Shhhhh! I have a revelation, but don’t tell anyone, it’s our secret. Everybody knows that the Ashley Madison Scandal is the gift that keeps on giving. Aside of the big name outings like reality star Josh Duggar, newspapers across the country have been exposing the number of locals involved. In our neck of the woods – ‘lil ole Missoula, Montana (Missoulian Article) – it isn’t any different. Those with .gov email are currently on the firing line. I’m sure the attention will soon shift to the private sector. In that spirit, Tammy and I agree that it’s best to be upfront.
Outside of our careers, my wife and I give the impression of being reclusive. In reality we’re adventurous souls who are continually looking for ways to sate our wanderlust – or any other of lustful impulses. Everybody knows the allure of fresh meat – the pursuit of fresh meat landed us in our current predicament.
We first met the muse of this behavior in Costco. The allure was immediate and Tammy commented about the twinkle in my eyes. It started with a casual conversation at the meat-counter. Soon I held her in my hands. It didn’t take long to see she was the complete package. With a giggle we rushed through the cashiers on the way to a one-night-stand. But one night wasn’t enough. An obsession developed. Complete packages have a way of casting their spell upon the enchanted. Tammy and I were compelled to do her bidding.
After a dinner of pork-tenderloins, we found ourselves hand in hand, walking under starlight in Missoula’s Caras Park. Between us, our muse smelled alluring – enough to inspire ravenous desires of the celibate. Our Little Pork Chop was indeed diabolical, especially when it came to the homeless. Many drooled as they stumbled by. One was brazen enough to stop before us and gaze upon her. Unable to help herself, she worked the bum under her spell.
“Yo!” I barked as he moved for her. “She doesn’t give away her affection, you have to earn it.”
“How,” he mumbled.
I looked to our Femme–fatale and then back to the bum. “You have to fight another bum.”
“Huh?” he garbled.
“You heard me.”
Gazing from our Pork Chop to a vagrant stumbling along the path behind us, blood rose in the bum’s face. With something akin
to a rebel yell, he charged the other, and half-cursing, half-snarling, and won Pork Chop’s Endearment. Standing over the vanquished, our bum grinned at us. It filled both Tammy and me with voyeuristic pleasure handing our Pork Chop to the victor. Ecstasy reigned upon all of us as the bum ate our Pork Chop in public.
Throughout the next week Tammy and I spoke nothing of our foray. The following Friday we wondered if we should again seek our muse. Exercising restraint – after all, we both have reputations to uphold – we decided to forget about our Pork Chop and let her exist in the realm of pleasant memory.
The remainder of the weekend our muse managed to seep into our thoughts. Throughout the week she occupied them, making our daily tasks unmanageable. Those around me that week would comment to how suddenly forgetful I’d become. That next Friday, Tammy and I looked at each other, and without a word, walked out the door and traveled to Missoula to fulfill our desire.
Fridays soon fell into a routine: A trip to the Costco Meat Counter and then to a public park to grill pork chops – dozens of them. When we finished we headed for the river and to the tent city where Missoula’s vagrants called home. To play, Tammy made the bums dress in chicken outfits. Friday night cockfights were on. It was a win-win-win proposition. Tammy fulfilled her need to dress the tattered, I fulfilled my need to organize sporting events, and the bums got a pork chop – at least the victorious bums.
Like all affairs, this one came crashing down among the participants – all because one uppity bum got carried away and stole a pork chop. It turned into a melee. Tammy and I grabbed the remaining pork chops and scadattled. We’re lucky we did, cause the cops came and we learned our champion was hauled off in cuffs.
Tammy and I were beside ourselves. So much that we sought advice from our minister. Despite his advice to immediately come clean and ask our friends, family, and god for forgiveness, we never said a word. We internalized the lesson that a little piece of tender-loin was more trouble than it’s worth. Then today this article appeared in the newspaper. And if that wasn’t enough, we also learned today that our minister – Mr. Ask-For-Forgiveness – was outed on Ashely Madison. But that’s between us, and remember this our little secret, if you don’t I’m going to tell your spouse.
Disclaimer: No, we haven’t been outed in the Ashley Madison scandal – never went to the site – nor do we promote homeless cockfights, though I would consider it if my insurance company gave me its blessing. The bum cockfight story might be true in an alternative universe. There was a bum that inspired this story, he was recently given a fifteen year prison sentence for assaulting another bum for stealing his pork chop. No real bums were hurt in the fabrication of this post.