The Paradox

My life with Kevin is one fraught with dichotomies.

He’s a good person. And by "good" I don’t mean "nice" (as in XKCD "nice") but genuinely good in that he volunteers and rescues cats and works with the boy scouts and generally makes the world a better place. Plus he cooks and does the laundry.

He also has a truly vile sense of humor–part of what attracted me to him in the first place–plays exceedingly violent video games* and routinely forwards me things that make me want to claw my eyes out of my head. And this is excellent and the occasional outbreak of foot-in-mouth disease is arguably part of what makes it possible to live with someone who is otherwise prone to such frequent attacks of virtue.

Also this means that I usually get to be the evil one in the relationship. The worth of this cannot be discounted.

Arguably this pattern was summed up on our second…err…"date" isn’t really the word. This was a hook-up, plain and simple. Both parties were very clear that they were getting together for some hot nasty sex, which was the main–and indeed only–item on the agenda for the evening. (Okay, okay, there may also have been pizza. I can’t remember.) 

I arrived at his place–following a long day at the zoo where I got to pet an ocelot, but that’s another story–to find him frantic. "I have a scout leader meeting tonight! I completely forgot, I have to go to it–it’ll take an hour, I’ll be right back, make yourself at home, there’s drinks or porn if you’re in the mood–" During which speech he was throwing on…a boy scout uniform.

Petting the ocelot was the high point of the day, but it has to be said, this gave it some stiff competition.**

"My god," I said, with my usual tact, "it’s like you went into a phone booth and came out square!"

"Yeah, yeah…" 

"I don’t know if the long-sleeved underwear works with the uniform…"

He stared briefly heavenward, tying his woggle*** or whatever the hell the neck thing is called. "I have to wear two layers so they can’t see the nipple rings."

I think I was still convulsed with laughter by the time he got back from the meeting.

This morning was another case in point. We were enjoying a hot shower when he groaned and slumped against the wall. "Damnit, I have the Christmas parade tomorrow."

My eyebrows climbed. "Ah?"

"Yeah. It’ll eat like four hours. Damnit…"

"What do you have to do?"

There was a sudden distinct lack of eye contact. "…I’m playing Joseph." he mumbled.

I tried to squelch the hysterical giggling. This is a man who, not twelve hours earlier, had made a late-night run to an adult store with me and we’d spent nearly an hour snarking about the packaging art on blow-up dolls and discussing the horrors of sex toy burglary with the staff. A man who would now be riding around in the back of his church’s pick-up truck, in a small town Christmas parade, dressed as the adoptive father of god.

My squelching was unsuccessful. Eventually Kevin gave up and turned the cold water on me.

"BUWWWWAAAAAHHHGHGHH…ha…haha…heh…okay, I probably deserved that…heh heh heh…"

"Yeah, yeah…"

We showered in silence, punctuated by occasional giggles.

"Kevin? Honey? Love of my life?"


"I’ll give you five bucks to yell "Show us your tits!"

He thought about it. I could see him thinking about it.

"Ten bucks! And I could probably get you some Mardi Gras beads…"

Finally he heaved a sigh. "….No."


*I occasionally have to get him past some of the harder bits.

**To those would would point out that this is a day presumed to include sex, I will point out that while I enjoy it greatly, I have nevertheless had sex many many times. I have only petted an ocelot once.

***I am not making this up.

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