Lunch

In spite of my misgivings about the purpose of this lunch, I felt at peace, almost giddy with joy. As to the purpose, we’d gathered, ostensibly anyway, to discuss my marriage difficulties The peace and joy derived from the fact that we were sitting in my favorite restaurant and I was flanked by my two very best friends, Tammy and Peggy. Sorority sisters while in school together and before that fellow cheerleaders on our high school team.

We’d once enjoyed getting together almost weekly for such lunch get-togethers but with growing families and other responsibilities we’d somehow fallen into a pattern of seeing one another far too seldom. All of us had attended the others’ wedding ceremonies and, much later, one another’s 20th wedding anniversaries. Children graduated from high school and more than one of them married. Two of us were grandmothers. Good grief! Were, indeed, does time fly?

But, we were here today. I’d ‘phoned Tammy last week and had a long talk. A talk about Dave and I, where I was totally honest. After all of these years, I feared that our marriage was beyond redemption. That we’d grown apart and were destined to eventual divorce; or, at best, a listless and pathetic charade, ‘for the children’ - like empty calories for the soul. A grim prospect, I felt.

Tammy had, in spite of our nearly identical ages, always felt like and served as my big sister. So, it made sense that I’d reached out to her for advice in facing this, I felt, proverbial ‘fork in the road’ of my life.

After over an hour talking to Tammy, she’d promised to get back to me in a day or two and asked for my commitment for time and date for lunch. She’d explained that she and Peggy had negotiated similar problems in their relationships with spouses and that they’d found a cure in the attentions of a ‘kind of a therapist’ with whom they’d - individually - sought counsel.

She’d said that, while this so-called therapist was rather unorthodox in her therapies, both she and Peggy had benefited by her program with tangible results in the form of tranquil marriages. Their husbands were attentive - uxorious most would say - their sex lives had never been better, said she.

She said that she’d love to tell me more but felt that I would benefit from meeting the therapist and hearing things from her.

Two days later, Tammy was back on the telephone, having me write down the particulars of time and place for our lunch date. She apologized for being on a tight schedule and, blowing me smooches over the line, said she’d see me next week.

Now, here we were, as I said, in my favorite restaurant, the three of us waiting for her marriage-fixer. We’d ordered cocktails already and were catching up on each others’ lives when out guest arrived.

My first impression of her was of an English governess. In light of what I was soon to learn, this wasn’t terribly far from the reality. An absolutely beautiful woman, by any measure, she was tall - nearly six feet I’d guess - and slender. Her small waist looked waspish, with a wide leather belt surrounding it and separating her demure, lace-trimmed white, silk blouse, and a pleated skirt, hemmed below the knee. On her feet, were leather boots, with a heel of perhaps four inches.

With her hair pulled back into a bun and dramatic eye makeup, she had a severe look the lent itself to my first impression. She carried no handbag, and strode to the table with her hands swinging freely.

As we were introduced - Tammy handled the introduction - she smiled and the smile positively transformed her countenance. Suddenly her face was alight - glowing with a warmth and what felt like a passion, simmering beneath her cool exterior. I’d never been attracted to other women but I found myself wondering what she would look like in the nude. What her skin would feel like?
Taste like? Where in the world was this coming from?

Her voice was compelling. She spoke softly, but with an authority implicit in her timbre. With her first words, she had my attention.

“I understand, Gloria, that your husband is ill-behaved.”

As I opened my mouth to question her choice of words, she held a hand above he table, her palm towards me, signaling for my silence. Not always so easily dissuaded from speaking, I found myself acquiescing to her ‘command’ without thinking.

“I say, ‘ill-behaved’ because, in my view, that is the crux of a wife’s - any wife’s - lack of serenity. Show me a wife with an obedient, well-behaved husband, I’ll show you a happy woman.

“Your two friends, Tammy and Peggy, are prime examples. Less than a year ago, we met for the first time and I had the privilege of working with each of them with their husbands. When we began, they had, each of them, a spoiled brat, prone to temper tantrums, surliness, impudence, attitudes of superiority, and, in general, behavior that was other than focused on their wife’s respective pleasure.

“Today, their husbands are devoted. In the true sense. Their greatest joy in life is to bring their beloved wife pleasure and happiness. Where they were virtually ignorant of how to pleasure their wife sexually with their lips and tongue, they are now accustomed to serving their wife with a devotion that most women would be reluctant to even fantasize about.

“They’ve been trained - that’s the proper term - to obey their wife. To be instantly obedient. To accept that any slightest hesitation to their instructions will result in punishment.

“Most important, to accept that punishment is and will be corporal punishment. That they will be spanked, paddled, switched, strapped, caned, and, yes, even whipped, until that are permanently compliant.

“In the past year, Tammy’s and Peggy’s husbands have spent countless hours on their knees, demonstrating their devotion and love with their lips and tongue, licking at their wife’s vulva, licking and sucking their clitoris.

“They’ve also learned the submissive kiss. Simply put, their wife is kind enough to lay on her front, or kneel with her butt in the air, and grant the privilege of licking her crack and tonguing her butt hole. The husbands have learned what a privilege it is and that this privilege will always be paid for with their submission to their wife’s discipline.

“They’ve learned that it will be paid for with pain. With their tears. With their sobbing. For, make no mistake, Gloria, if you decide to have your husband trained to be your ideal, he will cry many tears. He will sob like a little boy. For, I will hurt him and hurt him terribly. I would never injure him and I hope that you wouldn’t want him injured. You, after all, love him and wish to spend you remaining years together.

“The thing is, though, that you may wish to spend those years in harmony. No arguing, you are always right. No resentment; you will always have a ready outlet for your anger. A ready device to provide punishment and, at the same time, expiation for your loved one.

“You will learn that it is a rare gift for any woman to be able to hold her loving husband in her arms, comforting him as he continues sobbing after his thrashing. You will experience the joy of feeling his tears on your thighs as you have him kneel before you to show his appreciation for your loving correction. For taking the time and the energy to properly thrash him.

“To help him remember his place. His place, of course, to always be in your service, his devotion to you to include a submission to your whip hand.

“Is this what you want, Gloria? Would you like my help in breaking Dave? In making him truly yours?”

I’d not been able to utter a word during her monologue. I’d been utterly transfixed, mesmerized by her words and the visuals that they inspired in my imagination and had tried to believe in the possibility of such an idyllic marriage.

I found myself speaking and heard my voice but didn’t recall having considered and formed my words. I simply spoke.

“Yes, ma’am.”