhausted his interest in her paintings. “It’s abstract art. It allows my mind to roam and conjure. Do you like it?” She knelt beside him on the sofa. He imagined he would say are you crazy? Of course not, I hate it. It’s juvenile, sick, and shows a troubled—but otherwise empty—mind. There is no technique. There is no love. It is the scrawling of an idiot. But when he looked at her eyes—those green points of light—casting a soft stare in his direction, her intimate smile, and the way her hair fell along her cheeks; all of it took him by surprise. He wondered behind one of the doors lay a dungeon where he’d be beaten and harmed. “It’s all very nice,” he lied. “Yes, thank you.” She knew she had him then. She turned and reached for the book at the other end of the couch, but her fingers tipped it out of reach. Roy looked at the painting in the corner. It really is disgusting, he thought, losing his hard-on. I should really get away and go home. She bent over and reached out, turning away from Roy, her fingers crawling along the carpet towards the book. Her jaw clenched, the muscles of her neck tensed. Roy heard a growl rise from her shifting silhouette. The mood in the room evaporated. A sudden fear enveloped him. “Cecilia?” he squeaked. She bit down and shut her eyes tight, her jawbone contorted, until she finally grasped the book. Not now! Go away my killing lizard friend! Turning back to Roy, she blinked a few times. She stared seductively at him. “I have a surprise for you.” “What—are you okay? Your eyes—” “Just look,” she said, holding up the book. She placed the book between them and opened it. They both stared intently as she thumbed through the graphically illustrated pages of The Joy of Sex by Alex Comfort. Roy’s mind paced, captured off-

guard by the book’s contents. “Wow.” “Yes,” she whispered. “Making love is an art unto itself.” “Is it?” He chuckled with a shaky sound. With her finger, she traced one of the drawings. It depicted a man standing up, holding a woman up by her hips. The woman’s hands were planted on the ground. Full penetration; nothing was hidden. “It’s called The Wheelbarrow. What do you think, Roy? It’s a beautiful thing, right?” “Yes. Yes, of course. I think so, yes,” he gulped. She leveled her gaze at him. “You think so?” Roy shrugged helplessly, pushing the book off his lap. And Cecilia finally wanted it. “My God.” She tossed the book onto the table in front of them and grabbed his shoulder. She peered at him in disbelief. “Roy, are you—experienced?” “Well, fuck.” Roy threw his hands up helplessly. “What do you want me to say?” “My God! It really is your first time!” She threw her head back and laughed. “Ha-ha,” he said, without a trace of humor in his voice. Sweat lined his brow. Cecilia could feel his shame radiating. Perfect, she thought. “I brought the book out for a reason. So —how about it?” “I really should be going.” Roy shook his head and stood. He worried she might take him to her dungeon. Cecilia’s tone sharpened. “Hey!” It was no longer one of concern, of joviality, of an understanding that he was new to her world. Her tone stopped him cold. He turned toward her. She sneered, her hips undulating slowly against the couch. “Come here.” Roy shifted on his feet, sighed heavily, and did as he was told. As he stood before her, she rose to her feet and stood on the couch. Her chest was at Roy’s eye level. Roy turned his head, but she sunk her nails into his scalp and pressed his face into her chest. Roy felt the heat of her breasts on his cheeks and, despite himself, felt a mounting stiffness in his pants. She sucked in a deep breath and

grasped his left hand, gently guiding it under her dress. “Do you remember why we came here?” He felt her heartbeat against his face, her dress against his knuckles, her pink panties beneath his fingertips, Satin. He moved against the soft, moistened fabric, making him swell. “Good boy!” She manipulated his middle finger and guided it inside her. “Feel that?” A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. “You’re wet.” He blinked as she slowly retracted his hand from her vagina and placed it against his top lip. “Smell it.” He closed his eyes closed and took in the salt-laden aroma. She moved his hand to her nose, took a whiff of her fingers, closed her eyes and grinned. “Now.” Like a practiced pup, he moved his hand back under his nose for a second whiff. When she kissed him, he let out a muffled cry. Her tongue moved against his, lifting him to a new heaven. He kissed back. He was sloppy, unskilled, and uncoordinated, but Cecilia didn’t care. She loved his eagerness. She lowered them onto the couch, where they continued to make out. Her hands slid up the small of his back, driving smoothly along the divots of his body. She groped his gabardine pants, finding his hard-on standing at full attention. “Remember when I said smells turn me on?” “Yes, I remember.” Roy said, dazed. Cecilia grabbed the book from the coffee table and placed it on his lap. She opened it to a full-page illustration spread. “Read the caption.” “Now?” “Now.” As he began to read, she ran her sharp nails along his shaft. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Th—there are only two guidelines in good sex. Don’t do anything you don’t really enjoy. Mmmm— moreover, find out your partner’s fantasies, and don’t balk at fulfilling them.” The book shared an illustration of a woman being deeply penetrated, her legs wrapped over the man’s shoulders. Cecilia said, “Are you taking notes?” “I have a lot to learn…” Roy’s voice trailed off. Cecilia removed his trousers with a forceful yank, and tossed them on the coffee table. She rose up on her knees over his prostrate figure and stripped the Saloon Madame’s dress from her formidable

figure, wiggling evocatively as she did it. She hovered over his erection. There was nothing left on her body except her silk panties, now around her knees, and the garter holster holding the tiny Derringer on the side of her right thigh. Just in case, she thought. Her hands moved over her hips and up her curvaceous sides. She ran her fingers down her flat stomach, and tickled the insides of her thighs. Her vagina hovered above him, and her nipples were erect with anticipation. She leaned forward and whispered, “Touch me, Roy. Touch me everywhere.” Roy gulped, reaching up with both hands. His inexperienced caresses made Cecilia smile. He grabbed her breasts and felt her nipples. She found his inexperience exciting and cute. “Oh God, that’s nice.” Even in his wildest imagination, he could not have dreamed up this scenario. In high school, he had been voted Least Likely to Score.” Roy the virgin. Now he was Roy the sex god. This woman in front of him wanted him—he knew that much. Why, he could not imagine. But here she was, naked, her smooth body in his hands and her smell in his nostrils. Roy drooled. Christ, I have a new happy puppy. Cecilia laughed and tossed back her hair as Roy fondled her ass. She arched her back, pulling away from Roy and going down on her knees. She leaned forward and grasped his hard-on. She took a moment to really look at it. Who would have thought that this wimpy nerd would have such a huge cock? She scooted forward on her knees. Roy’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe he was about to do the very thing that—until now—he had only read about and watched on the Internet. Instinct took over, and Roy bucked and thrust like a jackrabbit. He bucked twice before exploding, squirting Cecilia’s vaginal walls with rhythmic spurts. Cecilia felt his gush and rocked against it. As scripted by Lady Derringer, she let loose with the best orgasmic scream she could, “Oh God, oh!” Roy moaned loudly and flopped backwards, heaving with exhaustion. She closed her eyes and collapsed onto his bare chest. Cecilia wasn’t frustrated or disappointed at the three-second hero. He was exactly the servant she wanted—a loyal, faithful, and obedient manservant in the making. “Did I hurt you?” He opened one eye. “No, my darling boy,” she rolled off him and onto her back. “Now you’ll learn to lick my pussy.” She whispered, “Put your tongue on my clitoris. It’s the knobby bit. Lick around until you…” Roy eagerly lapped at her damp pussy, flattening his tongue inside her slit. “Ohhh uhhh yes. Like that!”

The thrill eclipsed feeling like a sex dream. She collapsed, exhausted, and rolled to her back and sank into the shag carpet. They lay together on the carpet. That lovely sensation floated. Roy was—unthinking, wanting for nothing, staring into space contentedly, no need for words or actions or intentions, completely satisfied with the present moment, despite the perverse and peculiar actions that led to it. After a while, Cecilia spoke in a dreamy, wistful voice. “Pussy isn’t the nicest sounding word, is it?” Roy smiled lazily. He was now a man. “No, not really.” “The French might call it la chatte.” She was toying with her bellybutton. “That’s nicer.” “Do you like my chatte?” “I love your chatte.” “Would you like to know my chatte?” She fought the temptation to bask in the warmth of the moment, for this was the very moment to continue her plan against the unsuspecting Roy. “I can teach you all of the ins and outs of sex with my chatte. All you have to do, Roy, is be loyal. And never, ever fuck another woman.” “Cecilia, let’s keep it slow. I like you—I really like you. Let’s just—can we move slowly? I’m new to relationships, and I’m a very busy man. It’s not as if I’ll find a woman tomorrow to do what we just did—I’m kind of shy. So I don’t think you have to worry. But what you’re talking about, that’s marriage, and we just met, you know?” Cecilia recalled that Lady Derringer had written that a man’s natural instinct was to betray women, and to copulate with as many women as possible. That was the whole history of men. It was also the history of Derringer. She bolted upright, stroking the sidearm still strapped to her bare, pale waist. “Roy, do you know about the Derringer pistol?” “Huh? No, I don’t think so.” “Well,” she un-holstered the weapon. Roy became aware of his vulnerable position. She stroked the weapon, and spoke softly, smoothly, like a museum tour guide. “The original pistol was a single-shot, muzzle-loading pistol made by Henry Derringer, spelled with one R.” Aiming the muzzle at the wall, she stared down the tiny sight, both hands cupping the warm handle. She closed one eye. “It was used by John Wilkes Booth in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. After that, lots of companies started making Derringer—with two R’s—pistols designed especially for women to use in self-defense. Derringers are tiny, and therefore

they are easy to hide.” “I did not know that,” Roy said, thinking he should pick his next words very carefully. “Oh, you silly boy,” Cecilia withdrew from her firing position and holstered the weapon in a practiced way that Roy found frightening. Why was she so good with a gun? “If you ever cheat on me, I’ll blow your brains out. Believe me I’m perfectly capable of it.” “Okay. I see.” After their first meeting, they started dating. Roy convinced himself not to take Cecilia’s threat seriously. Perhaps she’d had too much liquor that night, or he had misunderstood her. Besides, she was, at the very least, a nine; and her body was a ten. Roy knew himself to be a seven, at best. He told himself a little crazy was okay. Over the next months, Cecilia trained Roy in the art of lovemaking. Since Roy enjoyed her company, he chose to ignore her nervous tics and strange behavior. Whenever she exploded in a rage about something inconsequential, he would simply give her some space. The sex was great for Roy. Together, they spent hours leafing through The Joy of Sex. Each new illustration prompted an experimentation session. He looked forward to testing new things. His scientific mind delved deep into the images. The only shadow that continued to befall them was Roy’s inability to control his ejaculation. Cecilia found it difficult to broach the subject with Roy. He seemed to be unaware that his jackrabbit style of copulation provided her with little satisfaction. Of course, she compensated for this with her own toys whenever the mood struck her. Besides, Roy wasn’t there to satisfy her sexually. He was there to be her slave. Roy and Cecilia were sitting in Roy’s living room. Family pictures and worthless baubles lined the dingy, floral-print walls, and the plastic-covered couch squeaked whenever they moved. Cecilia mentioned that the whole place smelled of mothballs and stale peppermint. But all in all, it was going well. There was a fireplace, in which Roy had built a fire, like a true Boy Scout. They had just opened their second bottle of cheap red wine. It sat on the glass table in front of them, and Cecilia was ready. She had waited until a dangerous time—the time when people feel close. They were cuddling on the couch, and Roy had just finished regaling her with yet another boring story of how he had been bullied in his youth. Cecilia had feigned interest during the whole thing. Then, she began. “I remember when I was still in school, the first time I bled.” “Bled? You mean your period?” Roy arched his eyebrows.

“Yes, I was terrified. I thought I was sick or dying. My pants were bloody. It shocked me like you wouldn’t believe.” Her body trembled at the memory. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been terrible.” “It frightened me. I knew nothing about this bleeding thing.” “You didn’t know?” Cecilia snorted and stared into the fireplace. Its light felt warm against her skin. Under her calm demeanor, she felt anger, rushing in torrents. Why hadn’t anyone told her, and why did she have to suffer through all of that alone? “Your mother never told you?” “My mother never told me shit. I felt humiliated and went home frightened. I showed my mom, and she said, Go talk to your older sister, and swatted me away.” “Well, at least your sister—” “My sister said you need a sani nap. She laughed at me. You’re so stupid and ugly, Cecilia. All I could think was, Oh God, what is she saying? Did I need to take a nap for all of this to go away?’” Roy’s eyes bulged. “Your own sister said that?” “You’ll never get a man like I will when you’re older, Cecilia.” She imitated her sister’s voice, shrill and jagged. The hairs on Roy’s neck stood on end. Cecilia stared into the fire. “I told my sister, I don’t know what you mean. Oh God, your body’s wasted rotten human flesh and ejected it like rubbish. Your body is useless. Your eggs are dead” Cecilia laughed morosely. “But I didn’t know what eggs she meant.” Roy sat paralyzed in his spot, hoping Cecilia would snap out of this. It was no longer a retelling, but a reliving. “Human ejection of wasted shit. Her stupid, face all squeezed, like she’d bitten into a raw lemon or some shit.” “Honey,” Roy said quietly, reaching for her. She brushed him away and stood up, swishing her wine in its glass. Roy put his wine down, feeling suddenly sober. “My sister called me an idiot and said, Oh, I’ll take you to the drugstore.” She threw back a gulp of her wine. “She was annoyed, you could fucking tell.”

“What happened?” asked Roy. He leaned back on the squeaking couch, wishing it would swallow him up. “Why are you jealous of me? My sister asked. I asked whether I put it under my clothes or over, I was so fucking stupid. But I wasn’t jealous of her.” Cecilia crossed her arms, as if to protect herself from harm. Roy couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the tears in her voice. “Mom always liked her better. Always loved her, the good one… . Not me, though. No, not Cecilia.” She dabbed at her eyes, and returned to the couch. Resting her feet on the coffee table, she lay the wine down beside Roy’s. “I said I don’t understand why mom never told me about this. My sister said it’s too private. Woman’s slop-hole stinks and it makes her sick. But the situation never left my head.” She chuckled, knocking the side of her skull with her knuckles. “Why would mom withhold something so important?” Roy came close and wrapped her in his arms. “My family was wrong, don’t you think?” She nuzzled against him. Roy nodded distractedly. “Yes.” His hands moved along her waist, up her shirt. His kisses tickled her neck. “They were. Menstruation is nothing to be ashamed of.” She glanced down at him. She knew he looked for it again—she had him hooked to her chatte. “Don’t you agree?” “Nothing to be ashamed about,” he said, his eyelids closing, his lips moving down her cheek to the nape of her neck, to the hollow of her collarbone, down to the collar of her blouse. “Menstruation is sexy.” Roy’s kisses slowed, and he let out a sigh. For one night, he wanted to pretend his girlfriend was normal. He figured tonight wasn’t going to be that night. “I can show you if you like. I think you’ll find it sexy, too.” “Show me what? Are you on your period right now?” “What if I am?” Cecilia cocked her eyebrow. Roy backed away, ready to exit through the nearest window and take off for the hills. “It doesn’t matter. It means we have to wait, you know?” She grabbed his wrist. “Roy, right now I’m wearing a tampon.” “Oh, God.” His face twisted.

“Do you want to see?” “Oh God,” he muttered again, the color fading from his face. “No, Cecilia. I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to see anything like that.” Cecilia could read fear and disgust in his face, weakness in his voice, and a lilting hard-on in his pants. She appreciated Roy—his fear of her and his love for her, or for her chatte, at least. She reveled in her power. It prickled the hair on her arms. “You’ll love it.” She placed his hand on the hem of her skirt. Yet she didn’t want him to love it. She wanted to see his disgust, his fear, and his anger. She wanted him to hate it, and she wanted to convince him he loved it. “No.” Roy wiggled his hand out of her grasp. He felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web. “Yes.” She leveled her gaze at him. He sighed deeply, relaxing into the couch, and this time when her hand came to his, he simply let it happen. He was trapped. He’d be here forever. Cecilia leaned back and flipped up her skirt, exposing her pale thighs and pink panties. She pulled these down to her ankles and wiggled out of them, and then spread her legs. Trailing out of the pubic hair was a thin white string. Roy’s nose wrinkled. “I use the string to pull the tampon out when I need to get rid of it and replace it with a new one.” She gripped the string between her thumb and forefinger, and looked up at Roy, who stared morosely at the fireplace. The fire inside dwindled. “Uhh, no,” he moaned with fear. His stomach tied itself into knots. “Roy,” she said. He blinked hard. “You have to watch. I’m not doing this for me.” She tugged the string, and out came a blood-soaked tampon. She held it up, like a fish on a line. “Nice, huh?” Her jaw jutted out and she stared deep at his pathetic eyes. “Isn’t it, Roy?” He jumped up from the couch. “Ugh, it’s disgusting, Cecilia!” Cecilia dangled the tampon up to her nose and took a deep whiff, shutting her eyes. She loved the stench, and she loved that he hated it. “Take a good look, Roy.” She spread her lips with her other hand. He trembled, balling his hands into tight fists, his knuckles whitening. A voice in his head said Run,

Roy, run! Get the fuck out of here. Tell her she’s crazy. Take off, and never look back. Another voice, stronger, more powerful, rose up inside him. She is crazy, but she’s yours. You are lucky. Her tits, her ass, her pussy, they’re all perfect. At least you have someone. “You want to fuck it?” she teased, drawing him out of his daze. He gulped, and turned towards her. He said nothing as he undid his belt and pulled down his pants. He was totally defeated. She wanted to laugh at his flaccid penis. “Something wrong, Roy?” She clenched her teeth and grinned. “No, dear… just need to warm up,” he pursed his lips, took a step toward her, but she pushed him away with her foot. “First, smell it! It’s for you only!” she commanded. He bit on his thumb, holding his breath, and lowered himself to his knees. He did as she had requested. He took a deep, agonizing breath, and the coppery taste invaded his nostrils and the back of his mouth, making him gag. He stood up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if—” Roy pushed himself into the bloody slot, and found his awkward rhythm. After a few seconds, he climaxed. Cecilia lay beside him with one leg draped over his naked hips, smiling and toying with his hair as he slept. I’ve boxed him in, she thought. If he only knew how much he loves me. When Cecilia had visited her old home years ago, she stood with her mother at the top of the basement stairs. People often told Cecilia she was the spitting image of her mother. Cecilia’s mother’s eyes were wrinkled and her midsection thick, but she kept herself up nicely. She always wore sundresses in warm weather, and they flattered her figure. From behind, in the colorful floralprint dress, Cecilia’s mother still looked like she was a teenager. Cecilia couldn’t remember the conversation they’d been having at the time. The only thing she remembered was catching a whiff of her mother’s menstrual blood as they started down the top of the basement stairs towards the fruit cellar. The faint smell incensed Cecilia, reminding her of all the things her mother had withheld from her. Cecilia began to shake. Her mother had frowned judgmentally. “What is it now, Cecilia?” she said, “What’s wrong with you now?” Cecilia whipped out the antique Derringer, and waved it wildly in her mother’s face. The gun went off. To this day, Cecilia swears it was an accident.

Two fat slugs ripped a gaping hole in Cecilia’s mother’s forehead, and she tumbled down the stairs, lifeless. Near the end of her fall, the hole in her forehead struck the jagged, two-inch stub of the iron pipe that had once acted as a safety rail, and she was stuck there. Cecilia used the pipe to bash the hole so appeared crushed in. The coroner ruled an accidental death. Cecilia found this tragic. On the phone from her Waco office, Lady Derringer said that she understood how these things could happen. Still, Cecilia found herself replaying the incident again and again. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother’s blood splattered over the cement basement floor. She could even smell it. Cecilia often masturbated to the memory of this smell. One day, she placed an order for a Derringer LM-5, a five-shot automatic with a thin handle. While lying in her bedroom, she often pleasured herself with the tiny pistol, its internally heated space-age handle fitting perfectly in her slit. When climaxing, she would fire a blank at her mother’s portrait, which hung on the wall. Each shot kissed her clitoris with a joyful, climactic feeling, which ascended the harmonic scale of orgasm until the fifth shot splattered her emotional high across heaven. Who needed the jackrabbit? She hid all of this from Roy. Roy and Cecilia got on famously, perhaps because they went out in public only to go out for dinner. They rarely spoke of anything material. Roy mistook his submissiveness for feelings of love. He never argued with Cecilia, because he didn’t like losing. No man likes being made to feel weak. After a year of courting, Cecilia decided it was time for Roy to marry her. She bought the diamond ring herself and proposed yes, marriage sounded good to Roy. Cecilia made all the arrangements for the ceremony. She wanted to be married in a huge, gaudy, four-hundred-year-old Roman Catholic cathedral with elaborate murals spanning the expansive ceiling. To this end, Cecilia told the church administrator that she and Roy were both devout Catholics. On the special day, she wore a classic wedding dress. Instead of white, it was black with a black veil. She wore the red globed earrings she’d been wearing when she first met Roy; they stood out against her pale skin. Roy’s oversized white suit sagged awkwardly, and his ugly brown bowtie was too small. “You look like a princess,” Cecilia’s dad said as they made their way to the chapel doors. His hair was silver and his strong shoulders stretched the white threads of his suit jacket. “A goddamn princess. Daddy’s goddamn princess.” “I’ll be the prettiest woman there, won’t I, Daddy?” Her earrings and her jeweled gold, necklace glistened as she and her father walked up the church steps. “Anywhere you go, little peach, you’re the prettiest woman there,” he said, squeezing her arm. When they reached the top step, he stopped and looked at her, placing his massive hands around her

bare, lithe shoulders. “You sure this asshole deserves you, Princess?” “Yes, Daddy.” She poked his chest playfully. “Now, there’s going to be a lot of women here. Don’t you go—” his strong, baritone voice faltered. “Don’t go causing no trouble.” He gave her shoulders a small shake. As they neared the entrance, one of the large wooden doors creaked open to reveal a priest who looked old enough to have laid the first brick of the church. The priest smiled warmly, but when he caught sight of Cecilia, his smile faded. “Who—what is this?” the priest whispered. “Excuse me?” Cecilia said. “Are you the bride?” the priest asked her. “Of course I am!” Cecilia said, holding up the flower bouquet. “You must go and change. You cannot wear black on your wedding day! This is a house of God, and all of these rules are set in stone.” He pointed to the exit. Cecilia’s eyes flashed with anger, and she looked to her father for help. He grasped the priest by the collar and pressed him against the wooden door. “Wha—get your hands off me!” The priest pushed Cecilia’s father away. “You fuckin’ with my daughter?” Her father’s voice boomed. Some of the guests turned around. Roy was standing at the front of the church. He started to walk towards the commotion. “She—she cannot be married in this church! The rules are set in stone!” “You want to be set in stone?” Cecilia’s father’s voice was quiet and deadly. He towered over the frail priest, casting a shadow over him, and held up a fist. The priest put up his hands up in self-defense. “Daddy!” Cecilia said sternly, though secretly, she loved it when her father defended her. “You’ve already been paid. Now get to your fucking spot and read what you gotta read.” Daddy lowered his fist and released the priest’s collar. The priest smoothed out his vestments and headed for the front of the church, stumbling past Roy.

“Father?” Roy said. “Some Catholics you are!” the priest huffed in defeat. Roy looked at Cecilia, tilting his head to the side. “Is everything okay?” “Back to your position, pipsqueak,” Cecilia’s father said. Roy brought his hands up, nodded and jogged back into place as the priest regained his composure. The church doors closed, and the wedding music began to play. Cecilia and her father stood at the back of the church, awaiting their cue. “I love you, Daddy,” Cecilia whispered, wrapping her arm around his elbow. “You too, baby girl.” His chest puffed out, ready for the walk down the aisle. “Remember,” he whispered, “no fighting. There are other people here, so we gotta be civil.” “Look at all these women out there without men in their life. I guess women don’t know how to trap a man these days.” Warmth radiated through her body. “How did you ever get Roy?” her father asked. “Honestly, it was easy. He’s a pushover.” “Well, he’s so damn quiet.” He chewed his lip, and shook his head. “Will he take care of you?” “He’s got a great job with a future at a genetics lab,” she answered. Her dad whistled. “I’m gonna be fine, Dad.” The priest started the ceremony. As he spoke about the divinity of marriage, his frail voice echoed against the high, painted ceilings and the ornate, stained-glass windows. You’re as pretty as you’re mom.” Dad’s eyes became wet. “You remember how we found mom?” “I’ll never forget how she looked.” Dad held his stomach. “She was so beautiful.” “It was a bad fall,” Cecilia said. “A very bad fall.”

“I’m sorry for the terrible memory, Daddy.” “Sure, hon.” “Come on. Let’s have a good time today,” Cecilia tugged at his arm. Her dad blinked and tried to focus his attention on the ceremony. Over two hundred people lined the pews. Most of the guests were Roy’s work colleagues. When the music began, the two marched down the aisle. The ends of the pews were fitted with white bows and pink flower arrangements. The priest was standing in the middle of the front arch— the most beautiful arch Cecilia had ever seen. It was a wicker frame laced with rambling vines, covered with white roses in full bloom. Cecilia felt time slow down, almost to a standstill. “There’re over two hundred people here witnessing him state his loyalty to me.” “It’s a big wedding. The largest I’ll ever attend,” her father added. “Hey, I remember when you would pretend toilet paper rolls?” “Yes, I remember.” Those images burned inside her. She used to craft penises and pretended they were hers. She lovingly curled her hair. She spent hours forming papier-mâché testicles and coloring them in. She taunted Tripod, her cat, who was missing one leg. Cecilia would tease Tripod with the hairy, fake penis until Tripod clawed back with her only front paw. Cecilia grabbed the cat and tossed it across the room, the cat smacking against the wall. Tripod scurried to safety. “You’d make ’em look so real.” “Oh Dad, don’t remind me of that right now.” Of course she remembered that happy time. Even now, when Roy was not around, she played with a dildo she’d made herself, and with her Derringer automatic. She felt a familiar feeling wash over her as she came to a halt under the arch. Her father settled beside her. The anxiety took over, just as it had on the first night with Roy, and she felt a sense of bubbling over, a tensing of her neck muscles, a painful seizure of her throat. Her eyes rolled back as she felt a reptilian coldness run through her blood. She hissed, and gripped her father’s elbow with her nails, tightly enough to make him wince. She lifted the veil to bare her face. My demon reptilian friend, it’s not time yet. This is my day. Her face returned to normal. She exhaled, and the demon left her alone. The rest of the ceremony was spent in relative comfort by everyone except for the old priest. He gathered up his things in a brown leather briefcase and left as soon as the vows had been completed.

Months after the wedding, a new addition showed up at Roy’s workplace. Clara. A microbiologist, she was slight and blonde, and quiet. Roy liked her. They worked on a solution to maintain the flexibility of artificial heart valves. He was attracted to her, because she seemed to be the opposite of Cecilia. Clara worked in the same lab as Roy. One day, they were the only people in the lunchroom. They sat at the same table, their eyes meeting briefly as they exchanged coy smiles and meaningless words. Clara offered a brief respite from his home life. He found himself fantasizing about how it would feel to touch her skin. Whenever he walked past her as she bent over a microscope, he wanted to press his lips against her neck. But he didn’t dare to, until one fateful night. Storms had raged through the city that night. Roy arrived home late from work. Cecilia noticed the car pull into the drive. A full ten minutes passed before Roy came through the door. His expression was blank, and his shoulders slumped. His hair was plastered down with rainwater. “Welcome home. You’re a little late,” Cecilia barked from her perch on the couch. There was a bit of an edge to her voice. Roy ignored her, and tugged off his wet jacket. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. Cecilia frowned. She sat up, calling out to him. “Honey? Did you miss me?” After some silence, she continued. “Come here!” “I couldn’t wait to be with you,” Roy said flatly. He walked into the living room and sat beside her. “The storm has me gloomy.” Cecilia grabbed his tie and pulled him to her. She sniffed. She noticed a soft aroma surrounding Roy, and she recognized the smell. “What do I smell?” The wind outside rattled the windows. “What? Nothing.” He avoided eye contact. “No,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I smell another woman on you.” He bit his fingernail. “Oh, come on. That’s crazy. You know that.” She rose to her feet, losing her composure. “Where’ve you been?” “Work,” he said softly. A bolt of lightning cracked outside, shooting light across the room. “Roy. You’re lying. I can tell you’re lying, and I’m not doing anything until you tell me who she is!” Her eyes narrowed.

“Cecilia, what are you talking about?” He threw up his hands. “No!” She screeched. She closed in on him. “I smell her on you—I smell her. Tell me, Roy. Tell me who you’ve been fucking.” As she drew close to Roy, she felt a something weighing on her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roy’s heart pounded. “I doubt that,” Cecilia’s voice rose. Roy stayed quiet. Cecilia’s face darkened, stark lines of anger etched on cheeks and forehead; her neck tendons flared, muscles popping and snapping with effort. In all her naked glory, still hideous, bent and tensed, inhuman. Welcome back, my reptilian demon. From the middle of the living room, Roy watched her with a morose sense of curiosity. He was hoping to be forgotten. She spun around and let out a hiss. It was not her own. It was the voice of an infinitely more savage being, awakening within her once again; the reptilian demon that dwelt within her veins. “Tell me what you’ve done.” Another loud crack of thunder shook the floor. After a long pause, Roy exhaled. He watched her warily. “Tell me!” Anger boiled inside her. Her nose never lied. She lunged at him. Roy knew he was in real danger. He snatched the iron fire-poker and flailed it in her direction. “Stay back!” Cecilia stopped in her tracks. Her demon stared at Roy through blazing, forest-green eyes. Roy held the poker in front of him with both hands, as if it were a gun and today was his first time on the range. “Ha, look at you!” she hissed. “Please, Cecilia! I don’t know what you think you smelled, but it wasn’t—” “A coward right to the end, Roy?” Cecilia roared with laughter. “Okay. Yes, I did it,” he whispered. But once he had said it, he felt so good that he needed to say it again. This time he shouted it, waving the fire-poker wildly. “I fucking did it.” “Did you, now?” A blast of wrath and tightened jealously overtook her, wanting to see him bleed.

Roy thought about courage. It was a strange thing for men. Once the smallest amount of courage dripped into a man’s life, he was instantly and eternally changed. “What do you expect? I love sex. It was great!” Roy’s voice was filled with newfound strength. “Well, who was it?” Her voice was as deadly sweet as a female viper wrapping itself around its prey. “That doesn’t matter anymore.” Roy looked at Cecilia and lowered the iron poker. Looking at his wife now, he saw her for what she really was: not some horrible demon, but a petulant child who had broken her own toy. “Do you love her?” “I don’t think so. I married you.” He felt almost relieved. He knew that he and Cecilia would soon be no more than a memory—that this was the last straw. “Did you fuck her?” Her dark mood oozed like dye. “Cecilia, come on.” His stomach twisted into a knot. He caught a glimpse of rainwater dripping from the ceiling. It was rust-colored, almost red. He shuddered. “Was it good?” she asked, sounding suddenly sweet. She sniffed the air. “Oh yes, yes, it was.” She took another step towards him, whiffing the air loudly, wafting it about with one hand, and the other running up her bare waist. “Ah, yes, there was pleasure, wasn’t there?” She smiled. “Did you make her cum? Did she leave satisfied? Please tell me, sweetie, I really want to know.” Dread washed over him, and he went quiet again. The smell enraptured Cecilia. She reacted like a kitten to catnip, and was suddenly all purrs. Her hips rocked back and forth at the new moistness between her legs. The scent of another woman, of another woman’s pleasure, it was too much. It filled her up. “Mmmm. It was good, wasn’t it?” Her voice sounded husky, her eyes droopily seductive. “It was good and juicy.” “Stop it.” Cecilia now seemed sexy, seductive. She began to crack his newly established tough exterior. He began to wonder whether he’d made a mistake. The smells and sounds and sights swirled about Roy, disorienting him. When he looked at her, he saw not a crazy, soon-to-be-ex-wife; but a scared, lonely girl. “Did you lick her chatte?” she asked. Roy couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“Did you lick her pussy?” she shouted, leaning forward. The sound in her ears pounded louder. “You little, no-good, cheating and lying boy! Wait right there, lover. We’ll work this out.” Cecilia left the room, leaving Roy with his thoughts. As he turned to replace the iron poker in its stand, he heard her return. He looked up. Yes, come in, my reptilian friend. Come and visit Roy and me. “Cecilia, what are you—what are you doing?” Cecilia aimed the Derringer at him. She wiggled her hips, one hand rising and falling over her chest. A devilish haze took over. She saw only him and his increasing fear fueling. And she felt only hate. “No you can’t.” He backed into the fireplace, his knees quivering. “Please, Cecilia. Cecilia—no! Put down the gun.” “You’re going to pay, you queer-dicked bastard!” Roy ducked behind the couch. He was still holding the iron poker. “Cecilia—oh God, please!” Grinning, she lowered the gun. She slid the barrel along her cleavage. Her eyelids fluttered. “Beg me,” she said. “Beg me for your life.” “Bu—Th—” Roy dropped to his knees, unable to string together a sentence. You’re nothing but a whore! I’ll make you pay, you hear me!” Cecilia reeled back in ecstasy. “Yes!” he sobbed. “Yes!” He raised his hands, holding the poker above his head. “I’m nothing. Please don’t—” A gunshot rang out. Roy flinched. The echo filled the other rooms. He slowly opened his eyes, looking left, then right. He saw a hole in the dresser. “You don’t wanna do this,” he reasoned. “Please.” “Did you do it to her good?” She walked over to him and squeezed his arm. The pounding in her ears grew louder. “Please,” he protested, his arm shaking. “That hurts.” “You stupid, small-dicked creep. If you think this’ll be easier, you got another thing coming to you. You’ll know agony like nothing you’ve never felt.” Spittle formed at the corners of her mouth. “Please.” Roy cowered.

“You think you can take a woman’s confidence and betray her?” She jabbed the gun at his face. She could make out the image of his face, but all else went black. She whipped the gun about and hit him, loving the sound it made against his cheek. She heard something crack. The cut cheek spouted blood. It spilled onto the carpet as he crumpled into a heap on the ground. Roy gasped and cringed in pain. She raced over to him on all fours, and licked his bloodied wound. “Mmmm,” she luxuriated in the taste. “No!” He clutched his face, but she clawed his hands away, digging her tongue deeper into the wound, and lapping up his blood. “Cecilia, please put down the gun. Let’s talk about this. I don’t want—” “Shut up,” she shouted, her face buried in his cheek. “I’m going to get one last taste of you.” One last taste? Roy thought, his eyes hardening. His cheek throbbed. Roy grabbed Cecilia’s hips, twisting them to the sound of a small crack. She gave a guttural sound as he landed on top of her and forced the iron poker against her throat. Cecilia spat into the air, hissing and clawing at him. The banging in her head became a constant, low-pitched boom. Roy leaned on the iron bar, pinning her down by the throat. He could hear snaps and pops. “Oh, God.” His eyes widened with fear. “Ha!” She grinned like an animal. His face went white with terror. Suddenly, he felt her legs around his neck. The iron bar slipped out of his hands. She raised the gun. “Mommy,” he whispered, covering his face. A bolt of lightning lit the room. Cecilia threw back her head and laughed. Her open-mouthed laughter shocked her; it sounded like gravel rolling in a cement mixer. The horrible sound echoed against every wall and reverberated around the room. “I’m your mommy now, and you’re in terrible trouble,” she whispered, lifting up his chin with her toe of her shoe. He stared at her in shock. His terror pumped through her veins, it radiated out of a spot in her stomach out to her breasts, her arms, and her legs. His blood on her lips, his cries in the air. She felt so close and wanted to be closer.

“Now suck on this.” She pulled from her hairy depths a tampon. Her noises changed to a non-stop, high pitched tone. “No, no, stop!” He crumpled. “Here!” She pushed it near his mouth. “Ugh!” He cried and gagged as the tampon waved close to his lips. This moved Cecilia, and she doubled over for a moment, swaying back and forth, giving forth huffs of air. He gagged when the tampon brushed his lips. Her brain stirred crazy. I love this! “I adore it. Die in hell!” She wanted more. “Please, I’ll do anything you want,” he barely breathed. He vomited. She stood over him, laughing in cackles, and tossed the bloody tampon aside. “Never again will you fuck a woman,” she sneered. He spat vomit on the floor. Cecilia opened her legs and placed the warm handle of the pistol into her slit, buffing it against her clitoris. A wave of heat rushed over her; she felt its aura radiating. It spread to her fingers, her face, and her whole body. She shook against her own hand, which plunged the handle of the gun deeper into her slit. Grinding against it, she pulled at her long hair, her eyes blazed with lust. I’m moaning in delight, quivering, as it feels fucking lovely! Roy’s body trembled. “You’re mine forever. You’re not for another woman’s taking.” Her chest heaved. She moaned, and then she pulled the trigger. The pistol handle bucked against her clit. Every sense stood upright and bristled with excitement. Gray matter splattered against the wall. “Beats shooting blanks at poor mom’s picture any day.” She laughed again. “The best sex we’ve had, my jackrabbit.” She moaned and pulled the trigger, each shot recoiling back into her clit. She paused, heaving and moaning. She loaded five more shells into the Derringer. She wrapped her finger around the trigger and squeezed, His dead body lay in a heap.

She shot the Derringer until it was empty. With each shot, she shuttered an orgasm, yelping with pleasure. He lay there, limp and dead, with wounds riddling his body. Blood was splattered everywhere. Stumbling and slipping on the blood, she reloaded the tiny pistol again and stripped him of his pants and boxers. Laughing, she aimed the Derringer at his penis. She fired at his genitals. Finally, the noise in her ears stopped. The house was still. Cecilia heard the storm diminishing. The wind died down, and the rain slowed to a tinkle. Cecilia called the police and calmly told them she had used a gun to shoot her husband in selfdefense. She was arrested, and was later found guilty by a jury of eight women and four men. Her story was reported by the news media, and she became a minor celebrity. In the dull, gray confines of her prison cell, on the first day of her life sentence, Cecilia forged a bond with her cellmate. The two of them started a relationship. Cecilia loved the odor of a woman. In prison, she could always smell it. She was in heaven. “Why’d you kill him?” Cecilia’s prison wife eventually asked. “Because he cheated.” Cecilia scowled. “Is that’s all?” “Yes.” “So he cheated on you, so what?” “Come on honey. I’m in love again.” And as her cellmate grumbled, Cecilia murmured, “I’m in love again. It’s not time for you to meet her.” ∞∞∞

Today Roy was a brilliant scientist who strove every day to aid humanity. Tragically, his life was cut short, so we will never know what he might have contributed to our world. The least we can do is to learn from the horrible circumstances surrounding his death. Last month, Cecilia’s cellmate was found in the prison laundry hamper. She’d been beaten to death. The officer on duty described that it looked as if the victim’s body had been mauled to death by a wild animal. It is abundantly clear that people like Cecilia, who exhibit signs of extreme jealousy, combined with mental illness are a risk to society. All too often, people with controlling and abusive habits are thought of as self-empowered or as knowing what they want, rather than being penalized for their wrongful acts. A course in how to handle jealousy and anger might have provided Cecilia with the tools to manage her rage. After Roy’s mother and Cecilia’s father had completed their grieving process, they came to realize that the hole in our educational and mental health systems might have precipitated Roy’s murder. A foundation opened in Roy’s name has developed a course to educate the public on the causes, potential harm, and management of extreme jealousy. This course, if properly distributed, has the potential to help the plight of thousands of people, if not millions. If an education program had been instituted years ago, Roy might still be alive today. ∞∞∞

Official Hook-up Guide for Men A possessive woman may murder her cheating man.ccxliii.ccxliv ccxlv It is possible for a woman to rape a man, and women have done so.ccxlvi ccxlvii Jealousy may drive people to murder.ccxlviii Every day in the US, four people are murdered by their partners.ccxlix 49% of all abuse is related to extreme jealousy.ccl 44% of marriages break up due to jealousy.ccli 70% of men and women surveyed have jealousy issues. Women’s invoked vindictiveness has no limits.cclii ccliii ccliv Men will fall in love with a person who satisfies them sexually cclv A woman may use marriage to bind a man exclusively to her. A woman may use marriage to show friends she has landed a man.cclvi Some women enjoy wielding power over men.cclvii A Woman will hate other women who interfere with their man.cclviii cclix

Epilogue More stories need be told. More voices must speak. Youtube videos are aching to be filmed. There are books waiting to be written and movies itching to be produced. Changes are contingent on harnessing the self and looking inwards until a new tomorrow dawns, bringing about a better future. Daily nagging, fights, and arguments are torturous. Being invisible or disposable while providing for a family without rest or dreams will kill the soul. Being beaten down in a relationship is the common misery of too many. Dragging oneself up after the beat down is a Herculean task, but it can be achieved. The further journey originates by learning from the past so that additional doors open to unveil alternative options. Some might modify their thoughts; others may change the direction of their lives because of this book. Others could harness their own greatest asset, innovation; by unshackling the bonds that hold each of us down; we can discharge those ties and free ourselves and allow for the invention of tomorrow. There is a world yet to be discovered, oceans to be explored and uncharted territories to be conquered. Fellow men will design and build the infrastructures and technologies of the future. Constructing new designs will empower our souls with life fulfillment. Men will dream, engineer, and realize the yet-to-come super-space age era. Luckily, at this time, the world is exploding with promise and ground-breaking advances. We are living in the Goldilocks zone of life. No matter if your passion is carpentry, masonry, software engineering or stem cell research; now is the time to dance your merry fandango. Now is the time to compose a symphony; a hymn for you and the individuals close to you and for people of the world. The best is yet to come. Tim Patten ## end ##

The Full Manifesto of the Dominant Malecclx “Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go it’s one of the best.” Woody Allen Men like sex. It’s simple, ladies. This manifesto needed to be drafted is evidence that our society is a backwards haven for boner-hating control freaks. There is a war in the world today, a battle against half of the world’s population. It is not relegated to one geographical location. It is worldwide. This battle is not over religion or political beliefs but freedom. It is not a physical war but a spiritual one. And while its tactics differ, the aim of the offending party remains the same as the aim of all war-mongering groups and that is control over the losing party. For years, masculinity has been under attack. Not on a typical battlefield, where masculinity would surely feel comfortable and even at home, but in the average American home, within the murky nuances of every man/woman relationship. But how could females take battle against the fiber of man’s being, the impetus of evolution, the very reason we humans have managed to crawl from our caves into the spotlight of existence? It’s simple; women refuse to acknowledge it as such, to give it credence in any way. Instead, they mock masculinity, shame it, and aim to wipe it off the earth. Masculinity is not a social idea that can be railed against or a set of values are decided upon; it is the core state of all men. And it will never leave this universe. But for women, hiding it is as good as killing it. Women refuse to acknowledge the masculine and force normally masculine men into corners by collectively agreeing it is not socially acceptable to practice man’s natural emotions. This is a situation making women happy, while men grow unfulfilled, and soon, the light of manliness will dim and suffocate. Men in this scenario find a light of hope. It is simple. Men need to fight back against obscurity and shaming by acknowledging our own masculinity. Simple, but not easy, because men’s instincts are vilified, the simplest measures to preserve them are buried under unfettered scrutiny. When men acknowledge our sexual desires, we are set upon by sharp tongues and razor teeth crying for blood. “Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.” Oscar Wilde When men are asked by a woman, what you are thinking? Does she really want to know? No. Men know this. If any man deviates from the NO or NOTHING response, I’m thinking of nothing. If he

sheds a slight whiff of oxygen on his inner sex flame, he will find a fight on his hands. You will fight, and she will fight back, hen-peck, and soon men find yourself apologizing for having had an honest thought. As Winston Churchill explained, having enemies is a good thing—it means you stood up for something. So let this manifesto show that I, Russell Carlson, and every other man on this planet, is indeed a man, with male instincts, a male soul and male urges. We can easily separate sex from love. The male urge is bound to our brains through so many thousands of years of evolution. Men are sex machines. While visiting the bank, or walking past a park, or being at work, men struggle to restrain the desire to speak with women, to seduce women. Not for want of love. Sex is the sine-qua-non condition of all living things, and men are naturally driven to have sex. Men just have sex. No love, no feelings, nothing but the act itself. It is not an emotion but a natural drive. “Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.” Marquis de Sade According to females, men are able to have sex, but only with one woman. Anything else is considered cheating and he must be penalized for cheating. If man wants to foray into the world of the unknown, he must petition his single female partner to allow it. He needs to sign in the promise in triplicate. He must vow his truth forever. The female rules the nest and all visitors must follow the rules. The female won’t play unless her man is turned into a slug of only her bidding. This is her nesting instinct to have children and keep all other women away from her home and man. Who does one ask to go to the bathroom? Do we need special permission? If we get hungry in the middle of the day, do we need to get a special nod before we engage in the act of eating? Do we fear in asking for this permission of sex? This is what our current state of relationship rules left us with men must abide, be patient, and seek permission from women to simply be. So yes, I relented to the woman, sex with multiple women is cheating, is infidelity, is creeping, but is so only because women penned the rulebook. I—and all men—are preconditioned to engage in sexual activity without affection. In fact, sex and love are like oil and water. Sex is a thing we do—it is an action, a biological imperative, and men are designed, are hard-wired, to want to engage in this action with multiple partners. “Women get to have those thoughts. I have to have those thoughts. You’re a tourist in sexual perversion. I’m a prisoner there. You’re Jane Fonda on a tank. I’m John McCain in the hut.” Louis CK When the urge for multiple sex partners is misunderstood, a relationship becomes toxic. Men will be completely emasculated.

Men aren’t statues, after all—men do have feelings. We feel bad for our thoughts and actions if they alienate us from our chosen woman. We don’t want our mate to be jealous of a compulsion they cannot begin to understand. This emotion of sadness is manipulated into shame through persistent pestering, until men believe we are broken because of the innate task imposed upon us by nature in the deepest recesses of our minds live on. Infidelity is part of the human experience. But the word “infidelity” implies something bad—“in” meaning “not” and “fidelity” meaning “faithful.” Am I not faithful to a woman whom I love if I love her and her alone? So language is used to define the problem contains a hidden biases. Let’s not call it infidelity any longer—a new word, sexual freedom is more accurate. “Sexual freedom” is truthful. If I said “sexual freedom is part of the human experience,” few people would cringe. This sexual freedom, engrained in each man, arouses suspicion and distrust within the confines of a relationship. This suspicion and distrust can be conquered, but not by forcing men to act against their nature. Not by crippling the fabric of masculine instincts, drives and motivations. Human design pushes me towards sexual freedom. It’s the universal obligation keeping hominids from extinction, and the world must catch up with this fact. My primal impulses do not originate in the conscious mind or heart, but from a place embedded inside; it is the universe acting through me. These sex compulsions, often repressed, gather strength. No man can say “no” to these urges. Only “later,” when the sun falls and the conscious mind fades and weakens the sex urge rears up again. I awake from a lusty dream. Night has fallen—it is dark in my room, pitch black, but I know the woman sleeping softly next to me has not roused. I do not take notice of her. There is a yearning, a deep-seated, diffused quiver rolling inside of me, directing me to the secrets of the night. It is insatiable, this lust, and as the door shuts and I am into the night it is clear to me before asking what my aim is: an unknown, engorged clitoris. The bite and suckling on a stranger’s silk skin. It overtakes me in waves as I move, pursuing prey in heat, my mind static but for one urge. The trajectory I follow is different every time. I follow fragrances without a scent. I seek to find someone; who, I know not. I crave ripe eggs begging for sperm. I spirit along roads without a map and travel unknown pathways in the darkness. I navigate unmarked thoroughfares, sail across uncharted oceans. And I always find the target. It’s always there, because this is how evolution works. For an A, there is a B. And for my cock, for my need to plunge into a tight, soft slit there is a woman pleading to be hit; a celestial bull’s-eye beseeches me. I always take it long, hard, and deep. It is never soft. It is deliberate and complete. Once completed, I’m driven toward a second, a third and more encounters, sometimes in the same night, until I am spent. Afterwards, when I wake beside the woman I love, which I always do, I am truly happy. And it is then, and for the first time since last I lay here, I make love. As much as our society aims to deconstruct and emasculate men, it also realizes our sexual urge is insatiable. Our society runs on this instinct—think TV commercials, think clothing makers, think

social media and think everyday interactions—it panders to it while at the same time admonishing its existence. Like a fish finding spawning grounds, an Aboriginal mystery, I caress my atavistic endeavors. My attraction cannot be called “aroused” because this word implies some form of complicity, as if I myself am pleased by the state of things; no, I myself stare in horror at what this drive has done to my life, relationship with my wife, sleeping cycle. It captivates me, sends me hurtling onwards endlessly, and all society has to say about this urge is “fight it.” Fight it? My urge is not something to be fought, but a piece of humanity to embrace. This urge is less inner demon and more inner angel, trumping our traditional notions of self-preservation for the sake of preserving our very species. It is not an urge, but part of our solar system—it is the moon. Yes, the moon, always with us, sometimes viewable and other times hidden away on our other side. It generates millions of new people into the world’s emergency rooms. And when the time is ripe, it turns me into a werewolf at night. It alters the landscape. High tides wash over previously dry land, dragging with them the sensation of living. Secrets buried inside me detonate. I am flooded by hormones. They wash over me, into me, through my every organ. I am beaming, an unquenchable thirst hanging in my throat. The moon beams down on our street, on me, and I beam back. I am the moon, and I am also the beast called forward. My howls are the howls of highland wolves. They ricochet across foggy terrain. Here, in this night, under cover of darkness and lit only by the moon, I dominate, manly and chock-full. Breaking into a run, I am duty-bound, leaping majestically over obstacles and knolls. I am the wolf, the moon, the path I travel on. I journey, my senses honed on finding my quarry, hastened by a full-on gust from a powerful drug gripping my loins. Animal reflexes waterfall inside my body cavities, welling up with supreme power. I attack with unpolluted energy and she attacks back. Sex ensues rough and hard. She’s absconded and left quivering in a post-coital ecstasy, dazed and undulating. She has been taken like she was never taken before. I forget her now. I leave. No emotions stir. I look back, knowing she is a kindred spirit. If I am the wolf, she is the deer. It is a system. The kill is left gasping and I go on to another magnetic connection. When this planetsized sex organ, this irredeemable lust arrests me, I am merely its vessel. There is no calling, no emission to sniff, no howl to produce. The attraction is older than such senses; it is primordial. Her ovulation cycle calls to me. In the moment, muffled moans and nails on skin and the measured motions of fucking produce no words. There are no words. Time holds no relevance. There is only the pursuit. Only after I am sated do I notice the time, notice where I am, giving recognition to my growling stomach. The quest is ended. Only then do I imagine my warm bed, the light covers, and the soft pillow. Only then do I consider my family; only after such intercourse came and went do I think of my wife. My wife is not like the prey I feast upon in the night. There’s no love at night, just sex. I don’t think of how I look nor does it matter to me how the prey looks as I am wrapped inside of it. I feel nothing toward her. She might be pretty, she might be ugly. I don’t take note. I’m caught inside a gravitational

force and am being hauled into the heaving center of a dynamic Black Hole, with boundless energy and where nothing can escape. All my bio-rhythms peak at their maximum levels simultaneously igniting the sex-hunger revving my engine into a searing, greased, pounding machine, hitting on all cylinders. I feel a touch, or snag a look, and the mystery desire asserts its predominance. Sounds crazy, does it? All men feel this way. You hear men say “I don’t know why I cheated. I made a mistake.” It is no mistake. These types of answers are the result of a man trying to explain the necessity of fulfilling an urge to a public who denies the validity of those urges. Isn’t it possible men have compulsions they can’t restrain? Men themselves don’t understand these energies. They are moved by these emotions independently of their will, like a puppet dangling at the end of a string, and nature, the invisible puppeteer, produces from them a dance. And what a great dance it is. Women always tell us to be a man, man up! “Grow up and be a man,” they say, thumping their foot. Well, this is what being a man is all about. No manlier can a man be. Nor more natural can a man get. Men, do not feel bad for not sharing this with wives. I don’t think men are capable of telling their women this truth. Women don’t like hearing because they cannot control Mother Nature, who imbued this planet of experience within us. Cross your wife’s line and she will be mad. She will be cruel. She will be violent. She will strike. Men are not surprised by it. Men expect it. If we tell her she will hurt, jealous of the other woman. We do not want to hurt our love, and so we keep silent. Man’s protective nature overrides all else so we lie. When discovered, we cannot plead our case—we are the Liar, the Asshole, and the Man I Never Should Have Married. A man who tries to speak truthfully to their girl about his very real urges and how he would like to handle them is not a simple chat. He will be berated, his loyalty called into question, and years after the fight—whenever the woman needs an upper hand—she will bring up the time her man “cheated.” She will verbally abuse him. She will cry at him. She will argue every day and withhold sex in some masochistic attempt to teach her puppy a lesson—only share your penis with me, and damn your own instincts. Men don’t want to tackle women’s jealous type of life. Men are logical creatures, and logic dictates if something is natural and unavoidable. If this unavoidable thing greatly distresses the one he loves, he will keep it from her. He will protect her. If only women could understand this uncomplicated truth of men, the world would be a more congenial place. The truth is simply men can’t stop. This is being a man. Man’s manifesto actions to partake; 1) Listen closely to your inner angel. Let it guide you. Feel for perhaps the first time in your life the unbelievable sensation of fulfilling your biological destiny.

2) Tell your wife or girlfriend of these urges and your plan to embrace them. By being forced to acknowledge your masculinity, they may get upset. They may even threaten to leave. Let them. It is better to live in reality than to dilute it in order to live with someone who cannot handle it. 3) Spread the word. Be unashamed. Feel proud of your manhood. These actions, diligently followed, will produce a different life for you—a life of passion and fulfillment, and one where you will look in the mirror and embrace yourself for being a man. “Sex lies at the root of life, and we can never learn to reverence life until we know how to understand sex.” Havelock Ellis ∞∞∞

Footnote References i www.wattpad.com/23863-why-do-men-ignore-nagging-wives-it%27s-all-science#.UijFWj_ajSk ii http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sex-dawn/200805/inconvenient-truth-sexual-monogamy-kills-male-libido iii answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130429172254AAail74 iv globalgrind.com/2013/02/07/is-it-natural-men-cheat-step-out-on-partners-blog/ v men.webmd.com/guide/our-cheatin-hearts vi newsbusters.org/blogs/tom-blumer/2013/06/24/next-society-wrecking-agenda-item-monogamy-unnatural vii http://www.amazon.com/The-Monogamy-Myth-Personal-Recovering/dp/1557045429/ref=sr_1_1? ie=UTF8_and_qid=1391356660_and_sr=8-1_and_keywords=monogamy+is+a+myth viii www.livescience.com/32146-are-humans-meant-to-be-monogamous.html ix www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2083692/Why-men-ALWAYS-cheat-love-partners-dont-want-leave-them.html x magazine.foxnews.com/love/cheating-statistics-do-men-cheat-more-women xi Not all men are compelled, but most are, especially in their younger (18-35) years. xii www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/monogamy xiii By author of Why I Cheat xiv Not all women are compelled, but most are, especially in their younger (18-35) years. xv By author of Why I Cheat xvi By author of Why I Cheat xvii www.history.com/shows/men-who-built-america xviii By author of Why I Cheat xix By author of Why I Cheat xx Not all men fear abuse from women but many do hate the verbal abuse xxi www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/understanding-guys#slide-5 xxii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xxiii www.askmen.com/dating/heidi/30_dating_girl.html xxiv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xxv This is a good, common-sense rule. xxvi www.motivation-for-dreamers.com/motivation-quotes.html xxvii By author of Why I Cheat xxviii www.livescience.com/32146-are-humans-meant-to-be-monogamous.html xxix By author of Why I Cheat xxx By author of Why I Cheat xxxi www.askmen.com/dating/curtsmith_60/86_dating_advice.html xxxii www.indianexpress.com/news/women-spend-8000xxxiii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xxxiv www.wattpad.com/23863-why-do-men-ignore-nagging-wives-it%27s-all-science#.UijFWj_ajSk xxxv Not all women do this; however many do—it is important to discern. xxxvi Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xxxvii Not all women do this; however most do—it is important to discern. xxxviii marriage.about.com/od/communicationkeys/a/Manipulation-In-Marriage.htm xxxix Not all wives are like this but many are—use discretion xl www.businessinsider.com/how-much-it-costs-to-raise-a-family-in-the-us-2012-6 xli www.aish.com/f/m/48944586.html xlii www.cnn.com/2013/06/21/opinion/laslocky-monogamy-marriage

xliii www.alternet.org/books/monogamy-natural xliv By author of Why I Cheat xlv dominiantwives.blogspot.com/2011/06/enslave-your-man.html xlvi nymag.com/relationships/sex/47055/index1.html xlvii kirstenuhler.com/2009/05/05/traditional-marriage-an-outmoded-institution/ xlviii www.legalmatch.com/law-library/article/traditional-marriage-alternatives.html xlix From egworldwire.com and the National Coalition For Men l www.familyofmen.com/domestic-violence/family-violence-report/ li This is a good, common-sense rule. lii cryingoutforjustice.wordpress.com/2012/03/30/how-many-times-should-abuse-be-tolerated-by-jeff-crippen/ liii Male Abuse to Men By Women Provided by dvrc-or.org The Domestic Violence Resource Center liv dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ lv dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ lvi dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ lvii dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ lviii www.indianexpress.com/news/women-spend-8000-minutes-a-year-nagging-their-husbands/635095/ lix www.helpguide.org/mental/domestic_violence_abuse_types_signs_causes_effects.htm lx By author of Why I Cheat lxi Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion lxii www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/women-are-more-violent-says-study-622388.html lxiii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion lxiv en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domestic_violence_against_men lxv www.familyofmen.com/domestic-violence/family-violence-report/ lxvi Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. lxvii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion lxviii www.huffingtonpost.ca/franchesca-warren/sex-relationship_b_1659021.html lxix Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion lxx This is a good, common-sense rule. lxxi www.stevepavlina.com/blog/ lxxii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion lxxiii By author of Why I Cheat lxxiv www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUlwUBFN2TE lxxv www.batteredmen.com/bathamil.htm lxxvi This is a good, common-sense rule. lxxvii This is a good, common-sense rule. lxxviii http://www.theguardian.com/science/2006/apr/19/genderissues.uknews lxxix By author of Why I Cheat lxxx verbalabuseofmen.com/ lxxxi forum.freeadvice.com/domestic-violence-abuse-38/tape-recording-domestic-violence-legal-235210.html lxxxii innerself.com/content/self-help/behavior-modification/attitudes/3874-holding-a-grudge-by-marie-t-russell.html lxxxiii www.buzzle.com/articles/nagging-wife.html lxxxiv www.helpguide.org/mental/domestic_violence_abuse_types_signs_causes_effects.htm lxxxv www.thefrisky.com/2009-07-28/what-scorned-women-have-done-to-get-even/ lxxxvi By author or Why I Cheat lxxxvii www.airliners.net/aviation-forums/non_aviation/read.main/163911/ lxxxviii http://www.examiner.com/article/are-marriage-vows-outdated lxxxix www.huffingtonpost.com/brittany-gibbons/im-not-a-fat-enabler_b_3573695.html

xc www.ask.com/answers/383232501/how-do-you-convince-a-girl-she-s-not-fat-even-though-she-thinks-she-is xci Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. xcii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xciii Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. xciv Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. xcv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion xcvi Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. xcvii en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_cave xcviii www.examiner.com/article/controlling-wives-bad-for-marriage xcix www.mnn.com/family/pets/photos/7-incredibly-loyal-dogs/mans-best-friend c yourlife.usatoday.com/parenting-family/pets/story/2012-01-24/How-dogs-spread-happiness/52756792/1 ci answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130125133309AAlhsA4 cii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion ciii By author of Why I Cheat civ Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cv www.lovepanky.com/men/guy-talk/why-do-men-need-guy-time cvi http://manlyexcellence.com/2011/09/12/the-importance-of-male-companionship-by-samson/ cvii www.lovepanky.com/men/guy-talk/why-do-men-need-male-friends cviii morris.patch.com/groups/theodore-e-b-einhorn-esqs-blog/p/bp—ask-the-attorney-can-i-get-permanent-alimony cix www.askmen.com/daily/austin_150/166b_fashion_style.html cx www.avoiceformen.com/activism/about/ cxi www.askmen.com/daily/austin_150/166b_fashion_style.html cxii www.yourtango.com/201059594/what-makes-77-percent-women-jealous cxiii www.wvwnews.net/story.php?id=10870 cxiv www.legalzoom.com/marriage-divorce-family-law/divorce/men-v-women-who-does cxv ex-wivescanruinlives.synthasite.com/things-vindictive-women-may-do.php cxvi Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. cxvii 56% of divorced men say they hate their failed marriage. cxviii www.clearbankruptcy.com/financial-literacy/10-leading-causes-of-bankruptcy.aspx cxix www.mckinleyirvin.com/blog/divorce/32-shocking-divorce-statistics/ cxx en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Briffault cxxi www.ejfi.org/family/family-37.htm cxxii antimisandry.com/marriage-divorce-children-choice-men/15-000-18-000-divorced-men-commit-suicide-every-year-17392.html cxxiii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxxiv golddiggernation.blogspot.com/ cxxv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxxvi prostitution.procon.org/view.resource.php?resourceID=004119 cxxvii www.ask.com/answers/47590221/what-does-chivalry-is-dead-mean cxxviii www.askmen.com/dating/heidi/32_dating_girl.html cxxix abclocal.go.com/kgo/story?section=news/7_on_your_side&id=8290087 cxxx simplemom.net/debt-isnt-sexy-and-other-marriage-lessons/ cxxxi fayobserver.com/articles/2013/06/03/1259746 cxxxii https.//www.firstwivesworld.com/index.php/community-talk/item/5295-is-sex-truly-an-absolute-physical-need-for-men cxxxiii www.bostonglobe.com/business/2013/05/26/women-graduates-elite-colleges-more-likely-opt-outworkforce/wQAmXRV9WMWtFKph26ORBM/story.html cxxxiv This is a good, common-sense rule cxxxv By author of Why I Cheat

cxxxvi news.discovery.com/human/evolution/men-women-shopping-evolution.htm cxxxvii economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/07/money-fights-predict-divorce-rates/?_r=0 cxxxviii http://www.bullyonline.org/related/femviol.htm cxxxix articles.sun-sentinel.com/1993-05-19/news/9302120710_1_girls-night-guys-girlfriend cxl Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxli www.lovepanky.com/women/understanding-men/how-to-manipulate-men cxlii www.psychologytoday.com/blog/he-speaks-she-speaks/201101/the-crying-game cxliii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxliv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxlv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxlvi www.patheos.com/blogs/afewgrownmen/2012/08/the-power-of-her-sex/ cxlvii www.experienceproject.com/question-answer/Why-Women-Use-Their-Awesome-S-E-X-U-A-L-Power-To-Control-ManipulateAnd-Get-What-They-Want-From-Men/500077 cxlviii www.patheos.com/blogs/afewgrownmen/2012/08/the-power-of-her-sex/ cxlix www.angryharry.com/esWomenManipulateMen.htm cl www.experienceproject.com/question-answer/Why-Women-Use-Their-Awesome-S-E-X-U-A-L-Power-To-Control-Manipulate-AndGet-What-They-Want-From-Men/500077 cli www.huffingtonpost.com/juliette-frette/jealousy_b_1914374.html clii evolution-x.com/strass/why%20women%20are%20mean.htm cliii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cliv www.guttmacher.org/pubs/FB-Unintended-Pregnancy-US.html clv www.nytimes.com/2010/04/07/opinion/l07bully.html?_r=0 clvi Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion clvii www.askmen.com/top_10/dating_top_ten_60/86b_dating_list.html clviii www.experienceproject.com/question-answer/Why-Are-Women-So-Mean—Cruel-To-Men/621284 clix Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion clx www.lovepanky.com/women/understanding-men/how-to-manipulate-men clxi intelligentwomenreadromance.wordpress.com/2010/04/29/because-women-will-use-pregnancy-to-get-a-man/ clxii www.lovepanky.com/women/understanding-men/how-to-manipulate-men clxiii computer.howstuffworks.com/internet/social-networking/information/social-networks-honesty.htm clxiv socialnewsdaily.com/15070/social-media-is-making-us-less-honest/ clxv www.yourtango.com/201059594/what-makes-77-percent-women-jealous clxvi www.rolereboot.org/culture-and-politics/details/2012-04-is-marriage-a-form-of-peer-pressure clxvii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion clxviii m.qfak.com/livelihood/society_culture/?id=b567998 clxix Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion clxx www.indianexpress.com/news/women-spend-8000-minutes-a-year-nagging-their-husbands/635095/ clxxi www.wvwnews.net/story.php?id=10870 clxxii www.comscoredatamine.com/2011/12/women-spend-more-time-social-networking-than-men-worldwide/ clxxiii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion clxxiv www.apartmenttherapy.com/escape-from-cle-91119 clxxv Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. clxxvi forums.plentyoffish.com/datingPosts7833318.aspx clxxvii www.huffingtonpost.com/charlotte-hilton-andersen/women-slapping-men-cute-o_b_905323.html clxxviii www.psychologytoday.com/blog/insight-is-2020/201207/how-define-physical-abuse-in-relationships-slap-push clxxix This is a good common-sense rule. clxxx This is a good common-sense rule. clxxxi www.thenationalcampaign.org/why-it-matters/pdf/poverty.pdf

clxxxii www.thenationalcampaign.org/resources/pdf/fast-facts-unplanned-key-data.pdf clxxxiii www.thenationalcampaign.org/resources/pdf/fast-facts-unplanned-key-data.pdf clxxxiv money.cnn.com/2013/08/14/pf/cost-children/ clxxxv By Author of Why I Cheat clxxxvi By Author of Why I Cheat clxxxvii Not all women do this; however, many do—it is important to discern. clxxxviii By Author of Why I Cheat clxxxix m.qfak.com/livelihood/society_culture/?id=b567998 cxc answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090707120931AAupZVx cxci Not all women do this; however, most do—it is important to discern. cxcii ideas.thenest.com/love-and-sex-advice/getting-pregnant/slideshows/things-cant-do-after-baby.aspx cxciii gettinbetter.com/blackmail.html cxciv Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cxcv answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130508175536AASOy8T cxcvi en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Manipulated_Man cxcvii talkaboutmarriage.com/general-relationship-discussion/14698-my-wife-wants-kids-i-do-not.html cxcviii By Author of Why I Cheat cxcix jezebel.com/5787295 cc www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/03/13/false-rape-allegations-ra_n_2865823.html cci en.wikipedia.org/wiki/False_allegation_of_child_sexual_abuse ccii blogcritics.org/marriage-and-children-are-no-longer/ cciii www.vhemt.org/biobreed.htm cciv mediamatters.org/research/2013/07/16/media-ignore-why-women-need-access-to-abortion/194901 ccv www.ready-for-childbirth.com/birth-decisions.html ccvi voices.yahoo.com/the-marriage-alternative-keep-relationship-183269.html ccvii www.pamf.org/teen/sex/birthcontrol/condom.html ccviii www.thefrisky.com/2009-07-28/what-scorned-women-have-doneccix http://newsbusters.org/blogs/tom-blumer/2013/06/24/next-society-wrecking-agenda-item-monogamy-unnatural ccx http://www.cnn.com/2013/06/21/opinion/laslocky-monogamy-marriage/ ccxi http://www3.scienceblog.com/community/older/2001/E/200115758.html ccxii http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2286682/Monogamy-natural-men-AND-women-equally-promiscuous-TED-lecturerreveals.html ccxiii http://www.dearpeggy.com/myth.html ccxiv http://www.thecouplesstudy.com/?page_id=27 ccxv http://www.womansday.com/sex-relationships/dating-marriage/infidelity-in-marriage ccxvi http://www.amazon.com/The-Monogamy-Myth-Personal-Recovering/dp/1557045429 ccxvii http://www.thecouplesstudy.com/?page_id=27 ccxviii http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sex-dawn/200805/inconvenient-truth-sexual-monogamy-kills-male-libido ccxix http://arabia.msn.com/lifestyle/men/2035404/are-men-meant-to-be-monogamous/ ccxx http://reasonableredneck.wordpress.com/2013/02/23/the-coolidge-effect/ ccxxi http://newsbusters.org/blogs/paul-wilson/2012/01/05/huffpo-monogamy-killing-marriage ccxxii http://www.livescience.com/32146-are-humans-meant-to-be-monogamous.html ccxxiii http://www.positivelite.com/component/zoo/item/monogamy ccxxiv http://www.rickbeckman.org/men-of-the-bible-with-multiple-wives/ ccxxv http://www.alternet.org/story/155904/why_is_monogamy_idealized_when_most_people_aren0001t_monogamous ccxxvi http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100908192652AAFBiPD ccxxvii http://www.starpulse.com/news/Diana_Walker/2012/05/21/10_celebrities_married_multiple_times_?page=5

ccxxviii http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-456789/Genghis-Khan-The-daddy-lovers.html ccxxix This is good a common sense rule ccxxx http://www.positive-deviant.com/managing-expectations.html ccxxxi http://www.love-sessions.com/monogamy.htm ccxxxii http://www.sosuave.com/articles/jj/womenwant.htm ccxxxiii Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion ccxxxiv http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2013/05/23/nytimes_on_lybrido_women_get_bored_with_monogamy_faster_than_men.html ccxxxv http://magazine.foxnews.com/love/cheating-statistics-do-men-cheat-more-women ccxxxvi Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion ccxxxvii http://dsc.discovery.com/tv-shows/curiosity/topics/big-question-does-monogamy-make-us-happier.htm ccxxxviii http://www.salon.com/2013/01/04/study_the_non_monogamous_are_as_happy_as_other_couples/ ccxxxix http://www.yidio.com/show/the-men-who-built-america?utm_source=Bing_and_utm_medium=Search_and_t_source=64 ccxl http://www.history.com/news/history-lists/5-things-you-may-not-know-about-the-men-who-built-america ccxli http://usgovinfo.about.com/cs/censusstatistic/a/womenspay.htm ccxlii http://www.amazon.com/Why-Men-Earn-More-Startling/dp/0814472109/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8_and_qid=1391443879_and_sr=81_and_keywords=why+men+make+more ccxliii http://www.pathwaytohappiness.com/relationship_jealousy.html ccxliv http://www.wikihow.com/Handle-Jealousy ccxlv dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ ccxlvi dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ ccxlvii www.abs-cbnnews.com/nation/regions/06/18/13/jealous-woman-who-killed-husband-may-go-scot-free ccxlviii http://www.cnn.com/2013/10/09/living/chris-brown-female-on-male-rape/ ccxlix Not all women rape men ccl dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/ ccli domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/ cclii www.livestrong.com/article/133119-jealousy-love/ ccliii articles.sun-sentinel.com/2010-04-02/news/sfl-marriage-jealousy-033110_1_jealousy-marriage-trust-issues ccliv samanthajoytavo.wordpress.com/2009/09/10/stop-with-the-evil-vindictive-bitch-routine-already/ cclv www.thatbitchbook.com/reader_stories.html cclvi Not all women are like this but many are—use discretion cclvii https.//www.firstwivesworld.com/index.php/community-talk/item/5295-is-sex-truly-an-absolute-physical-need-for-men cclviii answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20120321232315AAxXCwe cclix www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/10/25/o.glass.ego/index.html cclx www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2344785/Theres-women-hate-women-succeeding-Thats-stabbing-says-Katie-Hopkins.html cclxi. www.divinecaroline.com/life-etc/friends-family/top-ten-things-make-woman-threatening-other-women cclxii. This has been penned by several authors as their honest experience it did not appear in the newspaper.