The Average American Marriage

by Chad Kultgen

  He says, “You’re a pussy. But I’ll break it down for you anyway. You said it yourself, when you told me she said she wanted a mature guy. You’re mature. The guys she’s used to don’t have jobs, don’t have money—”

  I say, “Don’t have a wife and kids.”

  He says, “You dumb fuck, that only makes you more attractive. Her little twenty-one-year-old girl brain doesn’t know why that shit’s attractive to her, but it is. She’s biologically programmed to find it attractive. Her sole function as an organism on this planet is to find a guy to breed with who can provide for her offspring. Granted, the guys her age are hotter, in better shape, just more fucking virile all around—”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, they are. They can probably fuck better. Maybe not eat pussy better. You probably know better technique from experience. The point is, you’ve got something they don’t: You’ve proven you can provide for a wife and kids, because you’re fucking doing it. And deep down, under all of the layers of bullshit that I can only imagine you have to deal with when you fuck a girl that young, her inner self recognizes that you’re a valuable biological choice. That’s what she finds attractive about you. That’s why she’s fucking you.”

  “I guess that’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad? What did you think she was attracted to, how cool you are? The car you drive? Your fucking haircut?” He laughs.

  “I don’t know. Not how cool I am, I guess. Maybe something having to do with my personality and not just my marriage status.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure she can hang out with you and not want to hang herself, but trust me—you’re not cool to her. You’re old. You’re interesting and you’re more established than the guys she normally fucks. You should be happy about this shit. You’re fucking a hot piece of twenty-one-year-old ass. That’s a nice thing.”

  “Have you ever done anything like this?”

  “Fuck a twenty-one-year-old?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh . . . are you kidding? Tedward and I don’t usually fuck anyone over twenty-one. So, yeah, I’ve done it. A lot.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “You don’t have to be jealous. You just have to like dick and you could be doing it, too.”

  “And there’s the trade-off.”

  The rest of the conversation is about nothing important, as our conversations usually are. Carlos tells me a little bit about his wedding and we get the check. When I get back to the office I look at Holly from my desk. I wonder if Carlos is right about why she fucks me—that I just represent a way to satisfy some primal urge that every girl has, that she has no actual interest in me as a person. She turns around and catches me looking at her. She smiles, turns back to her desk, and types something on her phone. My phone vibrates. I look down to see she has sent me a text message that reads, “Your hot.” I overlook the spelling mistake and convince myself that Carlos is not entirely correct.

  chapter twenty

  Second Session

  Roland says, “So did you guys try anything that I mentioned in the last session?”

  Alyna says, “We did try something. But it didn’t really work like I wanted it to, or like you said it would.”

  Roland says, “Okay. Can you elaborate a little bit?”

  Alyna says, “Well, I planned a spontaneous, um, encounter, you know, and I even had a sexual position picked out that we’d never tried, and I dropped the kids off with a friend, but once we actually got close to having intercourse I just started thinking about the kids and about how I don’t think I’m the same person I used to be and about how I don’t know if that’s a bad thing, it’s just kind of how it is, and I’m not sure if having sex more or in weirder ways is going to change that for me, you know?” She’s clearly trying to get the idea that we should be fucking more out of Roland’s head.

  Roland looks at me and says, “And how did you feel about all of this?”

  I say, “I really did appreciate the effort. It just didn’t work that time, and I guess I don’t think it means we should give up on it or anything.” I’m clearly trying to put the idea back into Roland’s head that we should be fucking more.

  Roland says, “Well, I think you should both be aware that these things, these changes, can’t happen overnight. As long as you’re both committed to making it work and to try and not give up, then you have nothing to worry about.” That’s my boy. I start wondering if there could be a market for a relationship therapist who always sides with the guys and always convinces women to fuck their partners more often and in more sexually adventurous manners. I wonder if I could become this therapist. I wonder what kind of schooling I would have to complete in order to get licensed. Roland is licensed, but he’s certainly not a doctor. It can’t be that tough. I make a mental note to remember this idea in case my other job goes belly-up at some point.

  Roland says, “It’s possible that the last suggestion I gave you was doing too much, too fast. Let’s try something a little less involved. Tonight—”

  Alyna says, “Tonight?”

  Roland says, “Yes, tonight, I want you each to imagine it’s the first time you’re having sex.”

  I want him to get specific. I say, “With each other or the first time ever?”

  He says, “Good question. With each other.” Roland likes me. He says, “Try to remember what it was like when you first started dating, how you felt about each other physically, what it was like when you first began to feel each others’ bodies. Really try to get back to that place in your heads.”

  Alyna says, “You want us to reenact the first time we had sex?”

  Roland says, “No. Not at all. Don’t think about the first time you had sex. I want you to pretend like tonight is the first time you two have ever had sex. For the rest of the day I want each of you to convince yourselves that you’ve never had sex, that you’ve been dating for a while but tonight is the night you’re finally going to do it. Really try to work yourselves up for the rest of the day, and then tonight just cut loose.”

  Alyna says, “I can try to do that.”

  I say, “I can do that.”

  Roland says, “Good. This will be a good first step, I think, and it should be a little less pressure than what I suggested last time. I’d also like to make another suggestion to you.”

  I don’t know what Roland is about to say, but I have full confidence that it will be heavily weighted in my favor based on the entirety of the therapy he’s dispensed thus far. He says, “I think it’s important in couples to reestablish some individuality if it feels like that’s been lost. Couples should never be codependent or have an identity that is solely based on the couple as a unit. You should each be your own autonomous entities who are choosing to be together because it makes you better both together and on your own.”

  Alyna says, “So what are you saying? We should do things without each other?”

  Roland says, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. At least one night a week, maybe more, you should each go out with your friends separately or possibly just go out and do something alone. The point is to establish for yourselves that you have lives independent of one another, so that the time you do spend together isn’t taken for granted. You might find that on these nights apart, you even miss each other a little bit, as crazy as that might sound.”

  Roland has basically given me carte blanche to fuck Holly whenever I want or to get drunk with Todd whenever I want. He is the greatest therapist in the world.

  Roland spends the rest of the hour asking us about influences outside our relationship that might be contributing to our lack of sex. I talk about work. Alyna talks about the kids. I do not mention that I’ve been fucking my intern but look very forward to the next time I can do that, under the guise of taking some “me time.”

  chapter twenty-one

  Burlesque Show

  When
I get home from work, I tell Alyna that I’m getting beers with Todd as part of my therapist-recommended individual identity-building time. She can’t argue. Forty-five minutes later, I’m at a place Holly invited me to called Three Clubs, buying us both drinks and tickets to a backroom burlesque show featuring one of her friends.

  Most of the chicks in the place are beasts. They’re far more than just chubby and they’re all dressed like Bettie Page. Holly is easily the hottest chick in the place. I’m glad to be with her. We sit down, engage in some meaningless small talk, and then the show starts.

  I was under the impression that burlesque shows featured hot girls who were slightly too classy to actually work in a strip club but still like showing their tits to complete strangers and don’t mind making one-tenth the money strippers do. Somehow no one ever explained to me that burlesque shows are actually endless parades of fat chicks with bad tattoos and hairdos from decades before their grandparents were born.

  I don’t make my disgust for these fat chicks known to Holly, because I know her friend is one of them. The announcer, a weird rockabilly Mexican guy with a wallet chain, takes the stage after five or six acts and says, “Are you ready for our final performer of the night?”

  The fifty or so people in the audience all cheer. I refrain. He says, “Let’s give a warm Three Clubs welcome to . . . Martini Blue!”

  Holly says, “This is my friend.” Everyone goes crazy. I’m expecting another fat chick to come out and flash her sloppy tits and cellulite, but instead the woman who comes through the curtain is one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen. She has the standard incredibly pale and shittily tattooed look that all of the other burlesque dancers have had, but she’s actually beautiful and she has an incredible body.

  The first thing she does is rip off the little blue wig she’s wearing and start twirling her black hair around. Then she does a routine that’s similar to the ones all of the fat chicks before her have done and at the end she does the thing with her perfectly firm little B-cup tits where she makes the tassels spin in opposite directions. The announcer comes back out and thanks everyone for coming, and then the burlesque dancers start emerging from the behind the little makeshift stage where they all just performed. Holly says, “Let’s get a drink with her.”

  At the bar I cover the tab for Holly and her friend. Her friend says, “Thanks.”

  I say, “No problem. Great show.”

  She says, “Thanks. Thanks for coming. I’m Cindy, by the way.” We shake hands. She says, “So, how do you know Holly?”

  Holly says, “We work together.”

  Cindy says, “Cool. You ever been to a burlesque show before?”

  I say, “No, not really.”

  Cindy says, “Well, I hope your first experience was a good one.”

  We talk and drink for another hour. Most of the burlesque audience has cleared out and it’s just Holly, Cindy, and me in a back corner, talking and drinking.

  Cindy says, “So, I assume you guys are fucking, right?”

  I look at Holly. I have no idea how to answer this question. I don’t know what she’s told her friends and I don’t want to ruin any future chances I have of fucking her. I let her answer. She says, “Yeah, we fuck.”

  Cindy says, “Then what’s up with that ring?” and points to my wedding ring.

  I say, “Well, it means I’m married.” This is the first time my marital status has been brought up in front of Holly. I hope this doesn’t ruin things, and if it does, I silently vow to cave in Cindy’s fucking skull with the heel of my shoe for bringing it up.

  Cindy says to Holly, “And you’re cool with that?”

  Holly says, “Uh . . . yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Cindy says, “Cool with me if it’s cool with you. That’s probably pretty wild, though, right? I mean, fucking a hot younger girl? Is that like the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

  I say, “I don’t know if it’s the craziest.”

  Cindy says, “Then what’s the craziest? Have you ever had a threesome?”

  I say, “No, I haven’t.”

  Cindy says, “Well, we both have.”

  My dick almost splits the table in half. I don’t know exactly what’s happening in this conversation, but it certainly seems like I’m about to be offered a threesome with Cindy and Holly. I try to play it cool. I say, “With each other or independently?”

  Holly says, “With each other, but it was a while ago. Like last year with her ex-boyfriend.”

  I’m hoping Cindy feels some need to repay the favor Holly did for her ex-boyfriend. Cindy says, “It was seriously hot.”

  Still playing it cool, I say, “I bet.”

  Holly says, “Would you ever want to have a threesome?”

  I can’t tell if this is a trap or if she’s really trying to find out if I’d fuck them both. I say, “Yeah, sure,” and she grabs my leg under the table.

  Holly says, “Well, what time is your curfew?”

  I say, “I don’t really have one.”

  Cindy says, “What about wifey?”

  I say, “Not your concern.”

  Cindy says, “Oooh, he’s like Don Draper.”

  Holly says, “I know.”

  I have never been compared to any actor, let alone a sex symbol of Jon Hamm’s status. I decide this must have been what Carlos was talking about. They see me as something I’m not, merely because I’m older than them. I don’t look this gift horse in the mouth. Trying to be smooth I say, “So where are we going next?”

  Cindy takes out her phone and reads a text message or something, then says, “Oh shit, guys. My boyfriend got arrested. He got a DUI. I’m sorry, I have to make a call,” and disappears.

  I look at Holly and say, “That sucks.”

  She says, “I know. I was hoping we could have hooked that up.”

  I say, “Really? Was that really going to happen?”

  She says, “Yeah. I think so.” She takes a last sip of her drink, then looks me in the eye. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Half an hour later, I send Alyna a text telling her that I’m spending the night on Todd’s couch. Holly and I go back to her dorm room, she kicks Carly out, and we sixty-nine for fifteen minutes or so with the lights on. I really get a chance to look at her asshole and her pussy. Her asshole is perfect. It’s tiny and it’s the same color as her skin. It has almost no convolutions. It’s almost like she’s a toy or something. Her pussy is even better. Tiny lips that aren’t visible unless you spread it, and it tastes so fucking good I almost blow my load just from the idea of having it in my face. And the best part about the view I have of her pussy and asshole in the sixty-nine: there’s no episiotomy scar. Eventually we fuck like wild animals for an hour. I’m on top of her, pressing her down into the bed with a hand on her chest, not letting her move, the full weight of my upper body holding her in place. I feel strong and in control, and she can tell, and it turns her on as much as it turns me on. She runs her fingers down the length of the forearm I’m using to pin her down, admiring it, feeling its weight against her chest. I fuck her harder and stare into her eyes.

  She whimpers a little bit just before she cums, but never breaks our gaze. I’m full of this idea that I’m in control, that she’s just there to make me cum, that I’m taking the thing I want most and she can’t stop me. Just before I cum, I pull out, rip the rubber off, and jerk off all over her stomach and tits. She moans as I do this and says, “You’re so fucking hot,” then gets a towel from her closet and wipes my cum off herself. She get back in bed, and just before we pass out naked in her dorm-room single bed, forced to press our bodies intensely close together so we can both fit on the mattress, I say, “I fucking loved that view when we were sixty-nining.”

  She says, “What’d you like about it?”

  I say, “You’re perfect.”
/>   She says, “Thank you.”

  I wake up the next morning smelling like her pussy and more hungover than I’ve been in a long time. I borrow her toothbrush and take a shower in the dorm’s community shower. It should be stranger than it is to me. I actually find it kind of fun, like I’m young again.

  We drive to work in separate cars.

  some chapter

  Father’s Son

  I’m sitting in my chair watching Andy play Mario Kart on Wii. Every once in a while he’ll say, “Look, Daddy,” before he uses a power or knocks another racer off a track. My hand is near my face and I can still smell Holly’s pussy on my fingers. It’s faint but it’s there.

  I wonder if Andy will ever be like me. I wonder if he’ll ever cheat on his wife with a younger woman. I wonder if he’ll have kids who won’t know he’s fucking a woman who’s not their mother. I wonder if he’ll be gay. If he is, I hope he turns out like Carlos, who always seems happy to be gay.

  I wonder what Andy’s first girlfriend will be like. It’s not that long until he’ll be taking some girl to prom and trying to fuck her that night. It’s not that long until he starts to see women the way I do. It’s not that long until he breaks a girl’s heart and has his heart broken and ends up stuck with someone who has changed so drastically that he doesn’t even want to fuck her anymore. I pity him for the life ahead of him, and I hope that he can avoid these things, but I know that will be virtually impossible.

  He says, “Look, Daddy,” and I say, “I am, bud, I am looking.”

  chapter twenty-two

  Amateur Porn

  Sometimes we let the kids stay up a little past their normal bedtime and watch TV with us. I’m in my chair with Jane in my lap. Alyna and Andy are on the couch and we’re watching American Idol, which only Alyna gives a shit about. We’re at the point in the season when the only real hot chick they had on the show has been voted off, and it’s down to a few closeted gay guys and a brain-dead country bumpkin who always sings about Jesus and America. I’m sure he’ll win for these reasons.