"Meredith"
By carvohi
By way of introduction.
First, except for the sexual hang ups the woman described here is real. Everything else is fiction. Second, this is carvohi, not your typical BTB, so be forewarned. Third and last, no politics.
Now to the story.
"Merrily Meredith"
At twenty-eight, married five years, and with a promising career in education George Mason believed it was time he and Meredith started that family they'd been talking about. Yet, he knew something was wrong.
George met Meredith while they were both attending the University of Maryland. He was a senior and she was a sophomore. Meredith was one of the quiet brainy ones. Everybody knew at least one of them; the small, quiet girl, glasses, soft open cardigan sweater tied off around the shoulders, pony tail, the one who always sat on the side in class, about mid-way, took copious notes, never volunteered, never broadcasted anything, but everyone always somehow knew she got the highest grades.
George saw her in the library and thought he'd try his luck. He asked her out, she refused. He asked again, and she said yes. After that it was just a question of first him, then her graduating. He got a job as an elementary school teacher with the Montgomery County school system in Maryland. Meredith came out, and secured a job in a U.S. Congressman's office. They got married and were on their way.
Being a man in elementary school was almost like a ticket to promotion. By his third year George was already an administrative assistant. That shut down any free time in the summers, but it meant a little better money and more responsibility.
Meredith's opportunities came a little differently; whereas George had come east from Iowa, Meredith was a home-grown cookie. Her dad, being an influence peddler in Maryland politics easily secured his daughter a position. To be sure, Meredith was no slouch, but things just naturally fell in her lap. Within a few months she was involved with a congressman's office scheduling, procuring, and planning, and that meant some traveling. Though most of her traveling was only between her congressman's offices and Thurgood or Dulles airports it still got her out, and there were occasions when she did to leave the D.C. area. Every little trip, even to just appear at an airport holding a sign, was a heady boost to her already healthy ego. George couldn't complain; he'd used his sex and Iowa background to secure his promotion. Thanks to Kevin Costner and other such ridiculous things people mistook Iowa for some kind of heaven. George liked Iowa, but he was prescient enough to know even in the Garden of Eden there was sufficient dissatisfaction to break the only rule they had.
So what was wrong? George couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew Meredith was changing. When they were first married Meredith was always eager to attend George's various social and professional functions, but lately she found reasons to beg off. He didn't mind; she had little to say, or contribute for that matter, when she did go. On the other hand, at the outset with her new job she often pleaded with him to come. As of late, he was neither invited nor informed of such activities. He didn't miss the activities, but he did miss not being told.
He understood some things. His colleagues were mostly women, and they mostly fit two categories, older ladies who, though polite, treated Meredith as if she were a child. Whereas the second category included younger women, some married, some young and impressionable, and some unmarried or divorced and often in "the hunt". Meredith was a brilliant young woman who easily recognized condescension, boredom, and predatory behaviors. No, his colleagues were not Meredith's cup of tea.
By the same token he was uncomfortable around many of her colleagues. Reasonably well educated men in their late twenties or early thirties all wearing expensive suits and well-tuned egos. Most had misconceptions about their professional importance, and worse, their political and social opinions. The women had their own specialties, from the true professional, the husband hunters, the one-night-standers, and the housewives playing at being in politics. George could tell it was that last category Meredith liked the least; perhaps it was because she was afraid that was where she was headed.
George tolerated the women; the men were a different story. Most of the men in Meredith's milieu were honest and upright, but there were a few who looked like they had perpetual hard-ons, he trusted Meredith, he didn't trust them.
Cars had emerged as an interesting hierarchical concept. When Meredith was in college her dad had bought her a nice Hyundai. It worked well while in school, but after a few months at her new job she'd bought herself a sleek dark metallic brown Lexus sport coupe. George had two vehicles; a used mini-van he'd bought for field trips, and an even older Jeep Wrangler. George liked to camp and fish so he especially liked the Wrangler. When they were dating and during their first months of marriage Meredith liked to camp and fish too, or at least she pretended she did. Since she'd gotten her job her social landscape had changed; she'd traded in the fishing rod for four inch heels, and the tent for the late dinners, the theater, and the opera.
George didn't mind very much. The theater was often quite good, but the opera, well, the dancers were pretty, but he didn't get it; he didn't understand a word. Meredith, on the other hand, spoke Italian and German, and was good with French. It bothered him that after a few trips she'd started to find reasons why he shouldn't join her. Usually she explained the theater trips had become a part of her job; she was expected to attend but only as a sort of social assistant fetching drinks at intermissions and such. George didn't like it, especially that she was often out quite late.
He missed not having Meredith along when he went camping. He thought she liked the outdoors. The mountains of West Virginia were beautiful; maybe not like the Rockies, but still pretty good. He fantasized about taking his own children on excursions one day. He missed her on his camping trips, but he had friends who were usually glad to go, sometimes he took a female colleague. He didn't think Meredith knew, but by then he doubted if she would have cared.
There were other things, things he'd only recently seen, things he considered real issues. His middle name was Trace, and for much of their dating and early marriage she used that. She'd said George sounded awkward. More recently George had reappeared as part of her lexicon. He didn't mind much. After all he'd heard the name George all his life, but the way she'd started to twist the word had become bothersome. At home she'd occasionally referred to him as Georgy, and once even Georgy Porgy. Back in Iowa that would have resulted in someone getting a good punch in the nose, but the way Meredith used it he couldn't quite tell if she was being insulting or stupid. He complained once, but she'd protested innocence, even claiming she thought it sounded affectionate. He didn't believe her.
She'd gone too far once. They were out with several of her colleagues. They'd been discussing something coming up in Congress, and he'd made a comment. She turned and said, "Well Geeeooorge that was pretty far off the mark." Her friends laughed, but he didn't. Later at home when he brought it up she claimed it was intended to be a good natured phrasing. He didn't believe that either.
Another issue that had raised its ugly head was what occurred in the bedroom, or lately had stopped occurring in the bedroom. Meredith had been a virgin when they married. Her vagina had been incredibly small, so small in fact they'd skipped coitus the first few nights.
George hadn't been with many women, but he'd never had the trouble she presented. She'd been incredibly tiny, almost hairless, and he'd been careful to be as gentle as possible. Even so it hadn't been until the third night of their honeymoon that he'd actually penetrated her. She cried so. He felt terrible. He never wanted to hurt her. She'd accused him of being a brute, and she behaved all the next day as though she'd been crippled. It had taken time, but eventually she'd come to enjoy the sex and the intimacy it encouraged.
Sex, or the act of making love remained a simple affair. He'd tried to go down on her, but she'd fought him tooth and nail, even to the point of leaving the bed. Of course fellatio was out of the question, and anything even approaching her posterior was vehemently opposed. He couldn't explain it except to say it had to be her strict Catholic upbringing and the private schools she'd attended. John Calvin, though devoutly anti-Catholic, would have been proud of her, yet she liked to dance, go to parties and nightclubs, and she enjoyed wearing pretty, even provocative, clothes. In fact her wardrobe had been experiencing something of a metamorphosis; the heels of late had become significantly higher, her skirts were appreciably shorter, the blouses tailored more tightly, and the cleavage more apparent. She was dressed like "she" was in "the hunt".
Recently even straight sexual congress had extincted itself; she simply refused. She didn't complain of headaches or fatigue; no she averred on the grounds simply of personal lassitude. She said "we", or he, was sexually boring. She said one time that living and sleeping with him was akin to living and sleeping with a child. Something wasn't right! Of course, he understood the character and type of some of the men she had associations with weren't what he considered especially healthy.
George knew they were drifting apart, and he didn't know what to do about it. He loved her desperately, and he believed she still loved him, but something was going on, and he had to find out.
