Half a lifetime ago, I proposed to a woman a few years younger than myself. She owned a personality which reminded me a great deal of Roseann Barr - the comedienne. I found her to be quite fetching from a visual/physical viewpoint as well.
I'm not a handsome catch (and wasn't then either), and Melissa was not the equivalent of Heather Locklear herself, but at 5'8" and 135 pounds, she was curvaceous, vivacious and playful as hell (in the beginning).
After four months of dating, I asked her to move in with me (she was about to lose her rental - and thinking of moving to her native state, some four hours distant) - this may have been my 1st mistake...a poor reason to cohabitate. She agreed to my proposal to shack up and live in sin.
After another seven months of living in carnal sin, I proposed marriage to her. She blinked her eyes and accepted the engagement ring on the spot, in our living room. We decided to set a marriage date of just over 14 months down the road. That seemed a bit long to me, however having never been engaged before...I just rolled with her suggestion.
Over the course of the next year, Melissa proceeded to gain 100 pounds of flesh, while not growing any taller in height. By the following February she not only sounded a lot like Roseann Barr, she looked like her younger twin sister!
This was not what I had bargained for...I had lost my desire to practice procreation/recreation with her about the time she tipped the 155 pound barrier...so, we had not been enjoying what I considered a large and beneficial aspect of living with another person...for nearly 8 months.
I had learned, in the summer after we'd gotten engaged, that she was a closeted anorexic. Melissa was the last woman I have met, who could whip up a five course meal and figure out how to help me clean the dishes and remove them from the dishwasher and stack them in the proper locations. I gained roughly 10 pounds on my frame, while we lived together too. So, yes...I too got a bit plump.
I felt that once she quit vomiting to stay slender and fuckworthy - that I had been sold a bill of false goods.
So, after a few mild confrontations where I had subtly brought up her rapid weight gain to her...when she'd ask why I was no longer interested in eating her pussy or throwing yogurt down her throat...and after experiencing a flood of tears from her or a verbal tongue lashing for my insensitive comments, I merely resigned myself to the fact that I would be marrying a floundering whale, when I thought I was going to marry a graceful porpoise.
I came upon an idea one afternoon at my office, in January of that year.
I had a male friend of some duration who had been divorced a few years and he was not getting laid. I don't know what his deal was, I think it was because of his caustic attitude towards backstabbing bitches and vicious cunts (his terms for the women he'd known), and his verbal talk was being transmitted loud n clear. Most women found him to be repulsive.
Melissa rather enjoyed his company and had felt sorry for him. She knew he was not getting sex and they had that in common too.
During the Super Bowl game of that year, Mel and I decided to host a small party of our friends. Mike and Bruce, Sheila and Tonya were invited. The women and men were meeting for the 2nd or third time and were not attached couples, but we all got along and we all enjoyed watching NFL on TV. SuperBowl parties were just coming into vogue back then.
A few minutes before the half-time gala show...I pretended to fall asleep in my recliner (after consuming 3/4's of a case of beer over the preceding 90 minutes). It was not a difficult ruse to pull off.
Melissa, who'd been sitting next to Michael on our sofa, stood up and loudly announced that she and Mike were going to slide out early and make a booze run.
Sheila and Tonya paired off and were going to go visit other friends (I think they had other plans, but that's a different story).
Bruce was destroyed (he'd drank the rest of my beer and a huge bottle of gin) and not faking it...and snoring drunkenly in the other recliner across the room.
The halftime show was a fucking snoozefest, but as the 2nd half kickoff approached...I suspected Mike and Melissa were doing more than driving through snow to make the 5 minute trip to the booze store and back, so...I took some comfort. The Buffalo Bills were getting murdered again, this time by the Washington Redskins...and the only thing that held my interest was whether the Redskins would hang 60 points on the fucktards from upstate New York.
At the end of the game, I looked over at my friend Bruce. He'd awakened once to keep from pissing himself and then settled back down into a fetal position within the leather confines of the recliner. He was out and there was no sense in trying to awaken him to keep me company.
Mel and I did not own a cell phone at that time, so I could not call her and ask, "Are you guys stuck in a fucking ditch or what?"
I went to bed and covered up.
At some point Melissa came back home, Mike got in his car and went to his house...
I woke up and surveyed the carnage of my living room and discovered Melissa sleeping and snoring on the couch. Bruce had slid off the chair and was flopped on the carpeting in front of the chair.
I cleaned up the refuse in the room and noticed another full case of beer, unopened...on the dining room table. It was icy cold so I opened one for breakfast. By 11 am that morning, Melissa had woken up and climbed into our bed alone. Bruce had woken up and was assisting me in destroying the case of brews which Mike and Melissa had purchased at some point, the night before.
Bruce stayed for dinner and he and I and Melissa all sat around that evening, toking fat joints and getting comfortably numb.
Three days later, I received a phone call from Mike. I'd asked him a few months earlier, if he'd consider being my best man at my wedding. He had agreed to then and I wondered if he was going to back out...now.
"Dude, I gotta come clean with you."
"Hey, what's up man...didn't see you the other night after you boogied off for brews."
"Well, that's the deal, Dude. Melissa and I went to the Motel 6 and fucked like rabbits til 2 am."
"Awww, hey...don't worry about it. Thanks for telling me. You are my best man indeed!"
I used this information when I broke up with Melissa that evening after I arrived home from work.
Was I a shallow, manipulative, insensitive fucking asshole, Olivia?
for emphasis. The right artist can etch it so that the tongue looks like it is moving when viewed from different angles.
