Dying Wishes

Commercialized Adultery

  An unlikely affair

  Copyright Per Holbo 2012

  Couples Therapy

  ”Couples Therapy?” I asked and grabbed another beer from the case.

  My friend Allan often came up with these crazy ideas, but this one really took me by surprise. I knew it probably wouldn´t be a good idea to ask, but I just had to know his thoughts.

  ”How could having an affair ever be like couples therapy again?”

  ”Well, you know,” he explained, ”it sort of shakes things up a bit. Blows new life into your marriage. Adds some spice to your life.”

  He leaned a bit forward and continued with a certainty in his eyes not very well suited with his idea. ”And the best thing is that everything is so clean and clear-cut, ’cause the woman knows, you´re married.”

  ”But,” I protested,”isn´t it a bit dishonest? I mean, a marriage should be based on trust and integrity, right?”

  That´s when I realized I´d pushed a button. Allan wasn´t exactly in love with women´s emancipation ever since his first wife left him for his accountant. Like a story from the movies, I know, but there you have it.

  And right now, emancipation was his focus for battering:”That is exactly what´s wrong with us men these days. For some inexplicable reason we all buy into that rubbish! Come on, man! It´s only natural for a guy to let out his genes. Spread your investmens, I say! An affair is the perfect way to shake things up a bit. It´ll give you back some self respect! Kinda let´s you know you´re in charge! You have the upper hand!”

  I glanced shortly at Guzzle-George and Bif being on an impossible mission to find another beer in the empty case. They both woke up and looked at eachother. ”Yeah, riiiight. And you know where to put that hand, don´t you...”

  The roaring laughter threw itself restlessly between the tiles in the locker room. Finally it disappeared down the drain with the last drops of lazy yellow water and the chance of serious conversation went right on its tale.

  The week after, he was eager to check up on events. ”How about it, ol´ man? Did you do it?”

  I´d almost forgotten all about it.

  ”Erm,” I tried to evade.

  ”You know what I´m talking about,” he insisted,”the web site. The affair to save your marriage, remember. Did you do it? Did you set up a profile?”

  ”Nope!” I said,”I won´t have some German Porn dude sitting on my personal contact info!”

  Allan laughed:”Relax, man! Giving that info is only a precaution. To ensure everything is honest. So there are no false profiles.”

  Honest? Not the word I would use, but it seemed like a waste of both time and energy to argue with him on that point.

  ”Yeah, right!” I said,”That might be the case in the beginning, but then I´ll be getting mails in my inbox about nude gymnastics and the sort. Suddenly one day I´ll be fishing out a free copy of ’Anal Blessings’ delivered by Fed Ex. What do you think my neighbors would say if they saw that?”

  Still, I couldn´t get it out of my head. The therapist kind of voice from the radio spot kept haunting me: "Do you feel locked in a monotonous and loveless marriage? Do you miss the magical feeling of passion? Excitement? Intimacy? Victoria's Secret can make you feel alive again!"

  There was even an interview with the owner of the web site on the local radio. He sounded quite sensible, when he explained about the dating site for married people wanting to have an affair. Like an ordinary guy with a wife and 2 point whatever kids. Porn-Franz a family man? Hmmm… I had a hard time imagining that. Even so, it probably wouldn´t hurt to set up a profile. Just to see what it was all about, of course. I mean, it wasn´t as if I was going to actually have an affair or anything …

  So that´s what I did. I looked up the web site an dpunched in some info on myself. Not entirely accurate, but close enough to the truth to not seem suspicious. A little shorter, 2 years younger and such. Nothing sneaky.

  I startled at the sound of steps outside the house!

  Dang!

  Keys rattling in the keyhole.

  How are you supposed to log out here?

  Shoes hit the floor.

  I was literally squirting cold sweat at the images in my head depicting Ingrids reaction if she saw me surfing this web site.

  For just a moment I wished I was at a meeting with the IRS, but then I noticed it with relief:

  A button at the top of the page.

  ”PANIC!” it read with white fonts on a red hot background. I managed to click it just in time, before she entered the room and as the work of pure magic, the well known page of Youtube faded in on the screen.

  ”Hi, honey,” she said cheerfully putting her hand bag at the dinner table,”anything interesting happen today?”

  ”No, not really,” I answered while trying to convince my heart to let go from the uvula it had been clinging to,”Nothing at all. Just an ordinary boring Thursday.”

  Friday afternoon Ingrid and the kids went to Odense to see my mother-in-law.

  ”I really am sorry,” I had told her,”but something´s not right in the financial statement sent to the IRS. I really have to stay at home and go through it, or I´ll be in trouble.”

  As it turned out, I really was in trouble. Big trouble. She got raving mad:

  ”You gotta get your act together, Niels!” she almost growled,”we agreed to this visit several weeks ago! What am I going to tell my mother? You´re really something, you know! She´s gonna think, you don´t want to see her …”

  I almost regretted it, but she was quite right: I really didn´t want to see her mother. The thought alone of being seated at that dreadful kitchen table with the flower covered cloth right next to Mrs. Petit Bourgeois herself almost made me sick to my stomach.

  And the eternal talk and babbling about who just got divorced, remarried and suffered an agonizing death... only to be put on hold when Ingrid left the room to go to the rest room... It really felt like being beaten with the Sunday Edition of a rather large news paper that had been soaked by the rain while waiting on the door step to be picked up.

  I built up my best ’I-really-do-apologize-’face, though Ingrid was sure to see right through it. But you have to play the game, don´t you?

  ”I know, Ingrid and I really do feel bad about it. You know how much I enjoy your mothers company.”

  I suppose it wasn´t exactly a lie. Ingrid really did know how much I desired to get cosy with her mother. The resignated expression on her face clearly revealed her true oppinion on the matter, but being the wise woman she is, she kept it to herself.

  Instead, she completely changed her behaviour and after a while we agreed that if I did get the work done in time, I would call her.

  About fifteen minuter after they left, the first couple of messages ticked in, but most of them didn´t do anything for me. There wasn´t any kind of connection. They all seemed like strangers and a little too much at that.

  But in the evening that changed. Her name on the site was Vera. Just Vera. Nothing more. Short, homey and simple. I liked it. I responded to her message and went for a beer. She wouldn´t be answered right away, I thought, so giving her a couple of hours seemed like the right thing to do. I was wrong. As soon as I came back with the beer, she´d already answered.

  ”Hi Darth,” she wrote. I know, not the most ingenious name to use, but hey, I´m a Star Wars fan, okay? ”Hi Darth, I was so happy to see you respond to my little ping. When I read your profile, I just knew I had to contact you. You seem like a nice guy and I would love chatting with you, if you´re still there?

  Oh, boy was I there. I tapped in a response and son after we were chatting like there was no tomorrow. Or to-next-year for that matter. I felt like being in heaven. We chatted through the most of the n
ight and it wasn´t before 4 in the morning I realized how late it was. She hadn´t noticed either, but we agreed to call it a night and recap in the morning.

  Saturday night. I´d ironed the shirt myself. My chin was close shaved and felt like the rear end of a baby as I paid the cab driver in cash and crossed the street to the café.

  Looking in through the windows I could see the most beautiful woman you could ever have imagined. Fantastic body with curves in just the right places, upright posture and a wonderous wavy red hair going all the way down to the beginning of the chair she was sitting on. The thought of having a passionate affair was crawling up on the inside of my zipper making me drop my wallet on the street.

  Something fell out. It was Ingrid. From our 15 year anniversary last year. She looked happy and held me tight while gazing up and looking proudly into my eyes.

  I put the photo back in the wallet and looked at the woman inside the café. She was beautiful and very, very attractive... But she wasn´t Ingrid.

  I made a decision, put the wallet in my inner pocket and took a deep breath, before entering the café.

  ”Hi,” I said without smiling too much, ”are you Vera?”

  She looked up and winked at me. ”Darth?”

  More like daught, I thought to myself. What an idiot I was. I sat myself down on the chair across the table and looked her in the eyes.

  ”Listen Vera, ” I started as soon as I could mount up the courage, ”I do apologize for bringing you here, but this isn´t going to work. I am sorry, Vera, but I can´t. I love my wife and I just... I just can´t, okay?”

  Vera´s red hair went as one with the color of her face. She didn´t seem all that happy with travelling for an hour and a half only to read the menu card, drink a glass of wine and then go home again. She told me so. Not so much in words, but it was quite clear, when the remainder of the contents of her glass went down my trousers. At least it calmed things down a bit in there.

  I didn´t find it convenient to actually say anything, but then again it wasn´t nescassary. Vera spoke more than enough for the both of us. If you could call it speaking, that is. She seemed to enjoy the reaction from the rest of the guests at the café, who were quite thrilled to see some action.

  A woman at a table with three of her girlfriends followed the scene with particular interest and incited applause as I was gifted with a black eye to match the red stain on my trousers.

  When Vera left, I quickly had to realize that even the large wine card wouldn´t be able to shield me from the eyes of that woman at the table and all of her friends.

  Women of all sizes and shapes had their angry eyes fixed on me and it was clear that I couldn´t expect any assistance from the men, who in large numbers suddenly found a keen interest in the patterns of the rug on the floor.

  As the woman at girls table got to her feet with a filled croissant in her hand, I took it as my queue to leave the premises and ran out with schrimp salad climbing down my back.

  Safely hidden behind the trolleys at the train station I checked my phone. It was fine. No red wine ruining the keys.

  ”Hi, it´s me. I´ll be leaving by train in a few minutes. I love you. We need to talk …”

  Coming to Odense Ingrid´s mother had left for the movies with the kids, leaving Ingrid and me alone for a talk. A good, long talk …

  ***

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