Stories By Fergus - Ain't That Just Like A Woman?

"Ain't That Just Like a Woman?"

4,543 wds

On the correct day and on time, i went to a man's house to estimate work he wanted done on the site. I rang the doorbell and waited. No one answered. I called but was sent directly to voice mail. It was a big house so i waited awhile longer and walked around to the back.

At the back door i rang the bell. No answer. No more free estimates for this bastard or any others who can’t be where they say they will, i thought, another hour wasted.

As i walked back to the front i passed a window that seemed to be heaving or flexing slightly; it felt active, it had a vibe. Looking in through a narrow opening in the curtain i saw the man and his wife, i assumed it was his wife, making love. The doorbells, front and back, must be broken, or they heard them and were too happy grinding away to answer. I wouldn’t answer at a time like that either.

I left, embarrassed for them. The scene was strange; she was hanging by her hands from a chin-up bar, they were both completely naked and she was gritting her teeth and her feet squirming and kicking as she cried out for joy, yet i heard no sound. Window peeping is a crime. I got away fast.

Later he called, answered my voice mail message, and apologized, said he was in a meeting! I agreed to come again and look at the job. I was embarrassed for him, thought it must be awkward for him. He said he was stuck in a meeting and apologized until i thought i would have to tell him to shut up.

I put on a serious look and said, “So long as it doesn’t happen again.”

Tha I saw this while fishing with my friend on the James River. Here is what i saw.

Rat A found a catfish swollen in the heat washed up in the shade of a grounded, rusting barge. The river is wide and sandy on the far shore.

Rat A began to scratch away the skin of the bloated belly drawn by a saucy mix of flavorful aromas. No blood came, and Rat A knew most of the blood had drained away, or might be found in gobs or pools among the organs. Some tasty mash might be found in the stomach and the liver is exquisite!

As Rat A crouched and cut into the bloated catfish belly, Rat B approached from behind slowly, silently. Rat B was Rat A’s best friend, pard, bud, home slice and number one, in plentiful food times as these apparently are not.

Rat B timed its approach badly for, slithering ever closer, crouching, collecting strength in the loins to strike; at that moment Rat A opened the intestinal wall of the piscine prize and odors rich in rot flooded rat nostrils. This olfactory feast reached Rat B’s shriveled belly; the belly grumbled, rumbled and rang, the belly spoke. . .

t shut him up and he looked at me real keen and nodded.

You have to let people know you’re serious. People let me down. I’m punctual and everyone should do what they say they will do. Time is all we have; how we spend it is very important. If you want respect you give respect. If you can’t make it, call. The price goes up when you waste my time.

t shut him up and he looked at me real keen and nodded.

Talking over the job, now with his clothes on, he outlined the work he wanted done on his house. It was an enormous job, the kind i like and i made a lot of money on it. I didn't tell him all the details, like how in some areas i could get lower material cost; i immediately sensed that he might somehow take advantage of me for it. He had the aura of an expensive country club thief. I felt a type of magnetic tug on the contents of my wallet. It was vivid, almost physical. A salesman, a good listener and thoughtful, i respected him even as i distrusted him, feeling his greed.

The man sold sporting goods, particularly training equipment, and though i didn‘t ask him directly, he revealed himself to be one of the new young potential bankruptcy candidates who believes above all in borrowing money. To me going bankrupt is the ultimate shame. It means you have your head up your ass. These guys are fearless and seem to think nothing of financial failure because they can talk themselves out of any corner.

We arrived in the hall with the window opposite, the window i looked into that day, the chin up bar and his lady hanging. The bar was attached to the ceiling through a long housing as long as the bar itself with an electric cord running from it to an outlet in the wall.

“Is this where you stay in shape?” i asked.

"It's our best model," he said. From a nearby table he picked up a remote and pressed a button. "This easy adjustment feature is what makes it so popular." The bar descended, the cables on each end evenly lowering the steel rod covered with a rubber grip. "And we make it so it's very easy to install. The do-it-yourselfer can put it up in a heartbeat."

"I see that." And it did look easy; the rectangular box contained all the works and cables hung from each end and from the middle the electric cord came out of the cover. The base plate could be bolted through the sheetrock to the ceiling joists, he said, all self-contained.

"Yeah, very easy to install. If it was hard i couldn't do it. I’m a total klutz." he said and laughed, proud, i thought, of his inability as a handyman and at the same time proud of having overcome his lack and therefore just as good as me. I’d love to get him on a job and watch him cut hip roof rafters.

"Hey, that's perfect, yeah, women love it, i'm sure she'll go for it. But we'll not mention anything about her being short, okay, is she sensitive about that? Some people are. My wife is short, too, and woe unto anyone who mentions it!"

“You gotta wonder why they hate their bodies, like they always say, and men love them.”

“Yeah, ain’t that just like a woman.” He said this without the intonation of a question. He made it as a flat statement of fact.

For a moment i had begun to like and trust him, but he said his wife was short and the woman i saw him with was tall with nice long, flexing muscular legs. So, he cheats on his wife or lies about his wife being short. Still, before we started the job he sold me a very nice chin-up bar and the price was right. It was just what i neded.

My wife was pleased with the chin-up bar and we discussed where we might install it. Only in the bedroom would do, i thought, and i eagerly waited for the day she hung on it, both of us naked and thrashing around. But it hasn’t happened yet.

The sight of the salesman and his woman in action really turned me on. I was going to get that kind of action.

But my wife is very conservative when it comes to sex. It took a long time to get her to do it with the light on.

The next three months became a struggle to get my wife to make love hanging from that bar. She has an unusually strong upper body so no problem hanging for a sufficient period of time. “You are no slope shouldered doll baby,” i told her, “You could be an all-star wrestler.”

“Oh that’s just a great job for a woman,” she said and after a pause, “anyway my breasts are too big.”

“That’s okay too.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

No bar hanging for her. I tried everything and finally our marriage broke. It was the bar some, mostly the job. The bar was only the surface item, more was deep below, but the rock our love crashed onto was me wanting to get closer. I think it was all rooted in her dislike of sex. I mean sex with me.

This job also occupied me twelve hours a day. I wanted to finish it perfectly. This job would make my reputation, it would make my company. For my wife, me working twelve hours a day six days a week was too much. Thinking it through, not going out and spending money on her was a big deal.

She scheduled, without telling me well enough in advance, an hour of consultation with a marriage counselor. This appointment happened to be on the day the crew was to install the grand staircase, a ton or two of oak we had built in the shop, disassembled and shipped to house to reinstall in the man's new foyer.

“My grand lobby,” he called it. “Where my guests arrive, site of the grand ‘first impression.’”

The addition doubled the value of the house itself and his grand lobby, a circular room with a stair system that curves up on each side to a long deep mezzanine was his new stage. This is what innovations in sporting goods will get you.

I had to be present to install this monstrosity, or work of architectural art, depending on your point of view, and that morning my wife told me about the appointment with the counselor.

I almost choked on my toast. "I can't do that, i got to install that enormous stairway!"

"Oh, our marriage is that important to you?"

And that's how it started, the final act of the long struggle ending with me plummeting into hell. I thought she was a fool and she thought the same of me, but i loved her. Did she love me? That’s an old question. I wonder if anyone has ever answered it.

I left the house, she left the house and it added up to zero.

“My husband is unwilling to seek counseling.”

Here i was finishing this big job and lots of money coming in and my marriage folds like a two dollar suitcase. No more money for me; the lawyers and my ex-wife got it all. She didn’t get the house, but only because she didn’t want it.

In one way i'm lucky it happened at the time, when i had the big job. The work distracted me and the profits paid for the divorce. Yet had i not been involved in this work i would have had time to devote to our happiness. Turns out, that didn’t matter much either.

My only good fortune was working for this man. Seeing i had home problems, he introduced me to a lawyer and supplied the retainer fee. The lawyer didn’t do a very good job and ultimately cost too much, but i don’t think anyone could have resisted my ex. She should have been a professional actress.

The man was motivated by a desire to see the project completed so you see, his kindness was not untainted.

I worked twelve or more hours a day for many weeks and at the end of each day all i could do was stretch my back on the excellent chin-up bar. I don't drink much, or maybe i would have become a drunk. Sometimes i woke in my tv chair, the box blasting me with an unfamiliar program. I would then go to bed and the dreams returned, tv dreams that evolved most often into dreams of my wife. Together, i never dreamed of her, once she was gone i dreamed of her every night.

I began to understand that i was in fact only one person among many in her life and in many ways and many times i wasn't the most important. It was as if the whole world was in our bedroom even when we were there alone.

The job done, the man threw a party, an open house, for friends, family and business associates. He invited all the carpentry crew, with exceptions. He said i should invite the men of my crew who, he said, “Would be interested in my kind of crowd."

“Does your crowd eat and drink too much?”

“Oh, i see. Well then, invite them all, regardless.”

I invited all of them and the anti-social, crazy ones declined the invitation, as i expected. How many years i've spent now studying wood, brick and paint when i should have studied people! How to bend them to my purposes; i never thought of it. Maybe my load would have been lighter had i cultivated that skill. I also invited my wife ex-wife. She liked to eat and drink too much. She declined.

At the party the man laid out a phenomenal spread. There were about 200 people and a live band. He hired other musicians to play in the back yard with the caterers who ran the bar-b-que pit. I ate too much and drank a lot and flirted with the women, all beautiful, well dressed and decorated with expensive looking rocks. None of them appealed to me for long, strange to say, and as expected, i dazzled none of them.

And i met his wife, who was truly short. She was not the woman, the blond hanging from the chin up bar and him hammering away. So he cheated on his wife. At least he was not lying about her height. She was shorter than my ex-wife.

I missed my wife. Don't ask me why. I knew i might be overworked or lonely enough for three months to forgive all sins. It was the long slow drag of nothing days without her light, or her darkness. I wanted the light, not the darkness.

It was too much for me alone in that happy crowd. I retreated to a corner of the garden. There my host found me weeping. The champagne was that good and i sure reached the bottom of that bottle. To have her back i would hang on the cross of love.

I explained the reason for my tears and he listened, his manner sober and into his eye came a light that salesmen get. It's an, i've-gotta-sale look. Come on, i gotta show you something," he said.

Helping me to stand, (and as i rose unsteady someone shouted, “My god, we have a casualty!”) he led me into the house. We went into the old section of his house, into his home office located beside the master bedroom.

"I keep a very special friend here, for the times when my wife gives me trouble."

Oh my god, i thought, something perverse.

He locked his office door behind us and opened a closet. It was paneled in cedar and i immediately saw, judging from the outside dimensions, that it was not as long inside as it should have been.

'Look here," he said, sweeping aside the clothing. He opened a hidden door and behind it stood or i should say shot out like a bolt of lightning, the sight of a very beautiful woman, completely naked.

I was stunned, i blushed and felt embarrassed for the woman, who was motionless. My host laughed.

"Are you waiting for her to say something?"

I looked again; she was short, cut off at the knees, stunningly beautiful.

"Don’t worry,” he said, “she won’t speak unless spoken to.”

“She's fantastic. Is she a mummy or something?"

"Oh no, not a corpse, good god, that would be so gross. No, she's our newest product, still in testing but that’s all a formality.”

He touched the horizontal rail of the platform in which she stood. There must have been a sensing device embedded in it. She came forward, sliding out of the closet into the light of the room.

“Now all you gotta do is talk to her, the light of the ceiling fixture has activated her. Talk to her; she does what you like. No problemo."

Then i realized this woman was the one who hung from the chin-up bar the day i had come to look at the job. She was perfect, extremely gorgeous. She was so perfect such a person could never exist in flesh and blood. No one could glow like that in real life. Nobody can look that good and be human. So, he gets into sex dolls. Well, i had to admit, sex dolls are a type of sporting equipment.

"Wanna try her out?" my host said and then, maybe because he thought i hadn't fully comprehended who she was, he said, “She’s a doll, a mechanical woman, she's the newest, the first in what we hope will be a long line. Extremely well made, the best design, engineering and craftsmanship. And her power source is derived from light and motion; the more you love her the more she’s recharged. As for fluids and lubricants, her skin breathes and takes in moisture from the air. You could say she’s a kind of dehumidifier. In case of a complete breakdown every part recyclable, yeah, we’re into resource sustainability."

“Kinda short,” i said.

Her face was about chest high to me and she stood in her metal rack with nothing i could see below her knees.

“What happened to her lower legs?” i asked.

“They’re folded back,” he said. “We had to do that to conserve space. Please stand.” With these words she ‘stood up’ which is to say her legs below the knees folded down onto a couple of shapely feet.

“Does she open her eyes?” As soon as i asked the question her eyes opened and i almost fell over. Her eyes were the most brilliant blue.

“Oh God yes, the whole thing would not work if she didn’t look you in the eye,” he said. “And if you don’t like blue try this. Brown eyes, please.”

The eyes turned brown.

“What’s her name. Does she have a name?”

“You name her. She’ll adjust right away, no question. All you have to do is say it. Any name will do.” He leaned close and whispered, “What’s your sweetheart’s name?”

“Janice,” i said without thinking first. Janice is my ex-wife’s name.

“Hello, Janice, can i introduce you to a friend?”

The love doll’s eyes suddenly looked at me and i was stunned. She smiled.

“Wanna try her out, take her for a spin!”

"Well, but she's your's right?"

"You betcha, and cost a bundle, too, but don't worry about that, there's no feeling in her or about her. If you want her you can have her, it’s like you're using my football."

"Oh, lemme think,” but i couldn’t think, i didn’t know where to start.

“She’s sanitary, if that’s what you’re worried about. You might say her oven is self-cleaning,” he said and laughed, high and jerky. It was the laugh of a man who is normally shrewd and calculating.

I was lost, confused, in a dream, so, experienced salesman that he was, he spoke up to fill the air.

"When my wife and i don’t get along, my friend here takes off the edge. Now the house is done, my wife will be very good for a long time. She’ll be throwing plenty of parties, plenty of friends and family over. A big social hit, that’s just like a woman. They need it, like a guy has gotta make the sale.”

“Or build the house,” i said.

“You got it!”

We paused in the satisfied glow of agreement; two guys who knew a thing or two.

“But sometimes, you know, a guy needs it,” he said. “You know? The conquest, i mean, knowing you can still get it no matter what she says."

"That's true. It's about territory, about confidence, i think."

"Well, you wanna give her a shot?"

"I don't know. Is she okay? I mean, safe?"

“You can count on it. Better than the real thing. She's fully equipped.”

I turned to touch her, then stopped.

"Go ahead and touch her, feel her skin, pretty life-like, eh? A Dupont product, top of the line. This is what the guys are doing because you know how things are going. Women don't really need men any more, not the wealthy ones anyway, and that means a lot of women, because this technology, i mean artificial insemination technology, is really spreading. You know at the party right now there are at least a dozen women who have had children right from a syringe. Some of them have never married; have had very few relations with men. Now they obviously don't need the protection, intelligence, comfort and understanding provided by men. Granted, we don't hand these qualities out in large lots but hey, giving us up completely is pretty brutal, right? And what about the kid growing up without a dad, lopsided. Do they know their dads? Do the women know the fathers of their children? Career women, you know, and they don't have time for a relationship, for combat twice a week, so they get a sperm bank kid and that's okay. That's okay, but is it okay for us to have our girl, our own private sperm bank in the closet? No way. So something is being done about it. It is very high-tech, very hush-hush."

He continued; “These women don’t like romance, don’t need the adult relationship, just the kid.”

“That would be convenient; no flowers, no candlelight, no cuddling. I’m not really a romantic kind of guy.”

Very strange, i thought, because Janice, my Janice, my home flesh and blood, never wanted children.

Every time i looked at the mechanical woman standing beside me she looked at me and i shivered. The man was silent and looked at her too.

"I know, man, it's freaky. Did you just now expect her to say something?"

"I sure did. I could swear she glanced at me and wanted to express an opinion," i said.

"Not a chance. She's a machine, man, a machine. She’s made by one of our subsidiaries, Perfect Girl Products, you know them?"

"Just heard of them. We didn't have kids."

"They did 20 billion in sales last year, that's billion, capital B, buddy.”

"That's incredible, and i thought all they did was that, what was it, Perfect Girl at Home, Work, Play ~ all that stuff that knocked Barbie off the shelves?"

"Barbie was doomed, doomed from the beginning. Women like to eat and now-days they don’t; want to be tortured about it. The public is waking up and nobody believes that skinny as a pole shit any more, especially in this product line. Hey, in this product line a skinny woman would give you bruises. "

"And skinny is unhealthy."

"Skinny is definitely unhealthy."

We glanced at her again, still no opinion.

"You see, Janice here’s got a lot of meat on her bones."

“That’s real.”

“Janice is more real in some ways and you definitely know it when she has an orgasm and it's real, every time, because if it’s not real it’s a malfunction and she’ll tell you if she has some other malfunction. She has a beautiful voice.”

I was still leery of even touching her, me, a stranger, because she looked so real, but i did touch her and found her skin was soft and her ribs were indeed well covered. She smiled, looked at my hand caressing her and nodded, just a little, her eyes slightly wider.

She was so beautiful, flawless physically and at the same time creepy. Her eyes followed our conversation and yet she said nothing.

“Janice,” he said, “say something to your new friend.”

She looked at me and slowly smiled and said, “You’re a handsome man. I like you.” Her voice was sweet.

I had to step back, it was so bizarre.

“I gotta get back to my guests,” the man said. “You can stay as long as you like.” He turned to go and as he walked out of the room over his shoulder he said, “Do what you like with her, i mean, without damaging her, you know what i mean? Feel free, she’s yours, all your’s. Enjoy!”

I watched him leave, confused, wondering what now. He paused and gave a thumbs up, turned, the door close behind him and i stood looking at the closed door, thinking.

And then i felt her hand on my shoulder.

Some say life is a dream. Not always a dream, i think, but some parts certainly get dreamy. In my case, in the sporting equipment guy’s bedroom, i fell into the arms of a dream. Yet it felt like a dream that could instantly turn into a nightmare. Even in the middle of ecstasy images of the man behind the curtain pulling levers flashed before my eyes.

I came downstairs later to thank my host, told him i would think about a purchase, “of your finest product.”

On my drive home i focused only on driving, of course, because the alcohol had returned and i was once again drunk and my antennae was all the way out for the cops. At home in my kitchen i had another drink and thought about the possibility of having that guy create my perfest woman. She would be short, with dark hair and had a small mole just above the nipple of her right breast. The mole! I surprised myself; a woman built like that, looking like that with the breast mole, it was my ex-wife. That’s what she’s like, if she’s still alive.

After all that happened between us, i still wanted my wife. Call me a fool. I am a fool, dependent and weak-willed, but i wanted her soft, lumpy body, her gurgling sleeping breath singing to me all night and when we made love the thought that i was allowed to enter a sacred space and strong enough to conquer a very personal place, my wife‘s body. But the best of it was never conquest but sharing. If she has problems i can understand and help her fix them.

There was a knock on the door. At one o’clock in the morning no one knocks on my kitchen door. Did i truly hear it? There was another, louder knock.

It was my ex-wife, who said nothing and looked so pitiful, small and wounded. She rushed past me into the kitchen. There she stood by the table; she didn’t look me in the eye. I reached out to touch the bruise on the side of her face, to ask how she got it and she brushed my hand away and started to cry. I pulled her too me and enfolded her in my arms, telling her everything would be all right, that she was home now and safe.

Shoving around lumber all day as i often do has made me strong. I carried her into the bedroom and lay down with her on the bed. We lay there quietly holding each other, she softly weeping. I cuddled her and whispered to her that everything would be alright now and i loved her and she was safe and i needed her and missed her and was sorry for everything.

That moment, for me, was the happiest we ever had. My tears flowed and fell on her hair and neck. Her hair smelled very strong. She said nothing.

I slept awhile and woke with a start, the room felt strange. I lay awake with my thoughts, happy and sad, bouncing back and forth with, ‘this is a turning point, this is the beginning, all i need,’ or, ‘is it real?’

End or “Ain’t that Just Like a woman.”

Form follows function. Louis Sullivan, architect