You are a teen with nothing to do than reading books, dreaming of a Prince Charming on a black motorcycle. And no! There’s no internet, no Facebook, not even mobile phones. We’re in the early ’80s. Just on the wrong side of the wall… In your naivety lays the desire, such as a lake of fire, to do justice, to right the many grisly wrongs. You’re no more and no less than a child.
You are a dutiful law student in love with an unruly engineering student. Yes, your “prince charming” rides a Sputnik bicycle, sports a green parka and smokes like a trooper. Fascinated by his hands, and words, and looks, and dreams, and by the unknown, you marry him. You are in love and justice can wait before being made. Still, as you graduate and begin working as a young lawyer, the walls break and fall, justice blooms like a rare flower of autumn. Without you moving a finger. You understand, you’re a woman now.
You gaze at the brave new world. Its craze somehow scares you. Business law smiles at you, a pristine land of promise to explore and conquer. Not to mention that your husband pesters you to cover his new booming businesses. Do you have a choice? Not really. However, being a woman, you notice how high in demand is divorce amongst wives. You naturally want to help your clients. And here you really have a choice.
Unemotional clients come to you with their homework done. All you need to do is pushing the paperwork. Easy money.
Emotional clients slam their laundry baskets right in the middle of your study. You’re given to hear horrors, goofs and sheer nonsense. You stare at anger and despair parading in front of you. It gets you thinking… What if this would happen to me? And reflecting… What should I do not to?
Time to talk about sex, and love – they are not the same, by far.
A husband with no external baggage (such as post-war syndromes and the likes) will convert his testosterone (naturally occurring in his body) into domestic violence if his wife forgets herself in a silent sex strike. Yes, you may, and sometimes you are required, to use sex strikes in marriage — this is the best way of telling him that you are not his rubber doll, his cook, his waitress, his housemaid. You are his better half! Remind him this with a sex strike once in a blue moon. But denying sex for weeks to your husband is what I call an indefinite sex strike. Knowingly or not, you torture him. And you won’t like the tempest of consequences. A husband with external baggage recurs to violence regardless if you deny him sex or not. If you don’t love him beyond yourself, if you don’t have the ability to take him to therapy (a way or another) then you’d better divorce him. And fast.
Alcohol and substance abuse is another elephant in the room of a divorce lawyer. If none of the parts looks for a superior, spiritual beacon, be it religious or not, they won’t waste much time to seek for solutions, being too busy with creating new problems. You’ll divorce them and they’ll have a problem less on their hands.
Marriages of convenience were invented to preserve and augment wealth, in a tentative to better position the offspring. Husbands were masters of their wives and concubines for millennia. Divorce used to be more of a political instrument rather than a matrimonial matter. Modern convenience marriages succumb to shame and frustration because the modern man can’t afford to distribute his meager wealth like the Gentleman of the old. And scarcity foments revolt, in the kitchen as in the street. Unhappy couples wasting their lives only to raise the children, or to grab that inheritance. However, after kids leave the nest, after legacies are set, you’ll hear them knocking at your door: they want an elegant divorce before running to catch up with what’s left of life.
Come the love birds. They married to live together, happily ever after. But she won’t give him head (the secretary just did). Or she wants to lay only on the back (unlike those porn performers he keeps talking about). Or they live with the in-laws. Or… whatever dramas that routines have brought upon these two little cute adorable love birds. She is crying. He is sad. Exhausting their arsenal of accords, they fight — because they need to interact a way or another. But do they know what separates them, what pushes them to make an appointment at your office? Do they know about the post-industrial delusion of tossing good old things and replacing them with new ordinary buys (Made in the PR of C)? Do they know that arguments about sex positions have more to do with the psychology of cults and organized religion than with their love and intimacy? Do they know that a place cluttered with shadows and rubbish becomes less of a household? Apparently they don’t. That’s why you see them sitting across the desk. These are the clients you don’t want to divorce. They’ll make you work against your interests, in order to save theirs. This is the opposite of easy money.
You know how to listen. You understand what’s required. It’s not a career characteristic but a natural talent. You watch porn together with him. You play in his home-made porn. You don’t just stay there like a statue. You inspire his deeds and muse his daydreams. You are his living fantasy. You own him. So much and so deep that he gives you enough children to derail your career. You are a housewife now, under the grind of so many chores. Do you need a distraction? An escape? Who doesn’t! Loving you, he makes a point: clothes set a distance between us, let’s get rid of them whenever public order won’t be disturbed. Naked, you feel more confident. You hear them talking about MILFs and cougars. You learn a new parlance that gravitates around your most intimate spots. You conclude that you are a cougar bunny, a mix of adventure and angst. They may call you a narcissist. To this, you’ll find no evidence in your defense. Loved by your man near you, admired by others overseas, you contemplate a hypothesis: being a good wife brings you more rewards than being a good lawyer.
The ravings above were ignited by a question addressed to me by a Fine Gentleman from The Sex Experiment. He considers that opening towards nudity and monogamous sexuality plays a beneficial role in his marriage. One may further speculate this statement onward to more marriages, I guess.
As a woman, you must hide your sexuality from the evils of society. The problem is not that you are sexual (this is why you are a woman in the first place). The problem is with strangers forgetting to love you as they love themselves. A corner of peace and tranquility is there where you can undress, be nude and feel normal about it. A corner where fear and fraud arrive always too late. Look at Zita in the skin of a naturist, how she emancipates herself from superfluity (it’s French but I trust you’ll get the essence).