The Death of a Modern Man

Hi folks. If you read this, don't be surprised if you recognise some of Jezzaz's story 'Words' in it. I've copied more than a few concepts from it. I would like to acknowledge that story as a brilliant piece of work from a very talented wordsmith. If you haven't read it yet, do yourselves a favour. This story has its genesis in his line, "I wouldn't want to derail your script," as the male lead is talking to his wife.

Um, I've taken a different approach.

For those that enjoy a chuckle, read on. It contains a wife who loves her husband but very little sex. If you feel strongly enough that this means it should be reported and moved to 'Non erotic', feel free. That happened to another of mine, which hasn't stopped 42,140 people reading it to date and enjoying it enough to score it 4.46. I watched my last posting carefully. Within six minutes of it being released, two people had voted and the score was 1.00. That means, a person with two accounts scored it 1.00 before they even read it. If that person wants to contact me publically or privately, I can send you a brochure for the 'Get a Life Club," nearest to you.

Any resemblance to realities living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Hi my names Evil and...well that's not my real name obviously, it's a nickname. My real name is Dave. Why Evil I hear you not asking. Well in my twenties, I was nicknamed Eagle. I'd love to say that was because of my piercing eyes, my high flying and resolution to mate for life but I'd be bullshitting you. If you insist on knowing all the details, my nose is kinda bent all right. A legacy of a violent youth. I could live with that name, so I was happy. After all my best friend's nickname is 'Scrote'. No, Eagle was fine. Then, when I was 25 my cute niece came up to me at a family party and in that cute little girl lisp asked why I was called Evil. One question; one bloody question and I get a lifetime of explaining to do.

I married Lisa 10 years ago after a relatively long courtship. I wanted to be sure and I wanted her to be sure. Us eagles really do mate for life and I would never willingly dissolve my marriage. I believe what my parent's generation believed. You make an informed decision, then live with the consequences of that decision. I loved my wife and at the time this story started and ends even, I believe she loves me. Apart from this belief, I considered myself a modern man. Not for me the old style, man says, woman does scenario. In my world, men and women can be equal.

A fairy tale 2.4 kids and eventual grandkids wasn't to be for us though. After three years of trying, without success, we decided to get me tested. Far out, how embarrassing was that. My little wrigglers did me proud though; I had a more than adequate sperm count to do the job. Then Lisa was tested. Malformed ovaries. We optimistically asked the Doc if that meant she would have trouble conceiving. He said, no, she would never conceive. I pretended that was okay as I could see Lisa was devastated. I told her that was fine by me; I could be happy just loving her the rest of my life. Lies are acceptable when you love someone and mate for life. Besides, modern couples are commonly childless.

I still loved her after her changed attitude cost her the job of customer service representative and she didn't feel confident enough to look for another one. Or when the drop in her activity level caused her to put on a little weight. When she stopped dressing nicely or putting on much make-up, I still loved her. Eagles mate for life and don't let temporary mood changes make them throw their mate from the nest. Modern men step up to the plate and try harder. This Evil eagle upped the compliments, bought his mate flowers and presents and took her on two vacations a year, even though he was trying to grow a fledgling electrical contracting business and could ill afford the time off.

This eagle's internal alarms should have been triggered when our circle of friends began wilting. They weren't, as the decline was so slow and subtle. As the couples in our friendship circle started doing their societal duty and having children, they gradually disappeared as friends. I didn't realise until later, that as soon as they popped out a kid, Lisa gradually withdrew from them. As she was in control of our social calendar, I was unaware of these interplays. One of the things that stirred my eventual action was the realisation that as well as being the chief breadwinner, I had become the chief entertainer as well. The modern man took all this in his stride.

I did notice that conditions in the nest were changing gradually. When Lisa first finished up at work, she responded by becoming rabid about housework, cooking and our garden. Our house went from being well-maintained, to immaculate. Our garden was admired by all as an area clearly loved and pampered. I came home at least twice a week to strange exotic smells from the kitchen. Life was good. Well apart from our love life that is. Almost from the day she received the devastating diagnosis, our sex life started to slide from 5ish sessions a week to, well I'm a little embarrassed to admit, 1ish. Again, this slide was gradual and not immediately noticed. In hindsight, I suppose with such a strong link between sex and procreation, and procreation now being off the agenda, sex would inevitably become psychologically uncomfortable. Modern man agreed that the legal change away from men being able to insist on their conjugal rights was the right and proper thing. Hence, modern man had no choice but to suffer frustration in silence.

I've just gone back and read the first page and a half of this diary and realise I may have misrepresented Lisa somewhat. I don't want to give you the impression she was perfect, because that isn't true. She does have some flaws. But loving partners accept and overlook those don't they? Probably the most annoying was her, well I can't even think of a name for it. When it came to shared duties, she amplified HER efforts by a factor of about five, but discounted MY efforts by a factor of at least two. The net result of this is that to get her to admit to me doing an equal share, I had to do about 10 times more than her. Even then it was touch and go. This could have been a source of dissent in our marriage, but I'm an enlightened 21

st

century guy, I never expected my life partner to be perfect. That fairy tale crap is so last century.

I suppose the major review of my life began one Thursday afternoon. To ease Lisa's load, I'd taken to doing the grocery shopping. I did the major one on my way home on Thursdays. I met one of our former close friends who invited us to a BBQ the following night. I was keen, so on return to the nest, I passed on the suggestion to my mate. Who promptly pointed out that as tomorrow was Friday, she would be going to her weekly meditation and didn't think it appropriate that a married man go to a social evening on his own.

Oh, I forgot to mention weekly meditation, didn't I. How remiss of me to forget Lisa's one weekly foray out of the nest. Like many people who are no longer certain of the purpose to their lives, Lisa searched for a higher meaning. In the old days, this void was filled by god. The modern woman I'd married, couldn't bring herself to follow this old school path and joined what I called a 'recyclers of ancient wisdom' group. Every Friday she, and a group of other lost souls met and meditated. They read each other's auras, conjured up healing energies and other shit that I, as a modern man, was careful not to air my true views on.

I was never encouraged or asked to be involved. Well I wouldn't fit in would I? I'd never met any of her fellow meditators socially but had observed them on the rare occasion I'd been asked to pick Lisa up afterwards. I think the term is 'Aquarian woman', even the 20% of them that packed penises. The men (?) were the soft, long haired, effeminate type. The type that even made this modern man's palms itch. The women would have been called hippies in previous generations. Again, long hair, generally unkempt, soft smiles and breasts swinging freely. Unfettered by those 20

th

century symbols of male dominance, brassieres. Although never proven, my imagination supplied the lush growths of armpit hair. In my mind, Lisa never really fit in to this group. With her smooth armpits and love of materialism, how could she? None of the males seemed to be relationally joined to any of the females and I was the only one picking up a spouse. Then I looked at the faces of Lisa's fellow astral travellers and wondered no longer. Not to seem ungenerous, but most of them had faces less attractive than my own armpits.

Lisa plumbed the depths of my modernity, by telling me about Jenny's aura that night or who the recipient of that night's healing energy was. This modern man is ashamed to say he turned off. Most nights he went to bed alone, while modern woman meditated till way past the time modern man's eight-hour sleep requirement start time.

Thus it was that I found myself alone on a Friday night looking around an unkempt house, with un-stowed takeaway packages from Wednesday. A house set in grounds that increasingly looked like the deep Amazon. In my brain, a lever switched from off to on. Cobweb filled neural pathways opened. A conclusion was reached. Within the guidelines of modern man, how could I put Lisa back on the rails. I'd long suspected depression triggered by Lisa's deep seated knowledge that as far as evolution was concerned, she had no purpose. That would depress anyone. It certainly did me.

I suppose that's where this story really starts. The next day I started my campaign to convince my mate that she should seek treatment for her depression. The campaign started badly, somewhere around negative 100, when Lisa denied having the disorder. Cursing himself, this modern man did what he should have done to start with. He researched the subject. Guess what? Most depression sufferers don't realise they have it.

Thus began a campaign of enlightenment. The results were underwhelming, if I'm honest with myself. Lisa steadfastly refused to see unenlightened Psychiatrists or even Psychologists. Ancient easterners didn't believe in such things and being a hippy was definitely not a disorder. This modern man was even accused of being a caveman for not believing healing energy could be summoned to be sent to some ingrown toenail sufferer through the astral plane.

After months of effort, the best I could manage was Lisa's begrudging commitment to seek the help of her group's guru to source an alternative advisor. This took a further two weeks and I was informed that the person in question was a lady called Thunderchild. Not a good start, but better than nothing. Consultations were on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. I would like to describe Thunderchild, but at time of writing, I still hadn't had the pleasure of meeting her. I was assured she was a professional talker and the early signs were good. After the first week, Lisa announced that the basic problem seemed to be that she had no purpose in life. Thunderchild must have used a different form of that advice than I'd found in the last months.

I was pleasantly surprised when Lisa's new purpose in life, charity volunteering Monday, Wednesday and Friday, seemed to trigger a partial recovery. Receding was the self-absorption. Although I had to suggest that with her counselling sessions from 3-5PM, she still had time to cook before then, so takeaways five nights a week weren't essential. This went for housework as well. Gone was the lacklustre Lisa. Returned was a wife that cared about her appearance and was exhibiting a new lust for life. Even more pleasing was the end to the autocracy. In her depression, Lisa had stopped making decisions, leaving me to fill the breach. That was ended and democracy returned. Even to the point of Lisa making unilateral decisions that by rights, should have been joint.

Not everything was rosy though. My suggestion that rather than volunteering three days a week, she could help with my business, were firmly rebuffed. She claimed she had to follow her counsellor's instructions to the letter and apparently, sacrifice for no personal gain was critical. No amount of hinting would make her cook Monday, Wednesday and Friday, so modern man stepped up to the plate for the first two of those. As he did, taking over the gardening chores. The Amazon was deforested, but in a good way.

Perhaps most significant an indicator of deep seated change, was the resurgent sex life of the modern couple. Vanished was the once a week beg. Replaced by a regular Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday pattern. Me, caveman, forwent complaining about this lack of spontaneity in my gratitude. All Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday attempts, were rebuffed in favour of private, late night, solo meditation. Apparently, daytime meditation was ineffective because of solar interference.

In fact, if it wasn't for one little thing, life was tolerable. Pleased at the increased frequency of the intimacy, modern man missed the drop in quality for the first month. Increasingly, gone was the thrashing respondent to my ardour. To be replaced, more and more blatantly, by Aquarius woman that did an increasingly convincing impression of a cadaver. Ever vigilant, not-so-modern man raised this diplomatically on one occasion. Only to be assured she enjoyed it as much as she ever had. In hindsight, a carefully worded response. I was happy when this conversation elicited a more active bedroom response. I was unhappy this response only lasted a week.

Sensitive new age man began to dread the thrice weekly ritual, so made excuses one Thursday night to break with the new tradition. He was staggered at the response of aggression that he was trying to avoid his duty. He was, pardon my French, confused as all fuck.

I was increasingly alarmed at the mounting evidence of Lisa's obvious dependency on her counsellor, Ms Thunderchild. She said this, then she said that, dominated many conversations. On the pretext of wanting to thank the sage, I asked if I could meet her. After consultation, this audience was refused. Beguiled, I stooped to surreptitiously waiting outside the place of meditation on Friday night. It wasn't obvious if Ms Thunderchild was even one of the people that left those nights. The only person that stuck out from the sixties rejects that left those nights, was the 'lady' that locked up. 'She' was almost as wide as she was tall and if she challenged me to an arm wrestle, I would probably claim a sore shoulder.

So, in summary, modern man was happier now. Modern woman was returning to normal and apart from some slightly odd behaviour, things were acceptable.

Right up to the point that I returned home one Thursday, to the lack of smells of a prepared dinner, but to the sight of Lisa sitting next to two packed suitcases. More than a little confused and concerned, I took the requested seat opposite her at the kitchen table, for a short interrogation. Of me.

Did I love her? Yes, I did.

Did I think she loved me above all others on this planet? Again, yes I did.

Did I think her counsellor knew what she was talking about? Yes, on balance, I thought her counsel was having a positive effect.

Would I accept her counsellor's advice for her to leave for several weeks to 'find herself'?

No, I would not.

Did I think I owned her? No, definitely not.

The increasing aggression was interrupted at this point, by the arrival of a text on Lisa's cell. Modern woman always interrupts face to face conversation to respond to texts. Struggling-to-remain-modern-man snatched said cell and stuffed it in his pocket. Lisa objected, but accepted the uselessness of a physical response. Modern man was considerably bigger than modern woman; who resorted to words instead.

If I accepted that she loved me and I loved her and I didn't own her, why would I ignore sage advice and allow her to find herself?

Modern man refused to countenance any mission of his wife to find herself, until he was further briefed on the purpose and scope of such a mission. For example, could other men or even women be involved, sexually, in said exploration. Black and white answering was suspended while careful wording was exercised. Less carefully thought out were the words and phrases, 'caveman', 'outdated heterosexist society', 'polygamy'.

Pausing only to mentally summarise the facts, as he saw them; that is, he believed her when she said she loved him, but extramarital sex wasn't excluded in any absence from the family home, modern man contacted his inner caveman. He reiterated his commitment never to voluntarily break their union, but her leaving to 'find herself', without a convincing promise of continued fidelity, would be

prima facie

evidence that she was breaking their contract.

I turned off when it became apparent that no such promise was forthcoming. Picking up only the repetition of 'caveman' and the frequent, 'Thunderchild said'. Using the time instead to think, I formed an action plan that was definitely not modern man's. I went to her purse and removed her car keys, all the cash and cards, then returned to remove her rings. They were easy to remove as I knew she did that every Friday night. Free spirited hippies did not wear bras or wedding rings. Lisa railed at me. Pointing out that I was the one that insisted she needed treatment and now she was following the advice of her therapist, I had no right to object.

I pointed out, in return, that the right to object was my most fundamental democratic right. As was my basic demand of monogamy within marriage. She, as a modern woman, was quite welcome to leave the front gate and go to the arms of another man or woman, I really couldn't decide which it was. But she would be doing that as someone who I no longer considered a wife and certainly wasn't being sponsored by me. A little stunned by my sudden implacability, Lisa resorted to her original plan for the evening. She picked up the two bags and the remains of her handbag and walked out the front door.

I followed, mentally concluding that with no money or way of calling a cab, Lisa was either reacting on autopilot, or had someone waiting outside for her. I joined her on the front porch and searched until I saw a car across the street with its side lights on. I sprinted towards it, only to see it roar away. The eagle has sharp eyes and memorised the licence plate number.

A very pissed modern woman followed me back into the house. The tirade I copped was decidedly unmodern and involved several expletives common since the middle ages. The tirade again seemed to centre around the contradiction between me wanting her to recover but not allowing her to follow her counsellor's advice. Mid flow, I went to bed. Only to be told that she wasn't going to share her bed with a caveman. I agreed she shouldn't have to and dumped several armloads of her stuff in the spare room. The eagle slept very poorly in his eyrie that night.

I still can't decide whether there were any apologies involved from Lisa the following morning. She assured me of her love and said that she'd obviously misjudged my commitment to her future happiness. For the sake of our 10-year marriage and the fact she loved me deeply, she was going to seek an emergency counselling session before next Tuesday to see if there were alternatives to a separation. She asked me if I could commit to the original plan if no alternatives were acceptable. The answer was no. In the spirit of detente, I did return her property. We parted with an uneasy truce.

That night, after I cooked my own dinner, I drove to her meditation venue. Noting her car was there, I settled down to wait. If there was a third person in our relationship, they were being met either here or at her charity activities. While waiting, I contacted some shady friends to see if I could put a name and address to a licence plate number. Hopes were high. An hour after everyone else left except Lisa and the wide lady, I went home, unable to keep my eyes open.