Authors: BB Easton
Copyright © 2015 by BB Easton
Published by Art by Easton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9967906-1-1
Artwork, Photography, and Cover Design by BB Easton
Cover Formatting and Consultation Provided by Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae,
Editing and Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
Lyrics to “You Never Even Call Me By My Name” used with permission from Al Bunetta d/b/a Jurisdad Music o/b/o itself and Turnpike Tom Music
44 Chapters About 4 Men
is a work of creative nonfiction based on true events that have been embellished, approximated, and exaggerated for the sake of humor and/or due to the author’s tendency to write while drunk and deprived of sleep. All names, places, and identifying characteristics have been altered to protect the identities of everyone involved. Should you decipher the true identity of Ms. Easton or any other character in this book, the author asks that you kindly allow her to fulfill a short list demands in exchange for your silence.
Due to excessive profanity, vulgarity, and graphic sexual content, this book is not intended for—and should probably be completely hidden from—anyone under the age of eighteen.
I was going to dedicate this book to my husband, but seeing as how he doesn’t know and must never, ever find out that it exists, I decided to dedicate it to you, my sweet reader, instead.
After all, you're the only reason I'm publishing this embarrassingly personal pile of journal entries, emails, and smut in the first place.
I’m a school psychologist, so behavior modification is kind of my thing. Want to get your kid to stop acting like an asshole? I’m your girl. Want to figure out if little Johnny has an autism spectrum disorder or is just really, really into
? Let me at him. But want to know how to get your cold, distant, communication-averse partner to show you more affection?
Fuck if I knew. My marriage felt more like ottoman and owner than man and wife, and it was only getting worse. Until the day that changed everything—the day Kenneth Easton started reading my journal.
From there I stumbled upon a psychological breakthrough so simple, so stupid, so perfect, that it transformed my introverted, number-crunching husband into a smoldering sex-panther over the course of a few months. I was so excited I wanted to shout my secret from a mountain top. I wanted to gather up all my notes, lash them together under the cover of night, and rain copies of this Frankenbook down on every poor sap slogging it out in a monotonous, long-term relationship from sea to shining sea. “There is hope!” I would cackle into the darkness as I flew overhead in my stolen crop duster. “You don’t have to settle for boring bullshit!”
So, rather than learn to pilot a single engine aircraft, I’m going to do the next best thing. I’m going to click PUBLISH.
And I’m freaking the fuck out.
There’s some pretty graphic, at times humiliating, and overwhelmingly unethical shit in here. If anyone in my real life finds out that I published this thing, not only will my hunky, human Ken doll of a husband probably have me served with divorce papers, but I won’t even have my career to fall back on, what with that nasty little “gross moral turpitude” clause in my contract. And as far as my kids are concerned, I can’t say for
that the state will take them away, but I’m pretty confident I’ll at least be assigned a case manager and some mandatory classes, which will be awfully hard to attend
once my car gets repossessed
Now, I know that you would never intentionally rat me out, but if you tell two people and they tell two people, the next thing you know, I’ll be a penniless divorcée living out of a 2006 Ford Mustang, turning tricks and selling organs just to keep gas in the tank. So just to make sure that you’re extra prepared to take my secret to your grave, I’ve developed a quick little role-play exercise.
Me (pretending to be your bestie):
“Hey, girl! You have got to read
44 Chapters About 4 Men
. It’s a memoir by this psychologist who figured out that her husband was reading her journal, so she wrote a bunch of raunchy stories about her ex-boyfriends and planted them in there for him to find. After a year of manipulating him and modifying his behavior she published the whole story under a pen name and didn’t even tell him! Can you believe that shit? He sounds really hot, too. I can’t wait until he finds out and divorces her!”
“Um…actually, I forgot how to read so—hey, look! Is that Channing Tatum?”
Me (being me again):
Here is a list of made-up words you will encounter while reading this book. (
, give me a call if you see anything you like.)
(adjective)—a word that should exist but doesn’t; the raw, painful quality of skin after an abrasion.
(noun)—the behavior of one who is a badass—intimidating, rebellious, defiant.
(noun)—the yearly recurrence of the date that one’s male partner, who usually lies motionless for the duration of all sexual activities like a disinterested invertebrate, made love to him or her. Commemoration might or might not involve a moment of silence.
(adj.)—abbreviated form of
; easy and profitable.
(adj.)—being, resembling, or suggestive of a dungeon but not in a sexy BDSM way.