I started this story as a BTB for the LW category, but as it developed and formed a life of its own, I decided it belonged more in the Romance category. Also, there are absolutely no sexual displays, encounters, or playing around by anyone under the age of 18. I've had this story kicked back twice even though I made sure there was no underage sex, so it may seem a bit repetitive at the start while I constantly mention the characters are 18 or older.
One
When I was growing up one of the more common refrains I would hear from my Father or Uncles was "Happy wife, happy life."
I didn't pay too much attention to it until I got older, but as I began to gain a better understanding of the world, it seemed that the saying was flawed. I mean, you could apply it to any relationship really. Happy Girlfriend, happy life or happy friend with benefits, happy life; the root point being that you need to keep that other person happy at the cost of you being happy in the short term versus the long term.
So to be happy, you need to be willing to eat a shit sandwich now and then instead of putting your foot down. Well, fuck that, you are just training your significant other to believe that if they raise enough hell, you will back down to avoid making the relationship unhappy. I don't know about anyone else, but that seems like it would make me fairly unhappy most of the time. Why don't we ever hear, "Happy husband, happy life?" Is the husband's happiness any less valid?
Now don't get me wrong, I've felt that an equal relationship with two people willing to be able to look at one another's viewpoints on a situation is a good thing. Studies show that the saying, which originated from a 1903 poem entitled "The Work and Wages Party, might actually be key to a long term marriage. I don't recall the researchers or the study, but they found that a man can actually be unhappy in a relationship but still be happy overall if the wife is happy.
I'm not sure I buy into it, but if I did bring up an issue I would expect my woman to tell me how she felt. I wouldn't expect her to swallow her feelings on the subject just to maintain peace in a relationship. That isn't an equal relationship, it is one person catering to another person's whims above their own. Realistically, it sounds kind of like an abusive relationship more than anything else. I would hope my wife gave me the same benefit of a doubt.
I think the biggest problem I had with the anecdote is that my male relatives really bought into it. Their wives rule with an iron fist in a silk glove. If they said jump, my Father and Uncles didn't ask how high, they were just trying to calculate where to land on the way down.
It was my 18th birthday when I had my first real taste of the velvet fist.
"Sam, dress nice, we are going to a party." I heard my Mom shouting up the stairs as I was about to put my headphones on so I could get ready to play the new Call of Duty with my friends.
"What party are you talking about, Mom?" I yelled back.
I heard steps coming up the stairwell. Soon my Mother, dressed in a little black dress, stood in my doorway, fiddling with her earrings. It looked like they were going out to one of their parties.
"We are going to go hang out with your Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins. I need you to get ready, you are coming with us."
I sat up and laid down my headphones, "I would rather not go to any parties with the family, Mom."
"You are 18 now, and you WILL make an appearance. I don't want to have this argument with you, so get ready now!"
Reluctantly I began to lay out some more dressy clothes. She took this as an affirmation I was coming, so she wandered back down the steps. I had no intention of making this trip with them, so once she was out of sight, I quietly opened my window and worked my way down the twenty degree roof. Reaching the edge, I decided to take a chance, knowing the gutter wouldn't hold me if I tried to hang and drop. It was a bad decision.
After a brief sensation of falling, I landed on the concrete walkway by the slimmest of margins, having tried to fall into the lawn. A loud SNAP in my left leg did not bode well for further escape. I tried crawling to the back gate, but they eventually found me. I was in water so hot it turned to steam, as they had to forgo their party and take me to the Austin medical center, where it did turn out that I had a greenstick fracture to my fibula.
"You've made your Mother very sad, Sam. She had planned tonight as your coming of age celebration and you ruined it for her," said my Dad.
"Why is it such a big deal? I am 18 and I didn't want to go?"
"Well Sam, the party was supposed to be your introduction to our family tradition."
"What family tradition, Dad?"
He looked very uncomfortable and was at a loss for words. My Mother decided to step in, although she gave him a glare that clearly said this was going to bode ill for him later.
My Mother patted my arm and sat sideways next to me on the hospital bed. "Sam, for many years, as far back as we can research our family history, we have engaged in grand balls. The young men and women who have turned 18 and are therefore legally able to engage in coitus, are introduced into this as a coming of age ritual. The women of the family that are married take the new 18 year old men and train them on how to properly please a woman. The men of the family that are married and have gone through this training, take the 18 year old women and do the same. Once you have been through the ritual and until you find your partner for life, you are allowed to join up with the others who are also single and over 18."
"That sounds utterly disgusting!" I gasped out in shock. "I have a girlfriend who I am committed to and we are saving ourselves for marriage. I have no intention of cheating on Chelsea to take part in this 'tradition' you speak of."
