Read Online The Average American Marriage by Chad Kultgen - Free Book Online

yet.”
    Todd says, “Ooh, the fags are growing some balls.”
    Lewis says, “Fags have balls, you retard. They fucking lick each others’ balls and jizz all over each others’ faces with the cum in those balls.”
    Todd says, “You know what I’m saying, douche.”
    Reggie displays visible signs of an impending anxiety attack as he makes his decision.
    Todd says, “Reggie, what kind of tits does your wife have?”
    Reggie says, “Pretty big. Why?”
    Todd says, “Because the Veil will have a skank who has small tits.”
    Reggie almost gets a far-off look in his eye, like he’s really thinking about some imaginary girl with small tits. He says, “I could be into seeing something like that.”
    Todd says, “Fuck seeing it. Twenty bucks will get it right in your face.”
    We all pound some shots of whatever shitty tequila Todd has at his place, and half an hour later we’re drunk, paying our cover at the Seventh Veil. Once we’re inside we all get seats next to each other around one of the stages, where a stripper who’s easily forty-five bounces her ass up and down unenthusiastically as she watches the front door. Her tits are fake and enormous. This goes on for the length of Drake and Lil Wayne’s “I’m on One,” during which all the other guys get picked off by trolling strippers and make their way to the back room for private dances.
    Then it’s just Todd and me sitting out at the stage holding out dollar bills for the next stripper, who comes out and wipes down the pole with a rag. I notice that she’s definitely too fat to be a stripper when I see her taking bills from customers by snapping them against the fat rolls on her hips with her G-string. As she snags one of my dollars in this manner, Todd says, “So, you miss this shit or what?”
    I get another dollar out. “Not really, man. This is actually kind of shitty.”
    Todd points directly to the fat stripper’s cunt, which she is exposing and spreading an inch from Todd’s index finger, and says, “No, man. How is this shitty?”
    I say, “I don’t know. You know what I’m thinking about right now?”
    Todd looks to the fat stripper, gives her a ten-dollar bill, and says, “Can you shut him up with your tits, please?”
    I manage to get out the following as she smothers my face in her tits: “I’m thinking about my fucking kids.”
    She goes back to the stage and gets on her pole. Todd says, “But you’re not thinking about your wife. Kids are something I’ll never get, so I’ll grant you that, but you wouldn’t be in here right now if you were getting the right pussy from wifey.”
    I say, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to fuck more, but we have kids. Fucking isn’t what it’s about anymore for us.” Even as I say it, it sounds stupid. It sounds like something a guy like me is supposed to say to a guy like Todd at our age. I want to laugh at it, but instead I can feel something hot twisting and burning in the pit of my stomach. For a fleeting moment I think back to a time when I was with Casey, my girlfriend before Alyna. I remember one night after we got back from some art thing she wanted to go to at LACMA—some Gustav Klimt exhibit, I think. We hadn’t fucked in a few days and I tried to initiate something by grabbing her tit and kissing her when we walked through her front door. She turned to me and said something about how our relationship didn’t always have to be about sex. I remember how much I wanted to smash something when she said that, how much I wanted to scream in her face that our relationship was only about sex, that I would have no reason to ever hang out with her if she didn’t fuck me. Relationships between men and women are only about sex. The rest of the shit is incidental.
    Todd says, “Fucking is always