The Tree of Knowledge

Rebecca

Ryan's intentions in marrying me were nothing if not obvious. Everything he knew about me before our wedding day he got from my Craig's List ad, which pretty much consisted of a picture and a price tag. A fifty-seven year-old man doesn't look for a sixteen year-old girl to form a deep, spiritual connection with. He didn't want a wife, he wanted a play thing. A relationship dynamic where he was not just in charge on me, but specifically tasked with my behavior modification and discipline. He wanted a daughter he could fuck. A combination blow up doll and shiny piece of arm candy to parade around the country club.

But here's the thing about toys, they get boring quick. The same way a kid will play with a new toy obsessively for weeks before never touching it again, Ryan (finally) tired of me.

Men are taught from a very young age that their ultimate goal is to snag the youngest, prettiest thing with a willing orifice they can. They are taught that this will make them happy, and that they don't need any of that pussy shit like companionship and conversation.

With me in his bed, Ryan was supposed to be living the dream. But it wasn't making him happy. He had one wife he despised, and another he had nothing in common with. I think he was lonely.

I'd almost feel bad for him, if he weren't such a sadistic piece-of-work.

That's okay, because, as it turns out, God apparently ensures that there really is someone for everyone on this Earth. It just took him three tries to get it right.

Try number three was Rebecca. Rebecca was one of those special snowflakes that was thrilled when the Great Revelation happened. Rebecca wore the purity ring her father gave her on her finger until the day of her wedding. She believed in school-lead prayer and abstinence only sex education. She rallied for having marriage legally defined as between a man and a woman. And Rebecca did not need a miracle YouTube video to tell her she should be submissive to the men in her life. Had she been born a hundred years ago, I'm convinced she would have fought for women not to get the vote.

Of course we were all willing to submit to our husbands, but conjuring up genuine happiness about it was another matter.

But Rebecca was something else.

She told Ryan it was wonderful that his wives obeyed him without question. Too many men, she complained, still deferred to their wives when making decisions. God made it perfectly clear that men are to be in charge, and women are to rely on their strength.

Men and women, she said, just have different skills. Men are natural born leaders. It's in their nature. Women are better at other things, like caregiving, nurturing, and keeping a home.

Ryan was smitten.

For most rich guys each successive wife was younger and cuter than the last, but Ryan broke the mold for Rebecca. Rebecca is twenty-seven and chubby, no doubt from all those pastries she's always baking.

They met in church and got married a week later, just three months after Ryan married me.

They married for love.