Basic cheating story with the usual tropes. This is basically a conversation between spouses that is pretty typical when one is caught cheating, the kind of verbal fighting that can go on in a marriage. Here we go:
"You girls at least are getting something, sometimes, from your husbands. Mine? He needs the blue pill, and even then he's not really into it. Oh how I'd like to get a substitute one day!" Veronica looked at her girlfriends as they lounged around Trixie and Mike's pool.
"Ask Trixie for some advice on that!" Charlotte said in a laughing manner.
* * * *
What is Marriage?
Why do people get married? Not just for sex, one can get that anywhere. I guess the primary reason is so-called "love," so the decision is to spend the rest of their lives with that person. There's also the companionship and support, being a team through the ups and downs of life and I imagine that gives a sense of security.
Of course, children are a big reason for many. There's the social norms that are expected of adults, that eventually they'll pair-up. And some of that is because of religion and a way to fulfill their spiritual beliefs or obligations, one of which is morality and fidelity.
To me the main thing is trust. Why? Because if you don't have trust, then why be in any relationship? Trust is the cornerstone of marriage. Trust provides emotional security, open communication, and it supports the partnership through difficult challenges. The process of navigating life's challenges together, even when there are disagreements, only serves to strengthen the bond of trust.
So when it's broken, can it ever be repaired? Perhaps in some cases it may be sufficient enough to stay together, but what about that emotional security? What about that confidence in the other person? Does that go back to 100 percent?
I don't think so. And my friend, it has not been my experience.
Growing up in a Detroit bungalow, my entire family was basically working class men, with the women at home taking care of kids, going to Detroit Public Schools, and most of the men working at some auto-related company. The men made decent money with decent benefits courtesy of the union. It provided for a good upbringing.
Trixie moved into the neighborhood when we were in eleventh grade when her Dad got transferred to one of the Detroit auto factories as a manager. I married Trixie right out of high school.
Of course, I went right to work in a factory as an assembler on the line, eventually found a posting for a hi-lo driver, and eventually took a job as a line supervisor. Man, it's weird to go from working as one of the stiffs next to other stiffs and then start supervising those same guys.
You learn quickly how to handle the challenges from the guys you used to hang with who now thought you felt you were now better than them. I didn't feel that way, I just wanted more money and a better future.
The older line workers challenged me as a young guy. They knew the union rules, they knew if they challenged me and I gave in then I'd always give in. Weak supervisors were controlled by the line workers.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, there are always supervisor meetings before and after the shift where we would get our asses ripped by the superintendent, and sometimes by the plant manager. Those were huge rippings.
Most of the time they were unfair accusations designed to motivate our performance. That's the way it was back 20 years ago, things aren't exactly like that now. But I quickly learned that shit runs downhill, and supervisors were at the bottom, just above the assembly line workers. So how do you protect yourself from a real accusation, where you'd really be torn apart?
You document everything, challenge people, show no mercy, make sure the bad guys pay for what they try to get away with so they become afraid to challenge you again.
Dear reader, do you think that makes me an asshole? Yes it does, but I'm an asshole to those who either don't do their job, or just want to make my life miserable, or who want to challenge my authority.
There's a benefit to being an asshole though: The good employees appreciate that I don't let the slackers get away with it. And the good employees and I have a great relationship.
So at a relatively young age in my mid-20s I became a pretty good supervisor at the automotive assembly factory and over the years earned some pretty good money where Trixie and I could move out of Detroit to Dearborn Heights. The inner-ring suburbs are basically built for the mid-level automotive people.
A four bedroom ranch on a small lot fit Trix and I, our son and daughter, and eventually a small inground pool in the backyard. Yeah, less lawn to cut. It worked for the last 20 years.
Now it's just me and Trixie in the home, because Samantha and Steven are in their third and fourth year of college. It's all paid for. I made sure and set up the college savings accounts early when they were born, and each of our parents contributed into those funds.
And because I made decent money, we lived modestly, the home is paid off and we're debt free. That's pretty un-American for sure, but it sure gives some peace of mind and a lot of flexibility, and choices.
Not that the peace of mind didn't come with a cost. Trixie and I sacrificed the high-end vacations for more modest ones to save some money. Everyone still enjoyed it. We didn't buy or lease new cars until the old ones hit ten years. We clipped coupons. Paid off credit cards monthly.
I did some personal investing on the side, took some classes, read a lot of books, and I have a decent investment account in addition to the 401k I have through the automotive company.
Was it working for the "peace of mind" that led to the problem in my marriage? I don't know, and I don't think what happened was my fault.
So what happened?
One Saturday I was home for a change and not working at the plant. I was in my basement in the little so-called 'home office' I had set up where I have my computer and printer, pay the bills, keep the family records, and watch TV at times. In the summer the basement gets a little musty, so I open up the basement window.
A few years ago I put in an egress window, so it's a pretty big window that is basically for emergency escape that opens into a 'window well,' a pretty big space that would easily fit a body that could climb out into the back yard for safety.
Opening it brings in some fresh air and a nice breeze. It also lets me hear what's going on in the backyard, which has been convenient when my kids had their friends over for pool parties when home from school.
Trixie had her friends over to hang out at the pool. Basically we're all 40-somethings that became friends from wherever over the years. I could hear their girl-talk, which is basically alcohol fueled group therapy for wives to air their mutual grievances about laundry, kids, cooking, unsatisfying sex, and awful husbands.
"Charlotte, how are those new toys working for you while your hubby is out of town?" asked Veronica.
"Did you know I named them Veronica? My favorite is "Buzz Lightyear!" All the women laughed.
Marissa chimed in, "my hubby thinks when he hums on my clit that it's the same thing!" More laughter. Perhaps the white wine assisted in their whining.
This is when I heard Veronica's statement: "You girls at least are getting something sometimes from your husbands. Mine? He needs the blue pill, and even then he's not really into it. Oh how I'd like to get a substitute one day!"
"Ask Trixie for some advice on that!" Charlotte said in a laughing manner.
"What? What are you talking about Charlotte!" Veronica asked in that sultry devilish voice, implying something wonderfully secret that was about to be spilled.
"Now, now, we don't talk about that, do we Charlotte." Trixie admonished Charlotte, but by the tone of her voice I could tell she was smiling as she said it.
Obviously my ears perked up at where this conversation was headed. Now remember, at the plant my rule was to catch things early and document it and shut the problem down. I've done this for over 20 years now.
As you read this, you'll probably think what I'm about to say is just too coincidental, but let me ask, have you ever had teenagers, either of legal age or underage? What do they like to do when there's a pool and no parents around? What would you do?
Yeah, I know. Girls, boys, bikinis, beer, and now let your imagination run. So if it's at my home who has the liability? And in this age of litigation, what do you need? Documentation.
So a few years ago I put two cameras over the backyard so I could see what went on at the pool. It came in handy a few times, enough to provide a deterrent to the kids once they knew they were being watched.
And readers, don't get upset at me for this either. I've never cheated on my wife. There've been plenty of opportunities at the plant, there are women in various areas of every American auto plant that provide "services."
No, I don't do that. But I do admit it's nice to watch college girls in bikinis on my camera recording. There. I said it. Jealous??
So I knew what these women were talking about was on camera and being recorded.
Charlotte whined, "C'mon Trixie. Veronica has been hanging with us for a year now, she's one of us. Let her in on your secret. Here, let me refill your wine."
I could hear the women scooching their lawn chairs closer together, "Oooo this is gonna be good, listen to this Veronica!" gushed Marissa.
With a sigh as if this was a burden, Trixie began, "well you know how Mike is usually on days at the plant, and six days a week? Well you know, we're getting a little older and not as flexible and Mike has a few beers every few days so his Dad-bod sorta took shape, and our, um, rolls in the hay happened less than in the past."
"Yeah, but that's happened to all of our guys," moaned Charlotte. "Get on with the good stuff!"
