Chapter 5. A Technicality
“Again a technicality?”
“Yes, again. Look around, rerun your fears and worries, but with a cool and detached mind. Can’t you see that we are struggling to pay the bills? I’m a poor guy. I make huge efforts to keep one woman. How on earth could I think at getting myself a second one? Let’s consider the plea of a man in my position. I have to work day and night to sustain the lovely wife you are and the temperamental kids you gave me. It’s not a walk in the park to provide, both materially and spiritually, the necessary food for the kids to grow in harmony and to be capable of understanding the Lord, of communicating with Him, of reasoning WHY they should live for Him and THINK with their own heads. And all of this goes in MY PERFECT situation of having a stunning bunny-looking wife (like you are), that enjoys posing nude for me, then – to my delight – letting me post your nude pictures on the net and then – after all of these – you won’t mind taking the kids to the church with you on Sundays. Now go further and imagine…”
“Hold on, hold on!” I almost hear myself screaming at him. “Have you turned the Universe-hacking compiler off? Because I don’t want to see us falling into a never ending Kafka-hole. When you say imagine…”
“No worries, honey, the module is turned off and disassembled. So we may safely indulge in our impetuous imagination.”
“Go on with the reality of married men…” What should I worry most about: the imagined bumps, compiled into bubbles of reality by his crazy machine, or about the wails of poor husbands of one woman that are constantly dreaming at a harem?
“The reality of other married men is quite daunting: they have to deal with synthetic hormone-laden wives. The brides from their wedding pictures turned into voracious kitchen-dinosaurs and Godzilla-mothers with the POWER to make their men’s days miserable at the slightest stare. Multiply this situation by two (if you dream of having only two wives) and think it over. You can hardly face ONE wife! So why even consider a second one? Yes, yes, I know, the second should be – according to your manly dreams – a copy of that cover girl from Playboy Magazine. So be it. Now let us take it from there: only her nail polish will cost you twice the tuition of your kids from the first wife. Oh, and don’t forget to introduce Number 2 to Number 1 – we’re civilized people, aren’t we? Have your bucket of popcorn. Sit and admire the combined chlorine artillery of WWI with aerial snaps of the Blitzkrieg and the paroxysmal armored Battle of Kursk – right in front of your sofa, or surrounding it. Be part of the epic events happening between you and the TV, this in case you still have a functional (in-one-piece) TV within the first ten minutes after introducing them to each other. But let us go further with our comparative analysis. Say you are a young gun and you picked up two identical bunnies to be your bed mates. That will do for college because, anyway, there’s nothing to learn in there, other than the solid state of a threesome FMF. Time however still flows for you (unless you hacked the Universe, like I did) and this time will eventually get you out of college. Time (yes) to pay back the loans. With the luggage of knowledge accumulated in college you may land a job at McDonalds or Kentucky Chicken. Hard to survive and pay the interest out of it. So you already have to consider pimping your binary-bunnies to make ends meet.”
“You know what, Don…” Had to stop his delirium before he would go beyond “pimping the binary-bunnies” with accurate descriptions of gang banging or something that we couldn’t, or shouldn’t, even imagine.
“Good that you turned off that crazy machine of yours before you started daydreaming. Or else the Apocalypse would look like a mild rehearsal compared to your now confessed worries and insecurities about life.”
“Life? But I don’t worry about life, just about having to face two women in one household. For a man this may be hell on earth.”
“I can only sympathize with all of you, poor oppressed men of planet earth…” Am I seriously sympathizing? Am I just hanging out with him in this awkward conversation? I can’t really tell what am I doing right now. So I point a finger to the blackberry bush, easily swinging at my right in the cradle of a mild wind. Instinctively, I throw a sheepish stare towards him.
Bit deranged for having to interrupt his exposition, Don walks slowly to gather a palm-worth of the yummy harvest that he will carefully conceal in my hands. I offer to share but he digresses with a frugal finger sign and moves on with the solemn speech about the fate of men in marriage.
“Poor oppressed monogyneous men of planet earth. Because there are also the few ones with material means to provide for two or more women.” Think he was eager to get to this point, so let me give him a hand.
“Even for an entire harem. If oil flows beneath the sands…”
“The harem thing goes simpler and rougher than you may think, Doris. Women are treated like property in archaic cultures. They have no say and very limited choices. I don’t see this as a great advantage for the rich owner of the harem.”
Hm, what an interesting perspective. My man has something in his mind, after all, even when talking about harems. But I won’t give him too much space on this.
“Did you feel lonely up there on Jupiter with those chimeric bitches sucking on your dick?”
“You got the picture. Exactly. I felt bad, humiliated, used, senseless, depersonalized, even demonic. I don’t think I’ll ever rerun the experience with the garden of nymphos. It’s not on my taste.” I believe him. As much as he loves to watch he detests to touch.
“You wanted to say something about harems, I guess…”
“Yes. The larger your harem, the lesser your family. In the best case you may find two or three inspiring muses to keep close to your soul, and as your body warmers. At this point, you may ditch, or sell, the rest of your harem. Keeping them is not just expensive and useless but can prove harmful on the long run.”
“Take David and Solomon. Their offspring, raised in harem-like environments, as opposed to families, proved competitive and deeply destructive for the Israelite Kingdom, excepting Solomon – there’s always a remarkable exception!” He syncopates it with undisguised pleasure. Then he moves on with much less enthusiasm. “David’s family life was a nightmare, largely due to catty mothers raising their sons to fight and kill their stepbrothers. You could hardly find the cozy family reunion feeling at the Court of David – and he was the most beloved man by the Lord, which is no little thing by any means.” Syncope again!
“And Solomon lost his heart…” As I finished eating the blackberries, with my mouth empty, I thought it would be nice to open it and intervene in the dialog. But, like many times before, he proved me wrong.
“Don’t jump the gun on this idea, Doris. He didn’t lose his heart because of the thousand wives and mistresses he had. His real problem was mating with unfaithful women, bringing idolaters in his house, believing their ramblings. Having ten thousand (or whatever number, regardless if large or small) of right faithful wives would have done better to Solomon than the fewer witches he fell for, who twisted his mind and hardened his heart.”
“Like the dialectics saying that quality prevails over quantity.” I find myself talking again.
“Precisely. Less is more!” Now that’s good, here I hit the nail.
“So, if you were a wealthy man, would you consider a mistress or two?” The question of mine is playful, trying to camouflage my suspicions – yes, there are a few left, even after hearing and believing all his assurances.
“You are still scared. I can hear that in your voice.”
“Yes, I am. Dunno why, but I definitely am…” And I point the finger to the bush again.
“I won’t consider any. First, you know why. Second because of another technicality.” As he speaks, detached, he walks to the place where the black fruits are waiting.
“Which is?” I ask attentively gazing at his sweet tight buttocks as he bends for the berries.
“Which is the precious time I need for research. Hacking the Universe, ya know…”
“Don’t get it.” Of course I don’t get it because I was thinking at reaching him from behind and biting the white and hairless area of his buttocks. But he has no idea.
“Look. I’m here socializing with you about your emotions and dramas for almost two hours.” Now that was rude, wasn’t it?… “A long fuck would keep us busy for less than an hour time. It took me one entire hour to disassemble the zero-point module.” Hm, that seems to be harder than a fuck? Interesting… “It will take a couple to put it back together.” I can understand that… “Takes me nights to research about new ways of hacking. I need time to think and analyze. And one woman, even a perfect one as you are, eats quite some hours a day with all her mundane problems. When the kids were little, time for real science was even less available. Now double it, or triple it, because you asked if I’d consider one or two mistresses, besides you. All day long I’ll have to listen – and respond – to your, and theirs for that matter, babble about issues that have no relevance to me.” No relevance to you? Are you kidding me? But I keep my mouth shut, at least for the time being. “Only the thought of it freezes the blood in my veins. Oh, let not mention that I make efforts to fuck you and keep you hormonally happy. That’s even more time invested in fitness and stupid sports. So Doris, I digress. Can you accept that? Once and for all.” He gave me all his arguments, in all rude honesty and in his mannered way of telling me how unique I am. What else should I pretend from him?
“I happily accept and obey my sole master man! Hail thee, Hubby!”
“Yeah, yeah. Now let’s fuck!”
“But you said you must hurry up to assemble that infernal machine, or to do some more research.”
“Indeed I must hurry. Just that you tangled my mind with all this women-talk and a good fuck will be the best remedy to get my mind running again, liberated over the prairies of reason. Shall we?”