how she learned to love football: a very short story*

Katie was pretty sure they'd only had sex twice that month. Or was it only once?

She marked the calendar with big black Xs every time they did it. Wait, now that she thought about it: Maybe it was only once that month. It was this strange, oddly predictable pattern where, pretty much, every 11 days he’d give in. And her birth control cost $34 a month so when she knew they were going to do it, she’d say, “Baby, make this one good. It’s worth $11.33.”

They’d known each other, oh three, four years by then. But she had no idea what they were doing together. Because it certainly wasn’t the passion keeping them glued. To this day, however, she has him to thank for getting her into sports, though. Katie became a football fan because of him.

Bill would spend every weekend—Saturday for the college games, Sunday for the pro games—immersed in the TV. It was all about him, his microbrews, his weed, his remote control.

And Katie would try anything she could think of to get his attention. And that meant, just like a terrible joke or cliché or Peg from Married with Children, dressing up in slutty little outfits and pushing her super duper, push-up bra boobs in his face or just standing there, blocking his precious TV, pride gone, bare ass naked and damn near begging:

Come on, Bill, can’t you peel your eyes away even for just a second?
Please?

It’ll take ten minutes. 
Tops.

Nope. Not Bill. 

He’d say, without even a hint of a smile, “Katie, come on, you’re being ridiculous.”

It was like a really disappointing beer commercial featuring Robot Bill the Anti-Sex Stodge sitting there in a haze of wasted potheadedness. Cue computer generated voice: Hot chick in way of game. Move hot chick out of way. Drink beer. Continue viewing game.

Meanwhile, Katie was thinking: how about we get creative like they do in a cheesey sitcom or a bad porno and do stuff while the game is still on? She was willing to compromise. Let him have his football. Let her have some fun. Really. She was willing to make a deal.

Ridiculous? To him, she was.

To her, she was just a girl looking for what a lot of women, so she heard, turned down on a regular basis in the context of marriage. (Katie's note to self: never take this for granted. Idiots!). And what were all these rumors flying around that men were constant sexed-up freaks and women were orgasm fakers?  

There she was begging for it, not understanding why. She knew that was messed up, everyone told her it was, but then she started wondering if maybe she was undesirable. But that was ridiculous and she knew it. All the men she'd ever known couldn't keep their eyes, hands or other parts off her. This Bill was the weird one. Why she hung on, she didn't have a clue. It could've been all that money he had. 


But she knew it was only a matter of time. A ticking clock, time bomb. She wasn't going to stick around for this. Even though he was worth millions. Like tens of them. Jewelry, expensive clothes, vacations made life comfortable and pretty. But Katie wanted to get down. In sexy outfits. Even while he sipped his stupid beer and watched his stupid game. It was any "normal" guy's dream. Wasn't it?

But instead of getting angry, she’d go to the kitchen and pour herself a stiff Jack & Coke, didn’t matter what time it was, and sit on the chair by herself, dangling her hooker shoes off the side, naked, maybe not naked, whatever, didn’t matter, he didn’t notice. And the more she sipped, the less she felt. 

The less she felt, the more she watched.

And so, what else was she gonna do but learn to love football? 

To be continued....

* this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to characters living or dead is entirely coincidental.