When you are a male working in the counseling center of a megachurch you will hear lots of stories of men and their struggles with lust.
Once a nervous little man with a dead-end job and a wife with control issues confessed to me he had a thing for the Progressive Insurance Girl.
Not being real up on TV at the time I asked. "What girl is that?"
"You know," he told me, a little annoyed at my lack of savvy. "The insurance girl. That one with the white uniform and the black kinda flipped-up hair and that headband ..." His eyes glazed a bit and he fidgeted with his hands. "Wears that sort of heavy makeup. Real cute."
"Oh. Ok." I wasn't sure who he was talking about but I fudged a little for empathy's sake. "Oh yeah.....her. Uh-huh."
'Yeah," he said, relieved now with the illusion of comradery. "She just seems so flirty and perky and ... fun. I bet she'd be fun." He grinned, just a little.
Church guys rarely get to the point straightaway so I just waited until he talked some more.
"My wife isn't any fun." He said this in a small voice as if her ear might be to the door. He checked me for permission to proceed and I nodded him forth. "She's moody. Any little thing. Cold. And she's really let herself go." Another check. "I mean I'm not perfect but I feel like I really try you know?"
More nodding. I nod a lot.
"And I mean I know it's confidential in here and I uh--I know I need to tell you about our sex life."
Not really, I thought. Can't we talk about college football or XBox or something? I wondered how in the world a guy like me had gotten into such a situation, listening to people's private struggles. I was just the DJ at the skating rink. The dean's daughter was a rink rat. He offered me a free ride through grad school. Get something to fall back on, they said. With a shrug I nodded him forth again.
"When my wife and I make love ..." he clenched his teeth and grimaced on the word when. "I usually end up closing my eyes and thinking about Flo."
"Flo?" I asked, clueless again. Florence Henderson? Flo from Flo's Diner? What is this, a TV fetish?
"Flo," he said impatiently. "That's the insurance girl's name."
"Oh, Flo," I replied. "Ok, you fantasize about Flo. Fantasies are pretty normal, you know."
He waved off my attempt at a therapeutic response. "I know it's not right but Connie's just not--into it. Awhile back she was like 'Ron, will you just hurry up?' and it really ruined it for me. I'd rather just do it myself if you know what I mean."
"Yourself?"
Ron sighed and made an up and down motion with his fist.
"Oh, OH ..." I said.
Ron eyed me wearily. "I'm a 44-year-old church deacon who masturbates to a girl selling insurance on TV because my fat bitchy wife won't give me any and when she does it's really not enjoyable."
He shook his head and looked away. "So what's wrong with me?"
The scratchy refrain from the Hokey Pokey record spun itself in my mind. I saw myself in the circle, right skate out, content that this was indeed what life was all about.
Ron stared back, waiting my response.
For the hundredth time in as many days I didn't have the first clue of what to say.
J.M. Blaine loves Jesus, America, and horses, too.
Archived at http://girlswithinsurance.com/index.php/prose/flash/90-jmb-1009-girls
