Vanilla Bride - Part One

Margie's retelling was stilted, lifeless.  As if she were checking each insurrection of her husband's behavior off a list, not wanting the emotion, the pain, or the shame to interrupt her concentration.  When she opened her eyes and looked out to the Regents, she suddenly wished she'd negotiated harder for that chair.  She continued, relenting to her emotions a bit -

"Compromising one's self isn't very difficult."

The Regent's remained silent as she continued.

You tell yourself that the roof over your head, the flowing of cash, the regular sex, and having your family all together in one houseā€¦.

Margie's voice trailed off, reminescing.

"You tell yourself that it's worth it.  Being with someone that doesn't love you.  And, if it would have ended there, maybe I'd still be with him.  But there were so many other things, both insignificant and important, and downright disturbing, that would get in the way of my self delusion.

Like watching the fleeting smile on his face as a van drove by our house, blasting "20th Century Boy."

Or singing "Baby's on Fire" to me during Karaoke, and watching my reaction. As clueless as I was, he received none, as I waited to get back home until I could check the lyrics on the internet, shame bubbling to the surface, releasing itself - in the form of anxiety. A full-fledged attack would not be not far into the future.

One night, he insisted we watch one of his favorite films: "The Rapture." A dark and foreboding tale of female wonton sexuality, your basic "you will burn in hell for your sins" genre of entertainment fare.  We watched and I made fun of the effects

My obsession with "knowing" him took me into the darkest of places, yet some were sensual and sexy - like taking him to a gay bar to see his reaction to male attention - or to see his reaction to my female attention.

We went dancing to one such gay bar, and I made him a bet that I could pick up a girl anytime I wanted - and then what would we do about it?  He took the bet, thinking I didn't have the guts.

I noticed a very cute girl sitting by herself at the bar, and bought her a drink before walking up to her. 

"Hi, I'm Margie," I introduced myself, "I noticed you're by yourself. Would you like to come join us for some conversation?"

She was a little hesitant, so I assured her we were innocent enough. Explaining that I was bi-sexual, and Pete was my straight-but-ambiguous-looking boyfriend.

She smiled, and commented how much she admired his level of trust. I smirked.

We all chatted at our table, and learned that she was in Rabbi school - and I thought of how progressive we were, sitting in a gay bar chatting with a Lesbian Rabbi.

I asked her if she wanted to dance, and we made it out onto the dance floor - swaying to a very sultry blues number. I was taller than she was, which I liked. As we danced, I could see Pete edging closer and closer to the dance floor.  While we danced, I reached up to move a curl that had fallen into her eyes. She must've taken it as a sign, because she leaned in to kiss me.  It was very sensual, very erotic.  Her lips tasted sweet, and she smelled of lilacs.

A rather rough tap on my shoulder interrupted our kiss.  Pete did not look happy.

I apologized to the girl, and left the bar with Pete, arguing loudly as we walked to our car.

After that, it seemed Pete changed. He no longer sported the oh-so-ambiguous sex god persona, but chose to begin dropping seeds of a different color.

One day I came home to his biker jacket hanging up in the hallway.  He'd said he was cleaning out closet space, because I'd asked for more room.  (Later I would find out he'd told everyone I made him throw away all of his rock concert t-shirts.)  As I examined the jacket, I told him I liked it, and asked if he would keep it, maybe wear it out one night. I noticed a rather large silver ring, hanging from one of the snap downs and asked him about it.

"It' s a cock-ring," he explained.

Intrigued, but not wanting to seem ignorant, I nodded and later searched the Internet.

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