Wayward Ellen

Well, I can feel the soft silk of your blouse
And them soft thrills in our little fun house
Then the lights go out and it's just the three of us
You and me and all that stuff we're so scared of.
-Bruce Springsteen
Tunnel of Love

There are a lot of ways a young marriage can go wrong. After three years with Ellen it seemed that ours at settled into something that didn't really satisfy either of us. In the spring of 1981 I turned twenty-six and she was twenty-three. Some of our plans, or perhaps illusions, of being graduate students in some leafy academic setting like Ann Arbor, Madison, WI, or Berkeley hadn't yet come true. We hadn't really gotten our financial act together (some of that, since I was older, was my doing) and she hadn't yet finished her bachelor's degree at the City College of New York - she was already two years late with that.

At that time we were grinding through our low-paying office jobs and we were living in a serviceable but dingy fifth-floor Bronx apartment that had hot and cold running burglars. We got hit twice before we could get enough gates up on the windows. After that our little one-bedroom felt like a cellblock on Rikers Island.

Yet options started to open up because this was about the last time truly affordable housing was available in New York. Out in pre-hipster, Tony Manero-style Brooklyn that were seemed to be plenty of units for rent that would give us an escape from the disintegrating borough of the Bronx.

We had started that spring to follow the subway routes into South Brooklyn and taking a look around the place. I was having positive feelings about these old-school neighborhoods when Ellen surprised me by starting a controlled demolition of our marriage. It wasn't just that I was caught without warning; she also changed her mind several times about what she wanted to do.

Trying to remember the exact sequence of events is a bit difficult because Ellen had two main strategies, or trends I could call them, going on which overlapped. The first thing she did was announce that she wanted to separate from me. The reasons for this were a mix of disappointments from the previous three years. Basically we hadn't been making any progress towards our financial or educational goals and it was entirely my fault; she ignored her own shortcomings when it came to planning any of these things.

Over the next several weeks she seemed unable to work out the details of her separation project and she started to walk back some of it. For a while the separation was supposed to be for a "trial" period. One of her ideas was that she would move out and get her own apartment for a while and I could move into it later if and when she changed her mind.

When I regained my balance I started to realize there might be some benefits for me to have at least a temporary reprieve from her. The three years of our marriage had been pretty tense and I began to welcome a period of being alone to clear my mind. I had gone straight from living with my parents to living with her and I had never truly been independent.

The other thread in this was that Ellen had decided, as an "estranged" wife, that it was time to make up for some lost time in her romantic life - apparently I wasn't sufficient for her. Of course the estrangement kept getting postponed, but in her mind it perhaps was just a matter of time.

She had always been a chunky girl, but that spring she went on one of those high protein, low-carb diets and lost some weight. She still wasn't willowy, but she seemed to get more male attention than she had been previously accustomed to, which had been, except for me, negligible.

I found Ellen attractive in a middle-American farm girl kind of way rather than because of whatever Vogue or other fashion publications put forth as the standard of beauty. Her family roots were in West Virginia and rural Pennsylvania which made her something of an anomaly in the hyper-ethnic neighborhoods of the city. She was dark-haired and green-eyed, and she had the most superbly rounded rear end if you liked that kind of thing, as I did. One could imagine rolling with her in the hayloft of a barn for the afternoon and then she'd make you a nice home-cooked meal in the house before leading you to the bedroom for more sex.

During this troubled summer she changed jobs and she managed to pick up a lover at both places. She was rather careless at keeping these affairs under cover. I ran into both guys several times because she did such a poor job of operational security. In July she just up and went on a trip to the Jersey shore without me; I later found out she had spent several days in a beach rental with one of them. The boldest move she made was talking the second one into helping us move when we finally did get a Brooklyn apartment.

During this period I did more and more snooping around as her infidelity became more flagrant. As Erica Jong wrote, "I always felt that reading other people's mail is the lowest of the low, but jealousy makes you do strange things." Ellen saw herself as a writer and left ample documentation of her activities. In Jong's case it was about a boyfriend of a few months. In my case it was a six-year relationship including three of those in a marriage.

I reached a decision point when two events happened. The first was that she completely dropped the idea of separating and we did get that new apartment together.

Then she started talking about how the second guy - his name was Tommy - had propositioned her and she had turned him down. She cried and seemed upset about this out of any proportion to what she was describing. My investigation revealed that he had actually dumped her. He was uncomfortable with having an affair with a married woman and he also seemed to want a girlfriend who was free and clear of that kind of commitment.

I felt that I had to confront her but I didn't want to divorce her either. It was all too big to merely let it slide; there couldn't be merely a "kiss and make up" with no consequences. She might feel relief for being forgiven, but in the longer run she would lose even more respect for me. I knew her well enough to know that she would consolidate her power and probably we would go through this whole cycle again in the future.

I believed too that had the roles been reversed, I would never have gotten away with it. That was only fair, I supposed, but that didn't mean I should just roll over now.

What method would I use to restore the balance?

********

I needed the advice of another man but among my friends and relatives there was only one who seemed plausible. He was someone on the paternal, Italian-American side of my family.

My father's younger brother, Henry, or Uncle Hank as everyone called him, was fifty-one years old by the fall of 1981. He hadn't been to college but like my dad had gone into the military right after high school. Unlike my dad he choose the Navy over the Army and he served aboard the battleship Wisconsin when it bombarded the North during the Korean War.

After the war he had done stints as a delivery truck driver and as a brakeman on the New York Central Railroad. In 1955, the year of my birth, he went into the produce wholesaling business just like his father, my Grandpa "Charlie" (whose actual first name was Carmine).

Hank started his own firm in the Bronx Terminal Market just down the street from Charlie's store. He was ambitious, and soon he had two "stores" or units for the company and three trucks, while Grandpa only had one of each. Also, he handled a much wider variety of fruits and vegetables than his father did. The older man preferred to stick to a few items that knew well since he had started handling them back in the 1920s.

It wasn't a complex business but it was a very reliable one. In classic middleman fashion the merchandise came in through the back of the store, first arriving by refrigerated boxcars on a siding and in later years by long-haul trucks. Hank still had notepads from the Union Pacific and the Rock Island Lines which he would give to me at times.

Charlie's and Hank's own trucks picked up the produce from the front loading docks and delivered it to various grocers around the city. The growers out West and the urban store owners in New York had the wholesalers in the middle to organize the trade to everyone's satisfaction.

Unlike my relationship with my curmudgeonly grandfather, I got along rather well with Hank. Sometimes I got work from him helping out on the trucks. "To tell you the truth," he said, "You look too skinny to handle that kind of job." It was tough indeed, but I survived it. Maybe that helped me gain some respect from him.

When I was in high school and college he would sometimes tease me with statements like, "What kind of hippie/commie bullshit are they teaching you in those places?" But when I turned eighteen he would sometimes take me to a bar for a few drinks; he was the only one of my relatives to do that. He was a very good storyteller and he also was always interested in whatever was going on in my life.

One day I told him I needed serious advice about Ellen and we went to a bar a couple of blocks from his store. I told him the story in full detail. He had always liked her and he told me he thought the marriage could be saved. Then he told me exactly what I had to do in this situation.

"Is this actually going to work?" I said. "I don't know much about it."

"It's not a guarantee, but you can't just let her get away with it scot-free. You have to assert yourself here or she'll think she can get away with anything from now on."

"It sounds kind of old-fashioned - I think that's the right word."

He smiled at me, "Oh yeah, it's old-fashioned all right. But that's exactly why I'd say it's going to work."

********

I confronted Ellen one Saturday afternoon in our new Brooklyn apartment. She cried copiously as I detailed what I had found out. I think she was genuinely ashamed but I also caught some of her self-pity for having been caught. I thought she might counterattack by blaming me for snooping on her, but she didn't go that route.

Then I described my conversation with Hank and everything he had recommended as punishment. Suddenly she seemed dry-eyed and in control of herself. "You're not going to do that, I won't allow it."

"You won't allow it? Ellen, baby, you've have no position to negotiate here."

"What is this, like the 19th Century?"

"If that's the way you want to see it, yes it is. Let's put it this way: you have until Monday afternoon to make up your mind. If you don't agree, then I'm out of here."

"You're bluffing."

"Try me and find out." I felt better than I had had in a long time; I had set my limits. She might call me on that, then tell lies to her family about why I had left - but that would be her choice.

She agreed to it that very evening.

******

Ellen and I were together in our living room on the appointed day. It was a late afternoon in October after we had gotten home from work. I had moved two of the dining table chairs so that we could sit facing each other in the middle of the room. A fold-out bed, which served as our parlor sofa, was directly behind me.

I had allowed her to have a glass of wine but I didn't feel the need to have one myself. For a moment I looked at her but she avoided meeting my eyes. She was still dressed in her business clothes, a dark suit, stockings and black high-heels. I had a feeling of affection for her but I knew I shouldn't change my mind now.

A few days had passed since I had explained what I had been told by Uncle Hank and she had then agreed with his assessment of everything. Nevertheless I wanted to go over it one more time.

"So Ellie, you know I love you and I'm going to forgive you, but there has to be some consequences for what you did. We agreed that this a simple and straightforward way to handle it." I felt like I was playing a role rather than talking as my usual self. Maybe that's not so bad, I thought.

She looked down, "Yes, I know."

"So as I said, I'm going to take you over my knees and give you a good hard spanking."

She tried some last-minute negotiation, "Isn't that for little kids?"

I answered with my own question, "Didn't your parents ever do this to you?"

"My dad used to give me whacks with a yardstick; I was about eight or nine." I had heard this story before but mentioning it again seemed appropriate now.

"Did he take your pants down?"

"Yes, usually he did."

"Well as you know, that's what we're going to do today, except I'm just going to use my hand on you." Uncle Hank had suggested that I finish her off with a few strokes of my belt but that seemed unnecessarily harsh. That's for a second offense, I thought.

That's if there was a second offense. I had indeed threatened to leave her if she didn't submit to the punishment for this one. I wasn't sure I would actually go through with that; I had only been in the apartment a couple of months and it would be quite a hassle and an expense to move out and find another one. Likely I'd have to dig up a roommate somewhere.

But practical considerations were only part of it. I truly wanted to get beyond this and stay with her. My uncle had warned me to be careful about the amount of future trust I should give her. This punishment and the threat of future ones were mostly symbolic. The humiliation was the key rather than just the pain of a sore ass. She had to submit to that before we could try to get back to normal life.

I rolled up the sleeve of the button down shirt I had worn to work that day. Uncle Hank had told me to do that only because it was a gesture that said I meant business. He had also told me to talk to her throughout the session so she would understand my frame of mind. It would reinforce the lesson she had to learn.

Ellen tried a last appeal, "I've got to say this, why does Uncle Hank have a say here? What is he, like the Godfather or something giving advice?" I caught a tone of snotty derision in her voice.

"Hank gave me advice, but the decision was mine. I made the call."

When she had finished her wine I said, "Okay, stand up and come over here. Lift your skirt above your waist."

She did stand up but she said, "Do you really have to do this? Please don't spank me." She was a very good talker, good to the point of being glib at times. I was aware that she had used this talent on me. It had gone beyond negotiation to the point where she gotten complacent - she thought she argue her way out of or around anything. It's time to put some brakes on that.

"We've been over this and you've agreed to it. Now come over here and get across my lap."

When she had placed herself on me I looked up at our big mirror on the opposite wall. I had placed the chair so that I could see everything we did reflected in it. She must have noticed that but she hadn't objected. I put my hand in the waistband of her pantyhose and started to pull that down.

"Must you do that?"

"Yes, I've told you, you're getting it your bare behind."

Her panties were white with blue stripes. Such little panties for a nice big girl. I pulled those down too, down far enough so all that her underclothes at her knees. Her feet in her high-heeled shoes touched the floor.

"It's going to hurt," she said. "How much am I going to get?"

Hank had primed me with an answer, "As much as I think you need. You'll live." I had never been spanked in my own childhood so I had no idea of what it would feel like for her. I thought of one detail of my own initiative, "Give me your glasses so they don't fall off." I put them on the coffee table.

I had anticipated liking this setup and I found I did. Her weight pressed own on my lap and I put my left hand around her waist to steady her. Then I looked at her and the reflection of us in the mirror. A few hours ago she had been prim-looking, neatly-dressed business lady in her office and now she was stretched out with her backside up in the air.

It was a fine backside too, round and pale. A few stray black pubic hairs stuck up between her thighs. I wondered what she would look like when I was done with her. She has been a pleasing spouse for the most part but she's gotten why too big for her britches recently. I suddenly grasped one of the possible meanings of that old britches trope.

"All right, Ellie, are you ready for this?"

"No, I'm never going to be."

"You sound like a pouty little girl. You know what to say, we went over this already."

I knew this would be difficult for her but I wasn't going to back down. She strained to say, "I know I've behaved very badly. Please forgive me but punish me first."

"That's better - that's what I intend to do. We'll both be better off for it."

That sounded kind of silly but perhaps it was going to be true. I looked her over again, including her reflection in the mirror. Hank had said that how to do this would just come naturally. Okay, let's start and see how it goes.

I gave her a couple of taps with my right hand and then a harder swing.

"Hey, ouch, that hurts."

"It's supposed to, what did you expect?"

The first pink mark had appeared on her. I was perhaps a bit surprised that I was excited by the sight on it and wanted to add more.

Hank had told me to vary the rhythm. Also, I was supposed to pause sometimes during my little lectures to make sure she had heard me and to give her a chance to respond. That seemed simple enough, so I continued. My fourth slap was harder still.

"Come on, not so hard."

I figured a bit of sarcasm was appropriate.

"You're getting it as hard as I want to give it. Now, you wanted to leave me, I get it, but you changed your mind but you had to eat your cake too." It wasn't the most clever statement I had ever made but it got my point across.

"I'm really sorry about all that, you know that."

"You're not even beginning to be sorry." I was feeling the first of a righteous anger perhaps and I spanked her harder now. Her legs scissored up and she waved them around.

"Watch those feet, keep them down."

"I can't help it."

"You'll better keep them down. . ." Or what? It didn't matter; I had never talked to her in this tone of voice before but now it felt right.

In the next sequence I mentioned one of her more blatant acts. "You just had to open your legs for those two mooks too; I saw you drive up with Ed that evening in the Village."

"What evening?"

"You were both in his car, drunk. The Elephant and Castle remember?"

"Sorry, that was such a bad idea."

"It was a terrible idea in fact, and you're going to regret it now."

One day last spring, supposedly when she was still "moving out," she talked me into having dinner with some of her co-workers. This was to be at the Elephant and Castle on Greenwich Avenue. I was standing on the sidewalk when Ellie and Ed, the first guy she had met, pulled up. Ed was at the wheel and both of them were drunk and pawing at each other.

As I remembered this I was mostly angry at myself for not just walking away. I stayed to have dinner with her friends; they were all fresh from some bar and they were drunk too. Only I stayed sober because I was definitely not in a festive mood.

I redoubled my effort on Ellie's wriggling backside. "The worst thing is that, if it had been reversed, I never would have gotten away with it." Probably the marriage would have truly ended on the spot, and not in the amicable way she had pretended to do this year.

"I know, I treated you really badly." She was sounding a bit frantic now. Hank had told me a woman would sometimes break and start crying at some point. It wouldn't really be from pain, but from shame and humiliation. I looked at her reddening ass and went ahead and gave her more. Her right hand held my leg while her left arm was hooked around mine for balance. She didn't attempt to block my swats, which Hank had warned me might happen.