A common cliché these days when a married couple seems to be having trouble is that they have "grown apart." I presume that means that their interests have diverged, or that they have become less tolerant of accommodating the diverse interests that they always had, or that things that used to be important to both are only important to one of them, or - most likely - all three combined. I believe that I, Brad Braxton, and my wife, Melissa, were in the "all three combined" category after sixteen years of marriage.
We were both only thirty eight when things became so crystalized that we knew that we had to admit our "grown apart" condition and deal with it. Melissa is one of the smartest and most cultured people that I know and typically direct. I'm more wily than smart and more pedestrian than cultured but I am gregarious and can get along with almost anyone. We both found our callings; Melissa became the director of a prestigious art gallery, and I am the top salesman in the most important product line of a Fortune 1500 company.
I didn't, and don't, believe that either of us is interested in a divorce for many reasons. Number 1 is that I truly love her, respect her, and enjoy her personality. She says that she loves me, and I believe her since she is a very poor liar and I would have easily figured out if she was lying. Number 2, we have three very well adjusted kids, two boys and a girl, that we both love to death. Family activities are always fun since either the kids have not yet hit the stage where they are a pain in the ass, or because of their personalities they never will be. Neither Melissa nor I would do anything to ruin their happy childhoods.
When I declined going with Melissa to one cultural event or the other for probably the tenth straight time - she says it's twenty, I say eight, but the result is the same - and she declined sex for the tenth out of the last eleven approaches that I made - she said fifth out of sixth, I say 15th out of sixteen, but again what difference does it make - one Thursday night she said "Brad we have to have a pow-wow about our diverse interests. Except for the kids it appears that we're not on just on different paths in life, but headed to different planets."
She was right. Not only did we have the aforementioned dichotomy but she had never seen the inside of a health club nor me a fancy restaurant.
I was a safety on a Division I football team in college, playing statistics six feet one inch, 194 pounds. I have been a workout nut ever since and at thirty eight weighed only three pounds more than in college and had almost comparable muscle tone. I worked out six days a week at a health club or in our home exercise room. Even though Melissa is only slightly overweight, she eschews exercise and I doubt that she ever set foot in our home exercise room, let alone a health club.
On the other hand, Melissa loves fine dining. A French restaurant with nouvelle cuisine is her ideal, and she often lunches at places like that. I, on the other hand, think that Olive Garden is just peachy, although I might go to a steakhouse if she begs.
Given the situation described above, I paused only a second before I replied to her request for a pow-wow, "You're right. When do we talk, and what preparations do I need to make."
"Have you ever confided in anyone?"
"Aside from you, not really. Most guys I would not feel comfortable in confiding in."
"How about female friends - Gina for example?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
That question was a REAL surprise. Gina Jenkins, before we actually had been introduced to her and got to know her about eight years ago, was the stimulus for one of our few big arguments in married life. I can describe Gina in two or three words, depending upon whether you consider something hyphenated one word or two: "Walking wet-dream."
Melissa and I were at a party where I first saw Gina; she was wearing four inch heels and a slinky dress that accented her bubble butt and consummate thighs - thighs better than what I had previously considered "perfect." While not classically beautiful she is more sultry than a tropical breeze and more seductive than a siren's song. I was apparently transfixed ogling her when Melissa came up to me and in a pissed off tone said "Would you stop making a fool of yourself by staring at that woman's ass?"
"Uh, what...I'm not-uh-not staring," I defensively stuttered.
"Then what's that?" she pointedly asked, not too subtly pointing at my dick trying to pop my zipper into the next county.
"I'm married, not dead," was my flippant reply.
The ride home was heated, the next week at home icy.
"Yeah; I guess I could talk to Gina since she's discreet. I wonder if she would talk to me as a friend rather than professionally," I pensively inquired while stroking my chin. Gina is a marriage counselor by profession, and I've heard an unorthodox but highly successful one. Besides seeing her at parties and dinners when she is with her husband Art, I normally see her three days a week at the health club we belong to since our workout times often overlap. She could fuck any guy in the health club that she wanted to, but the only males she is ever even friendly with are me, the owner, and a guy with white hair who was on the U S Olympic swim team before I was born and has the body that I want to have when I'm his age.
Also, since Gina and Art's daughter is on the same travel soccer team as my daughter, and since her son is on the same recreational basketball team as my oldest son, we see each other at sporting events all the time. I go to all sporting events and field trips for our three kids, Melissa attends all arts functions and academic conferences.
"I'll likely see Gina at soccer this Saturday and ask her," I replied. Then I asked Melissa "Are you going to talk to someone?"
"Yes; one reason I suggested Gina is because I want to talk to Art to get a male perspective. He is also discrete and that way we would only be talking to people in the same family," she replied.
Art, Gina's husband, is what I consider an unlikely match for her - although they probably think the same thing about Melissa and I. Art is a successful accountant but his passion is theater. He is the volunteer financial director of the Community Theater in our city, one of the most prestigious and visible volunteer jobs in the entire metropolitan area. Like Melissa, Art has never seen the inside of a health club; unlike Melissa he is noticeably overweight.
"That's a great idea," I genuinely replied. "How about we ship the kids off to your parents' house next Friday night, a week from tomorrow, and have a serious discussion then."
Melissa smiled broadly, snuggled up to me, and gave me a sloppy kiss, a much more positive response than if she had just said "Yes." "I'll call Mom tonight," she chirped, and then gave me another kiss.
*******************
I did see Gina Saturday. We stood together during the game, making me the envy of all of the other fathers there. At halftime I asked my question. "Say, Gina; Melissa and I are going to have a serious discussion about some things going on in our life, and I would like to get a woman's perspective before we do. I know that she intends to talk to Art to get a male perspective. Should I talk to you within the context of your profession, or just as a friend?"
"Are you having marital difficulties?" she inquired with raised eyebrow.
"I think that 'difficulties' is too strong a word. There is no consideration of divorce, or anything nuclear. We just need to iron a few things out," I replied.
"Tell you what; come to my office Tuesday morning right after we work out. I'll treat it as a professional consultation until I get the jest of things, and then we'll go from there," she retorted with a smile.
"Thanks," I said returning her smile.
The rest of the game we talked only soccer and kids, and took our daughters and two of their friends for ice cream after a well-deserved victory.
Tuesday Gina and I finished our showers after our workout about the same time. "Follow me to my office - I have a shortcut that avoids the freeway," she jabbered as we got in our cars. I took a quick look at her ass as she swung it into her sports car - no mini-van for that mom except when transporting kids. We arrived at her office a little before eight a. m.
"So give it to me straight, Brad; don't dance around the bush or sugar coat it. What is bothering you and Melissa," Gina said as soon as she put on her "serious" glasses, sat behind her mahogany desk, and motioned for me to sit in one of the two plush leather chairs in front of her desk.
"Melissa and I are going to have a talk Friday about how we reconcile 'growing apart' over the last few years - sorry to start with a cliché," I began.
"More accurate than most clichés, Brad. Go on."
I then proceeded to relate most of the scenario I provided above, in some places with more detail. She asked few questions, and took few notes. After about a half hour, when I was finished relating the situation and was about to ask for her advice she held up her hand in a "Stop" motion.
"OK, Brad, I get the picture. I might have a solution, but not as a marriage counselor. Hold on a minute," she said as she removed her glasses, turned to her computer, input some information, and printed out two pages.
"This first document is my bill for $100 for our marriage counseling session. You need to pay with a check, hopefully now if you have your checkbook with you," she said, handing one sheet to me.
"I do have it," I said, reaching into my sport jacket pocket and pulling it out. As I was signing the check she buzzed her secretary. "Marie, input this check and mark the time received on the invoice," she said. Marie smiled at me, said "Hi," and did as instructed.
"Brad, this next document terminates our professional relationship as of the second you sign it," she continued while she herself was signing the document. "Marie will notarize your signature and precisely note the time."
I was totally confused, but signed as instructed, and Marie notarized the document after first asking to see my driver's license to prove my identity.
When Marie left with the two documents and check Gina turned to me and smiled. "Sorry to confuse you, Brad, but I am thinking of something a little unconventional; something that I cannot possibly propose as a marriage counselor, otherwise I'd lose my certification. With your permission - and I have to have it since what you told me was disclosed during my professional consultation - I would like to discuss my proposal with Art before discussing it with you. Is that OK?"
"Fine by me," I replied. "Are you going to give me a hint?"
"Absolutely not," she replied with a truly evil grin. "I will be calling or meeting with Melissa too," she said, her grin getting even more evil, if possible.
We gave each other a platonic hug and I trudged out of her office, more confused than a chameleon in a bag of Skittles.
When I got home that night Melissa had a wry smile. "I understand that you talked to Gina today."
"Yes, I did. I went to her office."
"Did she give you any advice?"
