Livin' lovin' she's just a woman

by anna at 06:38 PM on January 05, 2004

I found it a tad unsettling to learn that pop tart Britney Spears wed in a spur of the moment Vegas ceremony, since annulled. I always thought marriage was supposed to be serious business. Indeed, I’ve been faithfully married for fifteen years. Before that I had a series of long-term girlfriends, none of whom I cheated on. I had no one night stands. I guess I’m what you’d call a serial monogamist.

Now I don’t mean this as boasting. Nor am I claiming the moral high ground. Truth is I never played the field because it’s too much bother to juggle multiple mates. I’m lazy and self-satisfied. I never cheated in part for the very same reason, in addition to fearing the inevitable consequences. See, cheating or mate-juggling requires sneakiness and that’s not in my nature. I hate sneakiness. Even as the sorrow of Sept 11 engulfed me, I decried the terrorists’ sucker-punch tactics.

Many people believe the oft-repeated factoid that says 50% of marriages end in divorce. This statistic was derived by comparing the number of divorces and marriages in a given year. It doesn’t take Ask Marilyn to see the fallacy in that. The true figure is probably closer to 25% and most of those couples remain faithful to one another throughout.

Part of the reason is purely logistical. Most spouses don’t have large blocs of time that can go unaccounted for. Nor do potential cheating partners materialize too often. Even when the opportunity does arise, people tend to flinch. Example: Once I was cutting through the woods on the way to my girlfriend’s house. From behind a tree I heard all this frenzied moaning and panting. As I approached the scene I caught a glimpse of two pals (both quite attached at the time) riding the town bicycle tandem-style. One was in front and the other behind, she on her hands and knees. They beckoned me to join them, as in the more the merrier. But I just couldn’t handle it. I strode purposefully by as if I had somewhere important to be. I told myself that it was because there was no orifice readily available. (Double anal wasn’t on my agenda. Ditto for sloppy thirds.)

Then again, a lot of my friends have gotten away with cheating on their wives and girlfriends with alarming regularity. Oftentimes they’d cheat with ladies who were far less attractive than their mates. I always had the sense that they did it strictly for the thrill of risk-taking. Myself I am averse to risk. Besides, so long as my lovin’, ego-stroking and companionship needs are met, what use have I for sordid side action?

So you’ve got to wonder about a guy like Ethan Hawke. Here he is married to Uma Thurman, arguably one of the most sultry women around---and one who wields a mean Samurai sword that would put Lorena Bobbitt’s puny steak knife to shame. So what does he do? Takes up with some scrawny-ass slice of Canadian bacon, that’s what. (Note: This homewrecker’s name is Jennifer Perzow. She is supposedly an established model, described in print as leggy, 36-24-36, blonde and all of 22. Yet I’ve searched for any image of her to no avail. A clear shot of Mullah Omar is easier to find. So we’ll just have to imagine what sort of stunner would tempt a man to cheat on Thurman.) Ethan Hawke’s lucky his greasy dick isn’t discarded in a gutter somewhere.

In searching for a shot of the elusive Ms. Perzow, I chanced to read a number of stories about the breakup. Oddly enough, Ms. Thurman could live with the idea of her hubby having humped the hottie. But what irked her was the fact that there was an emotional component to his fling. They enjoyed romantic dinners, canoodling, pillow talk and everything. By contrast, Bill played tonsil hockey with Monica whilst he chatted on the phone. He didn’t even offer to reciprocate, a major breach of casual sex etiquette. He and Hilary are still wed if in name only.

Call me a prude but it’s the same way with sundry permutations of kinkiness. I’ve never had any earthly desire to tie somebody up or to be tied up and treated like a human pinata. The only aspect of porn I find amusing is the stilted acting beforehand. I am not itching to fist anybody. I’m not adventurous that way. But even if I were so inclined, dude, it would never happen. I mean, how might one go about broaching such a touchy topic without risk of rejection, mockery or both?

He: Hey darling, lookie here. What say I shackle you to the bedpost and torture you with a feather duster?
She: What say I impale you on the bedpost?
He: Heh-heh, just kidding. Now where were we?
She Nowhere. I am so out of here.