Trembling With Fear 07/08/2018

Servitude

Single people chafe at the existence of married couples that stay together despite the uncovering of one spouse’s unsavory deeds. The typical offenses are lying, gambling, and cheating. Well, I’ll tell you right now that there are worse things a spouse can do. I’ll also tell you that those things can actually solidify the nuptial bond.

I’m in the kitchen chopping, tenderizing, and marinating again. Lord knows I hate that I spend so much of my time in here. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

I do all the cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping. But Justin gets up at 5:30 in the morning, suffers through a hellish commute, and spends his days being inundated with phone calls, e-mails, and needy clients. Modern singletons frown upon my role in our traditional arrangement. But that’s because they don’t know how good it is to sleep in every day and waste zero closet space on business professional attire. They can’t fathom how wonderful it is to have the mortgage and bills be somebody else’s responsibility.

I place the meat in extra-large freezer bags. I put one of the bags in the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and the rest in the freezer downstairs. I return to the kitchen and tidy everything up. I get into the tub. A long bubble bath at 4:45 in the afternoon on a Wednesday is yet another perk that will never be enjoyed by the working singleton.

When I hear the front door creak open and the clunk of Justin’s keys on the console table, I feel a pulse of excitement in my deepest parts. Here’s another fact that the tragically unattached overlook: A lot of married couples remain fervently attracted to each other. The passion that my husband and I share hasn’t waned; in fact, each passing year has brought us an amplified interest in the nuances of the other’s evolving tastes. I hurriedly dress and join him in the kitchen, where he’s pouring two glasses of red wine (Perk #3,609: I always have a drinking buddy).

I give him a kiss on the mouth. “So, how was your day?”

“Pretty good. I finally closed the Wincek deal.”

“That’s awesome, babe,” I say, testing the waters by pulling a box of pasta from the pantry and some tomatoes and homemade broth from the refrigerator. “You must be starving.”

In no time his body is pressed against the back of mine. His parted lips warm my neck.

“I’m ravenous,” he whispers. “You know what I’m hungry for.”

“Maybe we should wait a few more days? Try to stretch out the time in between?”

His body tenses immediately. “Why would we stretch out the time?”

“We can’t have meat every night,” I admonish. “I’d have to go out two nights a month!”

“So go out two nights a month.”

I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, I’m the one who chose to share with Justin the spoils of my nocturnal activities. I had done so hoping that the profound intimacy we shared would make it possible for him to overlook my crimes. I had no clue that my biannual harvests would not only be tolerated, but encouraged to the point that I’d soon be out every ninety days. The thought of going out twice in one month simultaneously thrills and terrifies me.

“You don’t give a shit if I get caught,” I say. “Just as long as you get to have plenty of women.”

“I would never let you do it if I thought you’d get caught, Kev. You have an I.Q. of 166, for chrissakes. You’re literally the smartest person I know. Trust me, you won’t get caught.” His arms tighten around my waist. “And meat is the only thing I would ever want from a woman.”

A tear meanders its crooked path down my face. “I wish that were true.”

Justin turns me around and stops the flow of my words with a probing kiss. When he’s done, he takes my face in his hands and says, “It is true. As long as I can eat them, I don’t… desire them. You are my one true love, Kevin. I’ve never once cheated on you…”

The rest of his sentence hangs in the air with tacit magnitude: and I never will, as long as you keep killing, chopping, tenderizing, and marinating.

My throat is so constricted with emotion that I can barely swallow. This pain that wracks me—this knowledge that if I stop my murderous, culinary servitude, my husband might venture into a titty bar or a brothel or the bed of his wanton secretary—is something that I’ve signed up for. You see, I could tell that Justin was bisexual early on in our relationship. But I was so absolutely taken with him that walking away wasn’t an option. The second happiest day of my entire life was the day he proposed to me. The happiest day was the one on which I prepared my victim from the previous night just as I would a rack of lamb and Justin told me that he could taste my love for him in every bite.

Well, I won’t start letting him down now. I won’t let the miserable singletons reclaim me as one of their own. I am a married man, and I take my vows to love and obey my husband very seriously. If going out twice a month is what I need to do to ensure the longevity of my marriage, then that is exactly what I’ll do. I will obey. For better or for worse. Till death do us part.