The Job Jar
Chapter 2
2. Married Life
It’s hard to admit that your wife is boring in bed, but things were pretty routine as we moved into our second decade of being a couple. She’s still an enthusiastic lover and we’re pretty much on the same wavelength in terms of frequency. I try to be considerate and generally make sure she comes first, then I seek my pleasure. Sometimes she comes again when I do, sometimes not.
I admit that I strayed a couple of times—a hookup on a business trip, an ill-advised drinks and dinner with Mitsy, my high school girlfriend, while visiting my old home town. Neither of them meant anything, but there was more variety than at home. Especially Mitsy. She more than made up for all the things we didn’t do back in high school. I didn’t want a repeat with either of them. Instead, they made me realize how important Jan was to me, but also showed what I—we—were missing.
We’d discussed it a number of times over the years, but never got too far.
“Honey,” she’d say, “we have a great sex life. You please me thoroughly; we’re in sync. That other stuff just doesn’t interest me.”
And we do get along great. One of the few areas of contention we have is the way we spend Saturdays. I like nothing better than to wake up, make love, fall asleep again, then get up, make a nice brunch, then do the inevitable chores and errands. Or maybe play a little grab-ass at the breakfast table, go back to bed… you get the picture.
Jan likes to get an early start on the day. She’s finally learned that I’ll wig out if she starts working before breakfast, but she likes to do the chores, then go to bed early Saturday night and fall asleep in each other’s arms. She also knows that I’ll blow off all those little chores and repairs that don’t quite make it to the priority list, and it bugs her that I don’t fit one in here and there.
One Saturday over brunch (I won out that day) she said, “I was talking with Elise the other day, and she and Bob have worked out a good system for those odd chores that nobody likes. They have a job jar.”
I was familiar with the concept. Little slips of paper with the jobs written on them, to be selected at random whenever there was time.
“Mm-hmm,” I said noncommittally. “And you think this would work out well for us?”
“Sure,” she said brightly, trying for infectious enthusiasm. “The randomness makes it interesting, takes my pleading and nagging out of the equation… and gets stuff done.”
“But these are mostly items that you deem as chores, right? Many of them aren’t even on my radar.”
“True…” she said.
“So if I have a job jar, shouldn’t you have one, too?”
She looked offended. “Are you saying I don’t do enough around here?”
“Not at all. You keep us on course… even when it would be nice to drift, like this morning.” I gave her neck a firm nuzzle and some little nibbles, working up towards her ear.
“Stop that!” She pushed me away with her stern-but-amused look. “What kinds of things would you put in my job jar?”
“Oh, I don’t know, some different things, enjoyable things.” I leered a little. “The randomness makes it interesting. It takes my pleading and begging out of the equation.”
She laughed, a loud guffaw that I seldom hear from her. “You’re incorrigible!” Her smile faded a little. “But you know I have limits.”
“That I do. And maybe you have to give a little to get a little. Look, hon, we’ve been together a long time. We trust each other completely. I would never do anything to hurt you. And besides, maybe some of the things in your jar won‘t be about sex at all.”
Her curiosity was piqued. She pondered for a moment and said, “OK. Deal.”
She stuck out her hand to shake on it. I grabbed it and pulled her onto my lap, kissing her, teasing her lips with my tongue until she kissed back. As she got more involved in the kiss, I squeezed her thigh the way I knew she liked, cupped a breast experimentally, and ran a thumb over her nipple. She pulled back, a flush on her cheeks and upper chest. She squirmed a little on my lap, verifying my growing presence.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mister!” She let out a little shriek of laughter as she ran for the bedroom, me hot on her heels. We didn’t get a lot done that Saturday, but we both felt fine about it.
Later that week she came home with a pair of matching canisters. “Our job jars,” she announced. She dug the tape labeler out of the junk drawer and emblazoned one with “Jan,” the other with “Burt.”
After dinner she was jotting down things on individual, multicolored 3x3 notes, folding them and putting them in my jar. Paint the shed, hang the painting we bought last summer, replace cracked patio block, that kind of thing. My jar was half full already.
I took a hunk of pages from the notepad, sat down at the kitchen table and started filling them out.
“Whatcha doing?” Curiosity was obvious in her tone.
“Just jotting down some ‘jobs’ for you.”
She pressed against my back, looking at the small pile I’d left face-down, unfolded. “Mind if I look?”
“You’d peek anyway, even if I said ‘no,’ wouldn’t you?” I grinned.
She had the good grace to blush and look guilty. “Yes.”
“So I guess you can look now.”
She picked up the little stack and flipped it over.
“Drop everything and make love to me,” she snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Go for a long walk with me,” she read, with a little surprise in her voice.
“Take a spa day; get a massage,” her surprised tone grew.
She paused for several beats as she read, “Let me hypnotize you,” with an obvious question in her voice. “What the hell?”
I turned and smiled, “You were a terrific hypnotic subject and I’m sure you still are. Apart from the way it ended, that was the first time I saw you in a different light, beyond attractive, different from the others, someone I wanted to be with. That’s when I first felt the connection. They say that a good hypnotist goes into a trance along with his subject, and you know I’m a good hypnotist. I’d love to feel that particular connection again, on top of all the other wonderful ways we connect. And, I dunno, there was something sexy about it.”
Her expression softened during my little speech. She knew that I had kept up and improved my hypnosis skills. I’ve been doing garden-variety hypnotherapy—smoking, sleeping, weight, etc.— with coworkers and friends for years, but mostly avoided “shows” or demonstrations at parties.
She pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”
“Come on, if it hadn’t been for me hypnotizing you, we might not be here together right now.”
“Don’t be too sure!” she cocked her head and gave me that wry smile.