Arbitrary

I blame myself for much of what happened. It might not have been my fault per se, but my past set the stage for the end of my marriage.

When I met Joan, I knew that she had limited experience with men. She wasn't a virgin by any means, but, including me, she could count her lovers on the right hand of a bad shop teacher. Me? You'd need to take off both shoes and add a whole barnyard full of piggies on top of that.

Honestly, that was part of what had attracted me to her. Joan was pretty, with a slim build, cute little tits, lovely dark eyes, and black hair cut in a bob, but not a knockout by any stretch of the imagination. She had a sweet kind of earnestness, though, the type that sometimes gets abraded away by worldliness. When we met, just after I graduated from college, I was looking for someone just like her, someone who had rejected the lifestyle I had lived.

It's not that I'm ashamed of that time, mind. In high school, I had thought of myself as a player, but when I got to college, I realized I'd been in the minor leagues, at best. My girlfriend during my freshman year, Rachel, introduced me to a whole new world. Rachel was sex on a stick, both in her ample physical attributes and her appetites. Once we decided we worked better as friends with significant benefits, we became each others' wingmen, and we each had a ridiculous number of sexual adventures as a result.

Once college was over, I thought things might change. They didn't. The green-eyed blonde bombshell wanted to continue the party, while I decided it was time to settle down. She's actually the one that introduced me to Joan, a friend of hers from back home. Where Rachel and I had less than stellar academic records as a result of our extracurricular activities, Joan was the exact opposite.

I know that Joan sometimes worried that she was my second choice, that I would be with Rachel if I could. It wasn't true, of course. They were different women, and while I loved my best friend and still had wonderful memories of our romantic love when we were freshmen, I was deeply in love with Joan. She never entirely got over that little bit of jealousy, but her worries lessened over time. Rachel and Joan had been casual friends in their hometown, but through me, they became very close. It eased any envy, even once Rachel got her wild child phase out of her system

I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't a little bit of a thrill in helping my girlfriend, then fiancée, then wife develop as a sexual being. Did I mold her to my tastes? Yeah, a bit. But she seemed to enjoy that aspect of our relationship, and when she wanted to try things that weren't necessarily what I was interested in, I still engaged with gusto.

Joan loved to talk about our sex lives before we were together while we were in bed. It was a huge turn on for her. She had comparatively few stories, but she hung on mine. She'd ask me to tell her about the women I'd been with before, the things we'd done together, all of it. Afterwards, she'd pick out things she'd like to try from my stories, and we'd work them into the rotation.

I loved Joan with all my heart. She was sweet and loving, a great wife and friend for most of our marriage. She had a quirky sense of humor and a thoroughly, often overly, analytical mind. All that time in college really paid off, both in terms of her intellect and her career. She was a quant, one of those financial analysts that depends on quantitative analysis and programming prowess to figure out what stocks to buy and sell, and she was very, very good at it. Joan made a lot of money for her bosses, which meant that she certainly made more than I did.

Unfortunately, that overly analytical mind meant that she could sometimes intellectualize things that she shouldn't. I still had the same "hard no" list that I did back in college, the lines I wouldn't cross sexually when in a relationship. I was game for pretty much anything, as long as it was me and her alone. I wanted no other lovers, period, for either of us. We had talked about it before we got married, and she agreed wholeheartedly at the time, but after five years together and three married, she started to push back on it.

"I just don't see what the big deal is, Paul. You did this before, when you were in college."

I sighed. I was so tired of this discussion. This was the third time in as many months as we'd gone through it. "Yeah, and, as I keep pointing out, that was when I was single."

My wife rolled her eyes and made air quotes. "'Single.' You were dating Rach in all but name. You watched each other with four different people and sent her on her way from the bar with, like, a couple dozen more." That was true. Our friend had figured into a number of my stories from that time, and I did enjoy those anecdotes.

"Sort of? But there's a reason she and I never actually dated after freshman year, and why I married you! We talked about this before. We've talked about it a lot! My answers haven't changed, so why do you keep asking the same questions?"

Her hands waved in the air as she became more animated. "Because I didn't get to do any of this stuff! You guys did, you talk about these big adventures you had, and they sounded hot as hell. I feel like I missed out."

I sighed. "Hon, I get that. I do. But there's a lot of it that... that wasn't so fun, too. I don't talk about the shitty stuff that went on, because it was really shitty. About the time Rachel almost got roofied. When I picked up a stalker. Or... or when we broke someone's heart because we didn't know they were more serious than we were. It was a lot of fun at times, but this, what we have, is so much better."

With a grumble, she said, "I wouldn't know."

"I get that, Joan. But fantasies..." I sighed. "Sometimes they're better off as just fantasies." I felt for her. I really did. But she didn't understand what she was asking for, how sharing someone you loved and were committed to changed things. It was why Rach and I had broken up; Joan knew that, but she just didn't seem to get it.

She looked away from me. "What if that's not enough anymore?"

The hairs pricked up on the back of my neck. This was new. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"What if I want to go and..." She shook her head, then her dark eyes focused intensely on me. "No, not what if. I want to go and have a few adventures of my own."

My eyes bugged out. "What? No! Not just no, but fuck no!"

Her pretty face turned into a sneer. This was also new, and I didn't like it at all. "Oh, you think because we're married that you own me? That you can dictate what I do with my body?"

"No! But we're married! We took a vow! 'Forsaking all others,' you remember that one? I love you, and I thought you loved me, too!"

Her expression softened. "I do love you, Paul, so much. I want to spend my whole life with you. And I don't begrudge you all the things you did in school. But it sucks that I don't get to do those things too just because of some piece of paper."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Is that all it is to you? Our marriage? Just a piece of paper?"

"No! No, It's just... look, yes, we took vows. Vows that are.. they're like a contract between us. And if one of us isn't happy with the terms, we can amend that contract until we are."

I couldn't believe this shit. "So you, what, want to rewrite our vows? 'Forsaking all others, except Joan gets to go out and find some strange?'" I snorted. "Fat fucking chance of that."

"I would never--!" She shook her head in irritation. "Look, I've been thinking about this a lot. I want to-- I need to do this, Paul. But I don't want to blow up our marriage."

"You've been thinking about this 'a lot?' Why?" My blood ran cold and my voice followed. "Who."

"It's not like that, Paul! I'm not... I haven't cheated on you. Haven't even really talked to anyone. But... but I know that men look at me. That-- that I could do well for myself if I tried. There is someone that..." She looked away. "When I get the go ahead from you, I'm going to approach them."

"Well, that 'when' is the same as 'when hell freezes over,' Joan. I'm never going to be okay with this." I scoffed. "And 'do well for yourself?' What the fuck does that make me? Just good enough?"

Joan gasped, "No! No, not at all! I love you, and you're so great, Paul! But I-- I don't have... I want, need these experiences. The ones you had. You always told me that-- that it wasn't so much about 'better' as 'different.' I want to experience 'different.'"

Fuck this. "No. I'm not going along with this. I'm done talking about it. If you do this on your own, we're done. We might already be done." I went to stand.

"Paul, wait, please! I just-- " She reached into her purse and produced a folded sheet of paper. "I want to do this, babe. But I want to be fair about it-- " She raised her hand to stop me, an imploring look on her face. "Please, hear me out. This can be good for us." She put the paper on our kitchen table and opened it.

A contract. She'd made a fucking contract. She was serious. She actually wanted to amend our fucking wedding vows.

I just stared in shock as she started to talk again. "I don't want to make this asymmetrical, Paul. I want us to each be able to have fun. And I still want there to be rules, like our vow, I just want to expand on them." She slid the paper over to me.

It was complete bullshit. Lots of rules for things like discretion, not bringing the 'friend' home, only 'partnering' with 'friends' that were not our current actual friends or co-workers, use of condoms, cleaning up before returning home, a whole stupid checklist that might as well have been titled, "How to have an affair while pretending you're not having an affair." There was a space for my signature at the bottom, along with the date. She'd already signed it and dated it three days before.

I laughed at one line item in particular. Mockingly, I said, "'No disrespect of the spouse is to be allowed.' Too fucking late there, Joan! This whole thing is disrespectful."

She quietly said, "I didn't want anyone to think that a friend was talking bad about one of us."

"A 'friend.' Yeah, because when I think of friends, I-- "

She exploded. "Yeah, friend, Paul! Nothing more than that! Not even the type of 'friends'-- " Those fucking airquotes again. " --that you and Rachel were! I'm not looking to replace you, I just want to have some fun, the same kind you've had!"

I was shaking with rage now. "Then you shouldn't have gotten married! You shouldn't have vowed to be faithful!"

She was right there with me. "Our vows are completely fucking arbitrary! There's a reason not every couple says the same ones! Some keep 'obey' in or out, some folks write their own, people do what works for them. We can choose which ones we want, and we can choose to change them later if they don't work!"

That was it. I was done. "They have been fucking working, Joan. For me, at least. If they're not working for you..." I shook my head. "Then just get the fuck out. I'll give you a divorce if that's what you want. But I'm not doing this."

She pounded the table. "That's not what I want!" Joan stood, bristling with anger. "I'm going to have some fun, Paul. Sign the goddamned amendments, or at least talk to me about how we can modify them to make you comfortable. You can go and have fun with--"

"I don't fucking want to!"

Her mood turned on a dime, the anger replaced with something that made me even more uneasy. She had put on her quant face, the one that said she'd run the numbers and this was how it needed to be. She cooly said, "Well, I do, and I'm going to. I'm going to ask someone out. I'm going to go and have some fun, and you should, too. I just want to agree to the rules first. Let's just get past this, okay? I love you, and I want to have this adventure with you." The fucking nerve of this woman.

I stalked away without another word and left the house. She called after me, but she might as well have been talking to a wall.

I started to drive. I needed someone to talk to. I knew exactly who.

"I'm going to rip her tiny fucking tits off."

It was the laugh I needed, but Rachel wasn't laughing with me. "I'm fucking serious, Paul. I can't believe she pulled that shit." We were sitting at the bar of our favorite dive from college, each nursing a beer.

"That's two of us." This was just so frustrating, so out of character for the woman I thought I knew. "I just don't know what to do. I mean, she's clearly planning to do it. Part of me says, 'fuck it, let's just get a divorce.' Another says, 'she kind of has a point, you did--'"

Rachel interrupted, "No! That's bullshit! Yes, we had a hell of a time back then. But we still had a bright line that we didn't go past; it's why we didn't make a real go of it, because--" She looked away, trying to avoid my face and the echo of a painful memory etched on it. "-- because we both know that there's a difference. Having a friend you love and sharing them with someone else is one thing. Sharing a girlfriend or a spouse, it's another. It's different. Some things..."

She shook her head and looked at me. "Ugh, stupid fucking brainiac Joan. Some things you can't just think your way past. You can't tell your heart they don't matter. I know there are people it works fine for, people that can have an open marriage or swing or whatever." She laughed. "Hell, we've both fucked a few of them." I laughed then, too. "But you and I both know it won't work for you. Didn't work for me, either. And I don't think it'll work for her, once you start fucking someone else."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think she'll like that." I bowed my head unhappily. "I don't like it, either. I don't want to fuck anyone else. You're right, Rach. I can't turn it on and off like that, not with my wife. It just... it feels different. What's the fucking point of making the vows if you're not willing to keep them? If she has sex with someone else, I think that's just going to have to be it. We'll be done."

Rachel patted my shoulder. "She hasn't done it yet. You know she loves you, and she can tell how upset you are. Let it rest for tonight. I'll call her tomorrow during the day. You can talk to her about it after work, when you've both had time to process." She finished her beer. "Come on, man. Let's go play some pool and try to get your mind off this shit." She kicked my ass. She always did.

The house was dark; Joan had already gone to bed. I stood in the living room, trying to decide where I would sleep that night. We'd never had a fight so bad that I didn't want to sleep next to her. I still wanted to then, even as mad as I was at her. But I also didn't want her to think I'd accepted her idiotic amendments. I sighed and went to my bedroom, trying to be quiet as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, then slid in next to my wife. She was asleep, but I spooned behind her and held her. I didn't want this to be the end of us, but if it was, I wanted to have at least one more night holding her as we slept.

In the morning, she left before I woke. She had left her contract, amendments, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it on the table with a Post-It note. "I love you with all my heart. Please, sign it and let's get past this, so we can have a new adventure together." My initial instinct was to set it on fire, and possibly the whole goddamned house with it. Instead, I took a picture of it and sent it to Rachel, so that she'd have more than just my vague recollection of what it said.

I sat staring at that stupid piece of paper for a long while. The more time I looked at it, the more I understood what my wife was trying to accomplish, and the angrier I got. A plan was starting to form in my head. If she wouldn't listen to reason, well, then I'd show her you can't intellectualize some things.

Work was work. I couldn't focus. I hoped that Rachel was able to talk to Joan today and get her to see sense. If not... I spun some scenarios in my head about what I'd do if the worst came to pass. They varied wildly from me trying to find some way to accept this all the way to burning everything down and salting the earth. I was pretty sure it was going to be somewhere closer to the latter, but I was working with hypotheticals at this point. I needed to talk to her and see if she'd come to her senses. I snuck out early and hit the gym, so I'd have something else to focus on.

A little over an hour later, I was sweaty and tired. Running plus weights helped to distract me in the moment, but that's all they were: a distraction. And as I finished up my cooldown, any peace I might have temporarily found in exercise was dispelled with a text from Rachel. "I tried. I'm sorry. She won't listen. If you want to hang out after you talk, hmu."

I showered at the gym. Even that irritated me; I remembered in her stupid little checklist the entry about cleaning up before we got home and thought of her showering after a different kind of workout. My stomach lurched.

Joan was already there when I walked through the door, sitting at the kitchen table with a meal prepared for us. She was a good cook, but she rarely went to the effort; we usually just ordered takeout. I wasn't sure why she had gone to the trouble. A different tactic to get me to go along? An apology for how she'd gone about this? Or an apology for something else, something which I couldn't forgive?

Her smile seemed genuine and unguarded. "I'm glad you're home. Come on, babe. Let's eat. It's nice and hot."

We ate in silence. That wasn't that rare; we were both foodies, and we liked to savor our meals. It was usually the content silence of two people enjoying their meal and each other's company, comfortable enough with each other to not fill the air with needless words. But this wasn't that. I think she was trying to show me that we were still us, that her little amendments wouldn't really change anything. She'd done the exact opposite, and as the tension in the room rose, she finally realized it.

Joan broke the stillness. "I talked to Rachel today."

"I know." I placed my cutlery on either side of my plate. This meal was ruined anyways.

She nodded silently. "Then you probably also know that she didn't change my mind. I'm not mad that you talked to her, but I am a little hurt that you tried to get her in the middle of all of this. It should be just between us."

It was a good thing I'd stopped eating, or my snort would have sprayed pasta sauce all over the tablecloth. "Yeah, just you, me, and whatever guys you're planning to fuck."

Her frustration was evident. "You know what I mean. Those people... whoever we choose to be with, the amendments clearly say that they're not supposed to be people we already know. I wanted us to be discreet. We can't do that if-- "

"Gee, I'm real fucking sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. How thoughtless of me. I should have just been a nice little cuck, right?"

Joan's eye twitched. "If that's what you want to be. I'm not forcing that. I've made it very clear that I want you to go have fun. But if you-- "

"Did you think this was going to convince me? Insulting me? Trying to cut me off from my best friend? It's a good thing you didn't go into sales, hon. You fucking suck at it."

She growled. "Fine, how's this for a negotiating tactic: I've set a date up for myself on Saturday evening. If you don't sign the amendments by then, I'll consider myself free to do whatever I want with him, including bringing him here. I don't want to hurt you, Paul, but you're being so fucking stubborn and greedy about this, and I'm done with your hypocritical bullshit."

I stood up slowly. "You're done. You're. Done. You fucking bitch!" I threw my wine glass at the wall. She barely flinched as it shattered. "You've just told me in three days time, you're going to go out with some other guy! And if I don't get with the program, you're going to, what? Bring him home and fuck him in our bed? Try to make me watch?"