Deprivation

"I'm going to shower," she said. "Long day ahead. Then Bible study tonight. I won't see you until late."

**********

A week and a day later was Valentine's Day. Thursday, February 14^th. Like every dutiful husband, I had made reservations for a nice dinner with my wife. And bought her flowers. And chocolates.

Unlike most husbands, I knew I wasn't getting any action that night.

Kat sat across the table from me at Jacques et Susann's, the finest restaurant in the city. She was luminous and beautiful, somewhat like an ice sculpture. No, exactly like one.

"Mark -- we need to talk."

Oh shit, I thought. Here it comes.

"Um -- what about?" I replied, striving for nonchalance.

"Us."

I looked up from my dinner plate, regarding my wife's expression closely from across the table. I saw hesitation in her translucent blue eyes.

"Before you start, I need you to know something, Kat." I paused, speaking with my eyes. "I love you, sweetheart," I said aloud, trying to fan the dying embers of hope in my chest.

She didn't respond right away. I wondered if the din from the other patrons in the restaurant had masked my words.

"I know," she said. That's what makes this whole thing so difficult."

Fuck. A cold hand gripped my heart, threatening to rip it out of my chest.

"Can't this wait until after dinner? After all it's our anniversary -- and Valentine's Day. Double jeopardy," I jested lamely.

Kat attempted a smile. "Ten whole years," she said solemnly, then frowned, crinkling her cute pixie nose.

"Ten Valentine's Days and two kids later..." I quipped.

Even with the obvious pain crossing her features, she was gorgeous. Her short blonde bob suited her thirty-two years. She was no longer my long-tressed college sweetheart. My mind drifted back to those early days in our relationship...

**********

I had first seen her in freshman year at glee club tryouts, sitting with perfect posture while awaiting the roll call. The primary thing I noticed about her then was the way her long locks flicked to the side when she turned her head. The first time I saw that happen was when her name was called.

"Mary Katherine Agnes Dubronski?" the director had bellowed.

"Kat -- it's just... Kat," she had replied shyly.

The first time that I had talked to her -- after the second rehearsal -- I was wise enough not to comment on the length of her hair, or even its beauty. I figured she was tired of fielding questions and comments on something so mundane. I opted instead to ask if she'd ever sung Frostiana, a musical collection from Robert Frost's poems.

Her reply snared me. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep," she said, smiling.

That night, we had talked into the wee hours of the morning. She was the most magnificent woman -- no, the most magnificent person -- I'd ever met. Firstly, she was exotic (at least to this Pennsylvania boy), hailing from the Great White North in Canada. The daughter of Polish immigrants, she'd grown up in the Roncesvalles area of Toronto, with its authentic kielbasa shops and iconic cathedrals. From those humble immigrant beginnings, she'd grown up to earn a mathematics scholarship to Penn State. That was the only way her parents could afford to send her stateside for a post-secondary education. What can be sexier than a woman in STEM?

But there was something deeper about her personality. She was incredibly intelligent and somewhat shy, but -- unlike all my other teenage friends -- a person of conviction. I knew that first night that all my high school girlfriends paled in comparison to Kat. As I walked back to my dorm room after an awkward but ardent hug goodnight, I shared a little secret with myself: "Mark, this is the girl you're going to marry." Yes, dorky as it is, I actually said it out loud.

Shortly after graduation, that's exactly what happened, at St. Vincent de Paul -- one of those iconic cathedrals, at the corner of Roncesvalles and Fermanagh Avenue in Toronto. By then, we actually knew each other well enough to get married -- unlike that first night when I had dreamt of this day. Although we didn't know each other in the biblical sense until our wedding night...

**********

That all seemed so long ago now. I ached to touch her, but touches had drawn only flinches and dirty looks in recent months.

"Ten Valentine's Days and two kids," she said flatly. "A lot of those ten years were wasted."

Dammit! Here comes the hammer, I thought.

"I wouldn't say that," I answered, trying desperately to not to mist up.

"I would," she replied. A wistful, faraway look passed over her face. She was seeing right through me. Or beyond me. Probably to a future without me.

I let my eyes ask her the question.

"I need to explain," she said.

I drew a deep breath, needing oxygen to my brain. She steepled her fingers, seemingly contemplating her choice of words.

"Go ahead," I said, steeling myself. I settled in for the beginning of the end.

**********

"We haven't had sex in a while," she offered.

No shit! I thought. And now she's going to tell me why. She's not frigid, so she must be getting it somewhere else. Holy fuck. No, not so holy.

My heart began to splinter.

"Is there -- someone else?" I ventured.

Kat's jaw dropped.

Bingo! I thought.

"What?" she nearly shouted, her beautiful contralto voice soaring nearly an octave higher than usual.

I looked around at the other diners. Nobody was paying attention to us.

I returned my attention to Kat. I pleaded with my eyes.

"It's not like that, Mark. Not at all!" she said emphatically

The vise on my heart eased fractionally.

"Then how is it?"

She reached across the table and grasped my hand.

The vise released a fraction of an inch more.

"I've been going to that Wednesday evening Bible study lately," she started.

Not dropping off the kids and meeting your lover for a liaison? My inner voice was a cynic.

"Yep," I said instead.

"Our lesson this week was on sex in a Christian marriage."

"Oh."

She squeezed my hand. The vise eased further.

"You know I was raised Catholic. I had always thought that the purpose for sex in marriage was... procreation. Having babies. And that's all. That's why I've always been adamant about not using birth control. And why I wouldn't let you -- y'know -- before we were married."

She hesitated, searching my eyes. I had been her first -- I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But recently it had made me wonder whether she regretted never being able to experience some variety.

"I always appreciated the fact that you always rode bareback," I wisecracked, "but go on..."

Kat didn't laugh, nor did she seem to appreciate my misguided attempt at humor.

"The Bible study teacher -- Margaret... You met her that one Sunday last month. She has a very different view of the purpose for sex in marriage. She showed us some pretty explicit passages in the New Testament. She gave me an 'aha' moment."

I squeeze Kat's hand tentatively.

Then something completely unexpected happened. Tears welled up in her eyes and began spilling out.

"Mark, I'm so, so sorry!" She let out a low wail, and her shoulders began to heave with her sobs.

Sorry for screwing around on me? My inner cynic was persistent.

"I've been such an idiot," she said. "But not in the way you just asked about. There's no way I'd ever cheat on you. I love you!"

She looked completely pitiful, mascara running down her cheek. But her words and tears hit their mark: my heart.

Screw it, I thought. She needs me. Or at least she might. Not caring about the scene the other patrons were witnessing, I stood up and circled to her side of the table. Kneeling by her chair, I embraced my wife for all I was worth, letting her tears and snot trickle onto the collar of my dress shirt.

"I love you, too, babe. You know I do. I always have, and I always will," I assured her in my most soothing voice.

Her sobs slowly relented. "Let's get out of here," she said suddenly, lifting her dinner napkin to wipe her eyes.

"But -- our dinner order hasn't even arrived yet."

"I don't care. I need to tell you -- and show you -- everything. Let's get them to box it up, and we'll take it with us."

"Where are we going?"

"Home, silly." She managed a slight smile.

"Okay..." I replied, still unsure of what was going on.

I raised my hand surreptitiously to catch the waiter's attention as he passed by. I explained that we needed to take the food with us. He brought the debit machine and allowed me to pay the bill while the chef finished preparing the meal.

"First take-out order I've ever provided," laughed the waiter as he delivered the boxed-up food. "And on Valentine's Day, no less."

We put on our coats and hurried out of the restaurant, holding hands (and a take-out bag) as we dashed to the car. Kat's heel nearly caught on the curb, but I was able to steady her and then open her passenger door. She scooted close to me and leaned her head on my shoulder as I drove.

**********

My parents were keeping Dylan and Isobel overnight. They had offered earlier in the week since it was a "doubly special night." At the time, I had thought babysitting was unnecessary for anything more than dinner, but I didn't want the embarrassment of declining such a generous overnight offer, much less answering the inevitable questions as to why. Now, out of the blue, I had a glimmer of hope that the night without the kids would be useful.

As I opened the front door of the house for Kat, she said, "Let's leave the food on the kitchen table for now. I need to talk to you now. We can eat later."

I took the bag with the boxed food into the kitchen while Kat hung up our coats. We rejoined each other on the couch in the living room. She leaned against me as she began to talk.

"This is difficult for me," she said, somewhat breathily. "I don't think I've ever had such a blinding revelation in all of my life. And as soon as I saw it, I didn't like what I saw -- in myself."

I lifted my arm and put it around her shoulder. I pulled her close against me. "I'm listening," I said.

"Like I said, I had always understood that sex was about babies. Nothing more," she continued. "I even had the sense that it was wrong to enjoy it. That's why..."

The "aha" -- or at least an "aha" -- light bulb went off in my head. "That's why you were upset with me for always insisting on giving you an orgasm."

"Exactly," she answered.

"And you don't think that now?"

"Strangely enough, no. The Bible study was just last night. You'd think I'd need lots of time to process a change to a lifelong misconception. But like I said, it was an 'aha' moment. Sort of like Saul -- the apostle Paul -- on the road to Damascus. All of a sudden, I knew the truth."

"Tell me more," I ventured.

"Well, speaking of him, the apostle Paul wrote to the people in the early churches about practical matters. Like food, and work, and ways of thinking, and habits, and -- sex."

I smiled at the innocent way she blushed when she said the word "sex."

"So what did he say about sex?"

"Well, by today's standards, he was in many ways prudish. He and Jesus both preached that sex was reserved strictly for marriage."

"That's noble, but yeah, some people nowadays would disagree."

"Not me," she said, "but that's not the 'aha' moment. No, it's what Paul said about the purpose of sex after you're married that's put me into a tizzy. Especially after I read and re-read the seventh chapter of First Corinthians."

"Pray tell," I said, smiling inwardly at my own ingenuity as I kept with the religious theme of the conversation.

"Like I said, I had always thought it was all about having kids. So, once we had our perfect pair, I thought the purpose for sex in our marriage was over. And, to be perfectly honest, I didn't want to get pregnant again, and I didn't believe in contraception. But Paul didn't say that sex was about kids. And he actually said that people should stay single if they were able to control their sexual desires."

"Hmmm," I said. So married people aren't supposed to be fixated on controlling their desires for each other? But you've always acted so self-righteous about being able to control yourself, and so disgusted with me for having no self-control. I was wise enough not to speak those thoughts out loud. Instead, fearing where this was going, and trying not to insult her, I asked tentatively, "So are you saying you should have never married, since you're able to control your desires?"

"I've thought about that. And no, I don't think that's the answer. I've always had incredibly strong feelings for you. I've just never felt free to let my feelings have their way."

I smiled an "aw-shucks" smile. "Go on," I said.

She ran her hand enticingly up my thigh as we sat side-by-side. "Paul also said for married couples -- both partners -- to stop depriving each other of sexual relations, except by mutual agreement and only for a brief time. I think the answer is that I should have never exercised 'self-control.' It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair to me. And -- it wasn't fair to us."

I'm beginning to like this guy Paul, I thought.

"What really hit home with me," she continued, her voice beginning to waver and her eyes beginning to water, "was to hear it from the perspective of a deprived wife. Several of the ladies shared -- most with tears and shame -- how their husbands consistently rejected sex with them. They were heartbroken."

I thought all guys were horny and all women could get laid any time they wanted. You mean there are women who share this pain, too?

"Wow," I said, genuinely shocked, "I never realized..." I stood up, trying to process this new information.

"And then..." Kat began to cry in earnest as she rose to stand beside me. "Then when one of them said that being rejected for sex was like having your husband turn his head away when you tried to kiss him, or yanking his hand away when you try to hold it..."

That's exactly what it's like -- for me, I realized. And now the tears were rolling from my eyes, too. Kat noticed and leaned into me for a full-on hug, her breasts mashing against my chest through our clothes.

"I'm so sorry, Mark -- so incredibly sorry. Like Margaret said, 'self-control' can be a euphemism for withholding affection. I never meant to hurt you like that. Can you ever forgive me?"

I cradled Kat's face into my neck, running my fingers through her thick mane, treasuring the fresh scent of her Pert shampoo. Rivulets were forming on her cheeks -- and mine. We were both a blubbering mess. But we were a blubbering mess together.

After a couple of minutes of crying and hugging, we sat back down on the couch, hand in hand. Kat resumed her narrative.

"Margaret warned us that some spouses -- especially those who are prone to use biblical authority in a domineering sort of way -- will try to use Paul's words to manipulate their partners to basically demand sex."

"I never wanted you to make love to me out of duty," I mumbled.

"I know, Mark. You wanted me to enjoy it. You always tried so hard to make it good. But with my belief that it was meant for child-bearing rather than enjoyment, and that contraception was wrong, I've never been able to allow myself to enjoy it. At least not my mind, even when my body couldn't resist enjoying what you were doing to it."

"Do you still believe those things?"

"Well, I've explained my 'aha' moment about self-control being wrong when it comes to sex in marriage. But even that goes further biblically. Margaret showed us where Paul says that marriage is the alternative to burning with passion. Essentially, that sex in marriage is the outlet for your passion."

"I like that," I admitted.

She smiled. "I do, too," she said.

My cock began to stir.

"And what about your beliefs on contraception?" This seemed to be perhaps as thorny an issue to me.

"Margaret said that there's nowhere in the Bible that says contraception is wrong. There's plenty of support against abortion, but nothing about prevention. She said the only negative reference to contraception in the Bible is where some Old Testament guy pulled out from his wife when she wanted a baby. But that wasn't about contraception generally, that was because he was robbing her of an opportunity to bear a child that she desperately wanted, and that he had agreed to give her."

"I never liked pulling out," I smiled.

"And you won't have to." My angel had a devilish gleam in her eye. It was a beacon, a sensor that registered with my heart as well as my cock.

I kissed her passionately, and her tongue claimed my mouth in reply as I held her close.

After several seconds, I drew back to catch my breath. "Is that all?" I asked.

"Not by a long shot, mister," she smiled. "Let's go upstairs."

**********

"I'm sorry I never let you inside my head," she said as we entered the bedroom, holding hands. "I think in many ways I was acting on subconscious beliefs and attitudes. I didn't even realize what was driving me to act the way I did. So it never occurred to me that I should be talking with you about my deep-seated misconceptions. No pun intended." She smiled at her own feeble attempt at comic relief.

I tried to encourage her use of wit. "I, of course, am a world-class communicator," I joked.

I smiled and Kat laughed. But then I got serious again. "There's one thing that still bothers me..."

"Yes, my darling?" she asked.

"That morning when I had the wet dream... Why was it -- why did you say that I should have an affair?"

"I felt so inadequate -- so confused," she said. "Here you were, telling me that you were dreaming of me; and there I was, worried about getting pregnant and feeling guilty about enjoying sex with you. I knew you needed more than I was giving you. You needed -- release. The evidence was right there on the sheets."

I raised my fingers to my temple in embarrassment and regret.

"Don't feel bad, sweetheart," she said. "I was desperate. I knew that porn and masturbation don't give you a sense of intimacy like real sex. 'Porn is not enough,' and all that. In the heat of the moment, the bizarre solution that popped to mind was for you to have an affair. Intimacy for you, no pregnancy or enjoyment for me. I felt stupid as soon as I said it."

"Was that what you were thinking when you didn't shut down the possibility that I raised... of leaving me?"

"Honestly? I thought you brought it up because I had basically accused you of cheating on me. I figured you knew that cheating was the only way you could ever make me even consider leaving you. Once that was off the table, the point became moot."

Some things don't need to be left unspoken, I thought. And then I realized the absurdity of leaving that thought unspoken. "Some things don't need to be left unspoken," I said.

"I know, darling," she answered, "so let me set the record straight. I will never leave you. But don't cheat on me."

I drew her into my arms and kissed the top of her head. "I'll never leave you, either," I said, "or cheat on you."