Cinderella

The joint had a hard packed dirt floor. No shit, real dirt!! And its inhabitants were eyeing me like a herd of nervous wildebeest - albeit a tad less intelligently. Still, the deer on the wall was the piece-de-resistance.

Deer heads aren’t rare in Wisconsin. I mean seriously! Besides the MMA, deer hunting might be our state sport be our state sport. Nevertheless, this place was like the East Village of rustic avant-garde. Other bars put-up the antlers. This one had mounted the hindquarters. There was even an unlit cigarette stuck in the butthole. It was a truly awesome piece of redneck visual art.

I was sitting in that honky-tonk with a pitcher of Miller Lite and Skipper McPhee. Skipper was my girlfriend. Well actually ... that wasn’t precisely true. Skipper was a friend of sorts. But she’d put girlhood in the rearview mirror at least twenty years previously.

Skipper lived in the trailer park across the road, and she was divorced like I was. Except her divorce had been recent, which was no doubt why she’d been trying to fuck me into submission. Of course, you can never tell what motivates women.

I knew Skipper when she was married, and I could never understand what her husband saw in her. My post-divorce experience answered THAT question. She had big soft tits and fantastic long legs on a slim, hard body. She was passionate, physical, and up for anything. Plus, she would serve it up piping hot in twenty minutes, or less. It was like dialing Domino’s pizza.

Skipper’s face was the only part of her that wasn’t sheer perfection. The diplomatic term is “plain” but a more accurate one might be “equine.” She was also sort-of dumb, which didn’t get in her way carnally. But it limited the discussion afterward to the weighty matters she’d seen on TMZ.

Any divorced guy over the age of forty knows my life. You’ve got deep-seated habits and a job. So, you’re solitary but never achingly, crushingly despairingly lonely. You have places to go and people to hang with. You just don’t have the intimacy of a good marriage – not that I knew what THAT felt like.

Still, if you’re reasonably presentable and don’t have too many blatantly gay traits, post-divorce dating is a garden of earthly delight. The age-appropriate women are ALL starting to feel the bloom coming off the rose and the ones who haven’t written men off permanently are desperate to couple up.

Their problem is that males my age suffer from delusions of grandeur about twenty-something hotties, and it was their short-sighted youth obsession that gave me my pick of eager low-milage, one owner beauties, all with well-honed erotic skills. In fact, I was getting more first-class pussy at age forty-five than I had at any time prior to - and definitely during - my marriage.

The ironic part was that I was no great catch. I’m fairly presentable, and when you’re single you always have too much time on your hands. So, you stay in shape. But my job was my Achilles heel.

High achievers hit the ground running. They kick ass. They take names. People like me stay in school ... forever. I like to think that it was because of my love of learning. But that would be a lie. It was because I’d decided early-on that the best way to take my life off with-pay was to get into college teaching.

I mean seriously ... your employers expect you to show up for class. But that’s seven and a half hours a week, nine months a year. My old man put in more time than that volunteering AFTER he retired.

You DO have to write and publish. But that was no challenge for a guy as full of bullshit as me. And after you make tenure, the only way you can lose your job is if you’re discovered doing unspeakable things to livestock. But there’s always a catch to a deal that sweet.

Unless you’re at one of the big universities or teach in one of the professional schools you make the same base salary as a pipefitter. However, unlike those guys there’s no such thing as overtime.

I was in grad school when I met Lucy and I’m pretty sure she was thinking “tech billionaire,” not middle-class drone. She was never the same after the reality of my mediocre earning potential sank in.

Arrogant and oblivious are a bad combination. But that was me. I’d been vaguely aware that my wife wasn’t happy. Yet, I was naive enough to think that MY behavior didn’t have anything to do with it. Small children are like that. They’re always in the moment. They don’t think about what their actions, or the actions of others imply in the great scheme of things.

Well, I started thinking about it A LOT after she presented me with the papers. Ironically that was on our tenth wedding anniversary. I believe diamonds are the appropriate gift, not paper. And here I was five years later, sitting in a bar in the wilds of Wisconsin with Skipper McPhee and a pitcher of beer.

I should have been clued in by the fact that Lucy was on a date when I met her. She had the popular hippie-chick look back then, long silky blond hair, tall and flat chested with a fantastic ass and legs. Better yet, she clearly fancied me. So, we ignored her date and talked most of the night.

The very next day, I pounded on her door and proposed a picnic. She came out in a pair of white shorts that showcased her perfect buns and her long, well-muscled legs. I sprang something inappropriate, and we were a couple from that day forward.

We lived in a little apartment off the Madison campus, and from the beginning it was more like roomies with benefits. I was pretty selfish back then, and she dutifully went with the program. But it was obviously a chore for her. I don’t think she even knew what an orgasm felt like. In fact, I sometimes wondered whether she batted for the other team.

That was our life for the next ten years. I didn’t have a problem with humdrum sex because like a lot of immature nerds, I couldn’t tell the difference between what I was getting and the real deal. The mere fact that I was getting anything AT ALL was good enough for me. But there were warning signs from the start.

Both of us were young enough that the party scene of our teen years simply carried over into our day-to-day lives. Thus, it wasn’t odd that we were drinking at different places on a Friday.

Lucy was a secretary for one of the departments in the UW School of Medicine and Public Health. Which, of course, had plenty of students our age. But these were prospective MDs not nerds. She had told me that she was with a bunch of the med students at the Kollege Klub, which was right next to the library. So, I finished up and zipped down Langdon Street to Lake.

When I arrived, I found a couple of her clerical friends and the usual collection of students but no Lucy. I asked Phyllis, Lucy’s best pal, where my wife was. She said off-handedly, “Oh, she and Douchebag One and Douchebag Two were at Douchebag One’s apartment smoking weed. My wife might not like sex. But she loved cannabis.

I was acquainted with both douchebags. They were condescending pricks, being med students and all. But frankly the obvious never crossed my mind. So, I just settled in to bend an elbow at the Klub. Lucy was already home when I stumbled back three hours later.

She said mildly perturbed, “Where the fuck were you!!?” I said, “With your buddies at the Klub. They told me that you went off to do some grass with Jon and Will.” She said, “Oh!! And abruptly dropped the subject.”

Some of you might think I was pathetically clueless in my earlier incarnation. But that’s hindsight. You have to realize that I thought that my wife was whatever the opposite of a sensual woman was, at least to me. And second, I was such a pretentious tool that I couldn’t imagine any female wanting to stray from a stallion like moi!

Hence, time and life passed, and I picked up a teaching job at Marquette where I was mildly successful. I was also doing a little consulting and things settled into a comfortable middle-class rut. We had a house and neighbors, who we partied with. All-in-all it was a spectacularly dull existence - work ... party ... sober-up ... repeat ... You know what they say, “If you aren’t the lead dog the scenery never changes.”

Zach Oldendorf, or as the rest of us guys liked to refer to him “Olden-dork,” was a member of the group. Zach was an alpha male – at least in his own mind. He was a talented entrepreneur and he had built up a successful parts supply business. He was slim, handsome and with a salesman’s capacity for charm. But in any social group he was a loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole, and that was on his good days.

My dilemma was that he looked enough like me that people mistook us for brothers. He was slightly taller. So, he’d refer to me as his “little” brother. Of course, that trashed me. But that was Zach’s goal. The boy was always pushing boundaries.

The boundary that he pushed the furthest was with the wives. He was all hands and inappropriate comments when he was with a group of women. He was such a macho poser that the men would laughingly say, “That’s just Zach being Zach,” and the women avoided him like the plague. At least that’s what we all thought.

Zach was like a cat. You know what I mean ... Cats can sense that you don’t like them, so they just have to rub themselves all over you. That was the way Zach was with me. I was trying to avoid the shithead at one party by hanging out with Lucy’s group, which was only slightly less excruciating than listening to assface brag about himself.

The girls covered all the usual topics, their ailments, the fashion faux pauses of absent members and the inadequacies of their husbands. I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I gestured that I was going outside. Lucy didn’t even look up as she launched into her latest exposé of the horrors of living on my meager salary - which was one of her favorite topics.

Zach was as pretentious as Nero when it came to flaunting his possessions. Thus, his back yard would’ve given the Garden of Versailles a run for its money. The weather was hot and muggy, and the chirping of crickets and the whirring of the katydids reminded me of happier summers in the Dells.

Then, I heard a soft sound from the direction of an ornamental gazebo. The gazebo itself was round and perhaps eight feet in diameter with a lot of ivy trained up its intricate wrought-iron sides. It provided some privacy. But the moon was nearly full, and you could easily see the two figures inside, sitting next to each other on a wide decorative bench.

It was curiosity, not perviness that caused me to walk over. But standing in the dark I could see Olden-dork fingering Bob Cooper’s wife, Jill. She had one hand over her mouth trying to hold down her ecstatic moans while she was jacking Zach’s impressive tool with the other. I should have turned and fled. But I was frozen to the spot out of sheer disbelief.

Jill was in a frenzy. She said in a guttural whisper, “fuck me” and in one smooth motion, Zach laid her down on the bench, climbed between her widely spread legs and inserted tab A into slot B. There was machine gun snorting, like a sprinter starting a race, and then the cawing “have mercy” cry of a woman having an intense orgasm.

That sound broke the spell and I fled silently into the darkness. Of course, by that point the two of them wouldn’t have noticed my presence if I’d been leading the Badger marching band in a mass rendition of seventy-six trombones.

The thing that shocked me the most was that Jill Cooper was your basic Milwaukee housewife, a mousy little thing, slightly chubby with huge tits and stumpy legs. Nonetheless, judging from the racket going on behind me, Zach must’ve found hidden depths to plumb. And of course, THAT made me wonder whether he had done the same thing with any of the other wives in the group.

So, I confronted him the next day. He actually had the balls to laugh and tell me that he got a special kick out of back-dooring the other husbands. Zach’s wife was by far the hottest woman on the street. So, this kink wasn’t due to any lack of attention at home.

I said angrily, “That’s godawful thing to do!!”

He laughed derisively and said, “Every one of those dumb cunts is just looking to get fucked.” Hmmm, maybe the Neanderthals hadn’t died out after all.

I said incredulous, “You mean you’ve done this with other guy’s wives?”

He laughed heartily and said, “I’ve done MOST of them.” Then he started fumbling for his wallet, “Want to see pictures?”

OH MY GOD NO!! It might have been egotistical boasting – like it normally was. But then again, what were those women thinking if it wasn’t!!?

I said, with my stomach churning, “Lucy wasn’t one of your conquests?”

He gave me a sneer and said, “Not yet.”

I said threateningly, “You’d better keep it that way if you want to stay healthy.” He just laughed. I couldn’t look Jill Cooper in the eye from that day forward.

I told Lucy that I wanted her to stay away from shithead. I couldn’t tell her why. Otherwise, I would have had to explain Zach’s little hobby, and I hadn’t decided what to do about THAT yet.

I knew that justice was required. But the means of obtaining it was something that I wanted to weigh carefully. Keeping my mouth shut would make me complicit. But I also knew that spreading the word too precipitously would destroy more than a few families.

Lucy said indignantly, “You don’t have to act so jealous, just because Zach’s more successful than you are.” That had been her attitude for some time. It didn’t hurt as much as it did at first.

I added, “ ... And we aren’t going to any more parties either.”

Well, that was like telling my wife that I was forbidding her to breath. She said angrily, “I’m not going to let your paranoid delusions spoil things for me. If you don’t want to hang around with our friends, then just go be a hermit. But I’m going to live my life and be happy.”

Hence, the following Saturday night she came flouncing downstairs in her standard party outfit, tight shorts, and a sleeveless top. I was reading a Dan Brown novel with the Brewers game in the background. She gave me a defiant stare and said, “I’ll be back by eleven o’clock and marched out the door.”

I was still reading when she arrived back at 10:45. She said casually, “I had fun and I’m no worse for wear.” I glanced up. She was standing there looking at me appraisingly.

She turned quickly and said, ‘I gotta take a shower. Are you coming to bed?”

I said, “I’ll be up in a minute, just gotta find out whether they eventually get to the Grail.” She was sawing logs when I slid under the covers.

I got lucky that morning, which was something of a rarity. Normally Lucy’s off fixing breakfast. I awoke to the feeling of a hand snaking down my stomach. She began to lightly stroke my favorite appendage and it sprang to attention like it was on titanium springs.

Lucy didn’t have much more than sippy cups with long sensitive nipples. In fact, they’re so sensitive that she wouldn’t normally let me touch them. But today she was rubbing them all over my chest, gasping with the sensation as she brought me to full mast.

I stretched, the way you do when you wake up and as I did so, she threw one beautifully muscled thigh over my hips and mounted me. I immediately slid into a vat of boiling lava. It was so unlike Lucy that I actually checked to see if she might have been replaced in the night by a succubus.

Lucy threw her head back, braced her hands on my chest and began to gallop at breakneck speeds. Her hips were almost a blur as she worked herself into a frenzy of moaning. Then suddenly, she grunted and went rigid, her mouth was wide open staring at the ceiling. She shrieked a couple of times and then she collapsed on my chest, panting. It was almost like she’d experienced an orgasm.

The whole thing lasted perhaps four minutes. During that time, I was more bewildered than engaged and I hadn’t come close to finishing. I was planning to roll her onto her back as soon as she caught her breath. But the instant she recovered she disengaged, saying frantically, “I have to pee.”

I just lay there shocked, contemplating her incredible round ass as it disappeared in the distance. There was an obstacle blocking my view. So, my next task was to knock that skyscraper down. I cleaned up and went downstairs to fix breakfast. I felt so used.

Lucy was perfectly normal when she appeared again. It was like whoever had been inhabiting her body had checked out. I waited for her to say something. But she just tucked into her granola and yogurt.

I said, “Not complaining, but what brought that on?”

She looked up and said perfectly blasé, “You didn’t like it?”

I was in a rock and a hard place. My wife hadn’t been that enthusiastic in the entire time I’d known her. So, I was pretty sure that this morning was inspired by something other than renewed passion for our marriage. But I couldn’t ask her what HAD motivated her. At least not yet. I needed more information.

Then it hit me, she was giving me a benediction!! I even had an idea why. But at that point it was just a suspicion. So, to buy time I said, “You’re kidding, right?”

The concept of true love has been kicked around for a few millennia and nobody can really define it. The best anybody can do is to tell you that you’ll know it when you experience it. But that’s a bait and switch because you’ll have to feel it to know it? Which leads me to the notion of marriage.

Alone is not a natural human state. Which is probably the reason why young people sign up for a lifetime commitment based on minimal experience and very little actual knowledge of each other. The decision might be motivated by what they think of as “love.” But it’s more likely just unbridled lust combined with peer pressure. Whatever the reason, it rarely involves a long-term plan.

That was our situation. Lucy was handy when my timer went off, and it seemed like the thing to do. Lucy knew what career I was preparing for, but she married me anyhow. Maybe she thought she could change me. If so, she chose unwisely.

Hence, it was evident throughout our time together that I wasn’t fulfilling Lucy’s hazy expectations and she eventually deemed that sufficient grounds for divorce. Of course, I had my own suspicions and those would have definitely put me on the moral high ground. But I never had time to prove it.

I came back from class that Monday, to discover her sitting at the dinner table with two glasses of wine and a big manilla envelope. She said matter of fact, “We need to talk.” Yikes!! The four little words that, when combined with the three at the front, bookend a broken marriage.”

Some of you might’ve experienced heartsickness, or anger, or gone through some sort of profound emotional trauma. I don’t know what species of weirdo I might be. But my only reaction was relief. She’d pulled the trigger first. So, the onus was on her.

Hence, it was with some satisfaction that I sat down opposite her and said, “I agree. All I want is as little blood shed as possible.”

When you have no kids and you are living week-to-week on two roughly comparable salaries, divorce is a reasonably painless process. Accordingly, for the low-low-price of twelve hundred bucks the two of us more-or-less shook hands and went our separate ways.

And coincidentally ... shortly thereafter Bob Cooper, who had started for the Badgers on the defensive line all four years at Wisconsin, beat the absolute living shit out of Zach Oldendork. You might speculate that I had something to do with that ... I couldn’t possibly comment.

Lucy married Douchebag Two MD and was divorced three years later. It was ironic really. Apparently, her husband had a problem with fidelity. Isn’t karma a bitch? I sent her a note of commiseration – Hell yeah!! I just LOVE sarcasm!!

But truthfully, I could have cared less about the woman. I knew I’d never loved her. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I liked her. That’s a hell of a thing to discover when you’ve wasted ten years on somebody.

Did the cratering of my marriage cause me to doubt myself? Fuck no!! I felt absolutely nothing, which might be the most telling reaction of all. I was probably subconsciously aware that marrying the woman was a mistake and any sensible person would just move on. The problem was that I didn’t have the imagination or guts to do what needed to be done ... at least, until she forced my hand.

Books, movies, and TV all push the hopelessly romantic notion that we deserve happiness. But the truth is life’s random. We ricochet off each other like so many cosmic billiard balls and satisfaction is just a scratch-off ticket in a karmic lottery. In Lucy’s case I was neither lucky, nor wise. But I DID have a fresh start and I was only forty.

That was what led me to that particular honkytonk in the wilds of Wisconsin.

Skipper had stumbled on her husband porking his secretary. As a result, her marriage had ended with a bang not a whimper. And predictably, financial Armageddon followed. So, the best Skipper could do was a trailer park in Paul Bunyan country. She fit in better out there anyhow.

We’d gotten together when I stopped by to express my condolences while she was moving out of her recently repossessed house. That led to the discovery – right there on the floor of her empty living room - that Skipper had hidden talents. She was an absolute beast and by the fifth-year post-divorce I was living proof that practice makes perfect. We both enjoyed the experience immensely.

I was astounded by Skipper’s body. I’d always thought of her as the skinny lady next door. But a naked Skipper was long limbed and lithe. I knew that she had a fine little ass in the tight jeans she lived in. But I had no idea that she was keeping a huge pair of wonderfully shaped titties under the cheap blouses that are de rigueur for lower middle-class women.

More importantly, absolutely nothing was off the table with Skipper. So, we spent an exhausting but highly productive Saturday afternoon getting to know each other - notwithstanding the serious rug burns. Afterward, we both lay on our backs panting. Then she flopped over, mashed one of her pillow tits on my chest, kissed me hard and said, “Let’s go get some dinner and we can do it again.”

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I had known a lot of women by that point. But I never knew one with a finer body, or a more fervent approach to sex. There were no kinks or tricks with Skipper, just power-fucking in any odd place - cars, restaurants, even a golf course there was nowhere off limits. All I had to do was ask.

I was pretty sure Skipper thought she was lining me up as husband number two and she might have had a shot, her body and sexual skills were superb. But like I said, she wasn’t that bright, and she told me far too many stories.

I mean, what would you think when a woman you’re with tells you that she met some guy at a party, and he wanted to take her to Miami for the weekend? STDs weren’t such an issue back then and Skipper had her advantages. But the thought never crossed my mind that she was anything but entertainment.

Most nights she would drive in to my place. But she was in retail sales, and she had been on her feet all day. I was feeling the need. So, I drove out to her trailer park and took her to the joint across the road. I mean, I’m a classy gent. I didn’t want to make it look like too blatant a booty call.

I had to admit that the place had decent bar burgers and the beer was cheap. Still, while I was sitting there admiring the sheer tackiness of mounted deer haunches, I was waiting for one of the locals to mosey over and ask me, “You ain’t from around these parts, are you stranger?”

Skipper was full of herself. She said, “My friend from the Truck Stop,” that was a novel name for a cheap diner, “Just got a divorce and I want you to fix her up with one of your friends.”

I thought, “Great, another slut’s on the market.” But I knew better than to say that out loud. So instead, I said, “I can probably find somebody. What’s she like?”

Skipper said, “She’s a little younger than we are but she’s really nice and very artistic.”

I don’t know how women think. So, I wasn’t sure whether Skipper was INTENTIONALLY using guy code to tell me that her friend was an ogre. But I DID know that I had just the right person for her.

I worked with a fellow who must have spent his entire childhood stuffed in a locker. His name was Marvin Finkbine, and he was a nebbish. Professionally, he was so far into the theoretical that he rarely made appearances in the real world. Socially, his only aim was to be as incomprehensible as possible. But he was from a rich Jewish family, and I thought he’d be a perfect match.

Hence, we arranged to double-date to a Beach Boys concert. Of course, by that stage in their career they should have been styling themselves as the Beach Geezers - but I digress. Anyhow, Marvin was the guy with the money, so I let him buy the tickets.

Marvin and I lived in the city, and the girls lived in the sticks. So, we arranged to meet them at a park-and-ride outside town and then drive them to the venue. Marvin and I drove separate, and the two girls came in Skipper’s friend’s car. Skipper planned to spend the night with me. Her ugly friend was going to drive her skanky ass back home by herself.

Marvin and I arrived at the appointed hour and of course the girls were late. So, we whiled away the time standing outside our cars. We didn’t talk. Marvin just stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring up at the darkening sky - probably searching for his home planet.

Then, I saw a battered F-150 swing onto the rest stop apron. That had to be them. I was dying to meet the poor little troll. Marvin was going to be her first post-divorce date. I almost felt sorry for her.

Maybe I’m self-centered. Or maybe I’m just an immature nerd. Whatever the reason, I’d laughed at the fools who are held hostage by women. Women make you vulnerable and I was too smart for that. Hell, I’d even skated on a first marriage. Which was probably the reason why the fates chose that particular point in time to teach me a brutal lesson about hubris.

The F-150 pulled to a stop, a woman got out, and all of my adolescent prattling about life and love blew up in my face. Like every cynic, I’d scorned the notion of love at first sight. I mean – it’s absurd, right? Nobody just sees another person and forms an instant deep-seated attraction. But there, was no denying what my heart already knew. This was the woman for me!!

Her thick auburn hair framed a face of lush beauty. She had high cheekbones, huge hazel eyes, and a wide full mouth. She was dressed in nothing revealing, a cheap woman’s coat with an oxford shirt and jeans. But I could see that she had a body to die for – round hips, tiny waist and did I mention her tits?!! I like big boobs and this woman was in an elite class rarely seen outside the pages of Playboy.

My first reaction was a pang of intense longing, followed shortly thereafter by a thunderbolt of agony as I realized that I had just fixed up the love of my life with Marvin fucking Finkbine!! The feeling of jealousy was so intense that it almost buckled my knees.

Skipper, of course, was totally oblivious to the firestorm raging in my heart. So, she sashayed up, and gave me a possessive hug and kiss, which almost got her shoved. She said, “I want to introduce Billie Starnes. Billie, this is my soon-to-be fiancé.”

Fiancé ... Where did THAT come from??!! I glanced at Billie, who was looking nervous as hell, eyes darting back and forth between me and Marvin. For his part, Marvin looked like a hunting dog, practically standing on point.

I wanted to drop to one knee and propose marriage. But I wasn’t QUITE that nuts. So, I summoned every ounce of strength and said in an astonishingly calm voice, “Happy to meet you, Billie. Skipper has told me a lot about you.” I didn’t add that most of it was misrepresentation.

Billie said, in a very sensual contra-alto voice, “Skipper has been bragging about her new man for weeks and I was looking forward to meeting you too.”

Really??!! Seriously??! Bragging about her new man!!?? Isn’t THAT interesting??!! I felt like somebody’d dropped one of those cartoon safes on my head. Even the woman’s voice gave me a stiffy.

At that point Marvin pushed himself forward. I didn’t blame him. I regrouped enough to say in a slightly choked voice, “This is Marvin. He’s your date for tonight.”

The way I said it might have implied, “For tonight and tonight only,” because all three of them looked at me funny. This was definitely not my finest hour.

I was still trying to get my balance back. So, I said maybe a bit too brightly, “Well ... don’t want to miss the show so we’d better get going.” They all looked at me again. Was I being that transparent?!!

I drove a Mustang. Of COURSE, I drove a Mustang, and Marvin drove a Corolla, which was actually a little sporty for his image. I knew the best way to the venue, so they followed me.

I could see them sitting together in the front seat chatting amiably. In fact, I spent so much time watching them in the rearview mirror that I nearly got us killed. Skipper was filling the car with her usual inane chatter, which usually never bothered me. But tonight, was like fingernails on a blackboard.

We got to the venue and parked and the two of them walked over looking like a couple. My jealousy meter spiked, and I actually got a metallic taste in my mouth. It was an outdoor venue, so I gulped and said, “Find us a seat and I’ll get us something to drink.”

They were sitting together chatting in a far too friendly fashion when I reappeared juggling four Solo cups full of beer. This was Milwaukee after all.

I was coming up the empty row in front of them when Billie laughed delightedly at something Marvin had said and TOUCHED HIM ON THE ARM!! It was the universal gesture that every woman uses to establish intimacy. Oh Lord have mercy!! I nearly dropped the beers.

I was fumbling with them when Billie leapt to her feet and said concerned, “Here, let me help you.” I got a whiff of her perfume. It evoked images of leaping flames, dancing savages and obscene midnight rituals. I must have gotten the same buggy-eyed stare that the coyote gets when he realizes he’s just run off the cliff, because Billie gave me a puzzled glance.

So, there I was, the hippest predator in the jungle, acting like a teenage boy and there was Marvin the nerd looking cooler than DiCaprio himself. It was fucking humiliating. Billie took hers and then I made a point of handing a beer to Marvin and Skipper. I was determined to make a comeback.

We sat in descending order. I was the tallest. So, I was on the aisle, Skipper was next, then Marvin and Billie. Skipper was posing as the alpha bitch. To make that point, she kept resting her hand possessively on my knee, which was when I realized how women must feel when a guy who they aren’t attracted to keeps touching them. Heavens!! Tonight, was just a cornucopia of excruciating new insights.

I really didn’t hear the concert. I was too revved up by jealousy. There was no logical reason for feeling that way. But I nearly lost it when Billie leaned into Marvin to say something. It was noisy and hard to hear. But really??!! seriously??!!

Skipper wasn’t helping by coiling herself around me like a climbing vine. It was as if this particular moment was the high point of her post-divorce world. Skipper’s life wasn’t easy, and I should have been more sympathetic. Nevertheless, I was in a place where I was NOT thinking clearly.

My fevered state became much more of an issue after the show. The venue was a natural bowl in a larger park north of Route-18, just outside of Milwaukee. It had once been an estate and there were grounds you could walk. So, instead of heading for the parking lot with the rest of the herd Skipper suggested that we follow a little trail into the surrounding woods.

Skipper was in front I was drifting back behind her trying to walk with Billie and Marvin was trailing. We hadn’t gone twenty yards into the trees when Skipper stopped abruptly, turned, threw her arms around my neck, and gave me a tongue swapping kiss.

I was astonished and so I went with the program. Then it dawned on me that the other two were probably doing the same thing right behind me. I broke the kiss, maybe a bit hastily, and turned to see where they were, and they’d DISAPPEARED!!

Skipper gave me a flirty smile and said, “I thought that the two of them could use a little alone time and maybe we could find something to do while we wait - lover.”

The girls must have arranged it in advance. Skipper and I had already fucked in a park, in a sand dune, and on a dock. Now she wanted to add “forest” to her list. The problem was that I wasn’t going to let my future wife fall into the horny clutches of Marvin fucking Finkbine. I said - trying to disguise how upset I felt, “We can’t do that HERE. We’ve gotta find them and get home.”

I figured we could just walk back along the path and find them making out a little further down. The mere thought of us stumbling on the two of them canoodling was killing me. But I knew that Billie had kids. So, she would most likely drive back once I wrestled them apart.

To my dismay and utter panic, we got back to the venue, and they were nowhere to be found!! Okay – so perhaps the term “manhunt” is a bit of an exaggeration. But the search for the Lindbergh baby was no doubt less frantic.

I dragged Skipper everywhere looking for them. Most women would’ve been insulted by my zeal, but Skipper seemed to think that my frenzy was caused by my eagerness to sample her charms. It was pitch dark and I was just about at the end of my rope when they sauntered out of the trail holding hands. Billie’s hair was a little mussed. But she didn’t look well-fucked ... Thank God!!

I said accusingly, “We’ve been hunting for you for over an hour.” Skipper, who was still under the impression that my interest in finding them was due to my impatience to fuck her added, “Yeah! Where did you go?”

Billie said innocently, “Marvin was showing me around the venue. He’s been here before.” I calmed down. That is, until I noticed the collection of pine needles and twigs that had accumulated on the back of Billie’s jacket and in her hair. THAT nearly gave me a coronary. Marvin just looked smug.

Skipper was particularly demanding that night. She was never the sharpest knife in the drawer. But she must have sensed the disturbance in the force. So, when she called Billie the next morning, she made a point of telling her that she was sitting next to me in bed. Billie told her that she had just driven home after Marvin dropped her off.

I wanted to wring Skipper’s neck for pulling that stunt. But at least she’d confirmed that my future wife wasn’t an alley cat, whatever she and Marvin were doing in the woods. And THAT was something that I didn’t even want to contemplate.

Once I’d disposed of Skipper, I did some heavy thinking. Everybody has phobias. Mine mostly involved commitment. Why? I have no freaking idea ... maybe I’m just strange. But I got claustrophobic if my personal freedom was threatened.

So, I chose teaching because it gave me loads of free time without supervision and tenure gave me job security. I chose Lucy because I knew I could walk away from her. Then I’d flitted from womanly flower to womanly flower, like a happy honey bee. It was a pleasant and sensible life, if not a bit complacent and self-serving.

Then SHE came along, and I started doing stupid things. The dumbest being that I’d happily give up my precious liberty to be with her. If THAT was love - then I didn’t want any part of it.

My immediate problem was that I’d handed Marvin a quitclaim to the only woman I’d ever be willing to take a chance on. So, I couldn’t launch a full court press to get her back unless I wanted to put myself in the same category as every other douchebag who pulls that kind of shit.

Instead, I was doomed to ride the emotional rapids. And yes, I was feeling very sorry for myself. Which further reinforced my belief that love is a virus. Skipper benefitted from my obsession because I spent a lot of time with her, covertly pumping her for information. That was when she hit me upside the head with a two-by-four.

We were sitting in the same joint across the road when she said with a lascivious twinkle in her eye, “Your friend Marvin’s going to get lucky tonight.”

I took a moment to pop open another Miller, down it in a few big gulps, and belch loudly. That bought me the time that I needed to get myself back under control.

I tried to keep the anguish out of my voice as I said, “What did you just say!!?”

Skipper said airily, “Billie and Marvin have gone out several times now, and she thinks she’s ready to take it to the next level.”

The thought of the love of my life and Marvin the nerd making the two-backed-beast almost caused me to yak on the genuine dirt floor. But Skipper, who truly was clueless, wasn’t done yet. She nodded at a big guy in a John Deere shit-kicker hat and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s Leon. Billie’s head-over-heels in love with him.” I tried not to look too appalled.

Skipper prattled on, “She knows there’s no future since he’s married, and his wife’s family owns the farm they’re on. That’s why she’s lining up Marvin as a potential husband. But she and Leon still get together frequently.”

Just what I needed to hear!! The woman who I was hopelessly in love with was regularly fucking the married guy next door, while grooming Marvin the nebbish for the role of potential husband. Could it get any worse??!! Of COURSE, it could!!

Skipper misread my pained expression. She laughed and said, “You shouldn’t look so skeptical. Billie’s really hot. Leon brags all the time about what a great fuck she is.” Oh Lordy. Lordy!!! The resounding clunk was my heart hitting the floor.

I took a second to get my sanity back. Then I said trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, “So, you’re telling me that Billie’s a little slutty?”

Skipper looked angry for the very first time since I’d known her. She said indignantly, “Do you think I’M slutty?” I thought, “no comment” but I said, “Of course not. We’re both single and we both like sex.”

She added huffily, “Leon went after Billie, not the other way around. He was at her place the minute her divorce was finalized.”

She finished with, “Billie’s a normal woman and she loves sex, Plus, Leon can be very persuasive.” I got the impression that Skipper was speaking from personal experience.

I thought to myself, “What the fuck’s wrong with you, DUDE!!? Billie’s a total stranger. What she does with her sex life is none of your business ... yet!! But still, that last tidbit made me feel like I was being boiled in oil.

Skipper looked at me oddly, she had been doing that a lot lately, and continued, trying to sound reasonable, “You know what divorce does to a woman’s self-esteem. Billie loved her husband and he fucked around on her. So of course, she’s insecure. Leon played on that.”

Damn!! I am SUCH a judgmental asshole ... I said chastened. “You know what ... I’m sorry. I had no right to say anything like that.”

It was just the jealousy talking. It was too frustrating. I mean, I’d handed Billie to Marvin. It wasn’t like anybody held a gun to my head. It was my choice. So now, I had to live with the consequences. Talk about conflicted!!

Then, there was Skipper. I’d never given her even a hint of a commitment. But I WAS regularly fucking her. That had to mean something. She got a proper railing that night because I couldn’t stop thinking about Billie getting the same treatment from Marvin. Yes, I admit it, I was beginning to have serious concerns about my sanity.

Nonetheless, I tracked Marvin down the next day. By that point I was getting really used to hitting my thumb with a hammer. He hung out in the faculty cafeteria where he liked to lecture the folks around him about the intriguing nuances of Bayesian theory. So, most of our colleagues gave him a wide berth.

I was studying him as I approached. He seemed more relaxed than usual!! That was a very bad sign. I pulled out the opposite chair, sat and said, “So how’re you and Billie doing?” He gave me his usual look, which resembles that of a bookish sheep, and said, “Oh, fine.”

That wasn’t what I was asking him. So, I said more significantly, “Getting any my friend?” Wink-wink ... you know how us guys talk.

He just gave me an enigmatic smile and went back to eating. Okay, THAT killed me, but I’d gotten my question answered. So now it was time to make my getaway. There was a noose waiting for me at home. I said, “Gotta run ... Just checking in.”

I was starting to stand when Marvin said nonchalantly, “She told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore.” Did I just hear a choir of angels?

I said, “Whut?” Okay, it wasn’t clever, but I was simply too stunned.

Marvin said, “Her kids were at her mom’s, and we had sex last night.” I’d known it was coming but the anguish was still hard to bear.

He added, “Afterward, she told me that it wouldn’t work out between us. How can a person be intimate with somebody one minute and then just decide to go their separate way the next?”

I’d learned a lot in my five years on the mean streets of single life and I knew that sexual performance is a deal breaker. Marvin had obviously struck out, thank God!! I said, “Well, it’s better you found out now, rather than after you’ve invested a lot of time in the relationship.”

Marvin said plaintively, “I was ALREADY invested. She has an incredible body and she’s a fantastic lover.” I didn’t need to hear that. But like I said, Billie’s sex life was none of my business - YET.

When it came to women, I’d never done a preemptive thing in my life. There are way too many of them in the sea and my ego is pretty fragile. I mean seriously, it’s a long walk back to the dugout after you’ve struck out. So, I relied on the fates to just plop willing partners in my lap.

I mean really, the effort that you’ve gotta put into finding a mate cuts into your “me” time. And I wasn’t looking for lasting relationships, just amusement. That might sound egotistical and self-serving, to-which I plead... “Guilty!!” Because HELLO!! ... I’m a guy.

Hence, I’d go out with any woman if she was reasonably presentable, Skipper being a perfect case in point. All-in-in all it was an enjoyable life full of exploration and new conquests. Then the celestial joker dealt me Billie Starnes and my whole view of life and love turned around a-hundred-and-eighty degrees.

I knew instantly that Billie was the brass ring. How? I don’t know ... I just knew. And I would regret it for the rest of my days if I didn’t grab for it.

So, that evening I took a trip out to the Truck Stop. I was aware that it was a bad move tactically - particularly given the circumstances. But I didn’t care. I needed to get the ball rolling.

It was a long drive for crappy food. But that wasn’t the appetite that I was seeking to satisfy. The reality was that I didn’t know much about Billie; whilst she was perhaps overly aware that I was fucking her friend. And in the same vein, let’s not forget that I would also be tunnel buddies with Marvin if I succeeded. Those were seriously daunting odds.

The old me would have never even considered doing something that up-front and risky. But there was no talking my libido into behaving sensibly.

The Truck Stop was a classic ptomain palace, tacky brick, and chrome with windows around three sides. The clientele was decidedly lower middle class like the rest of rural Wisconsin. So, there were a few pickups and some motorcycles, plus the usual collection of high milage family sedans.

The people inside were the church-going set, salt-of-the-earth in various styles of denim and flannel. The men wore beards and the women sported intricate tattoos, all proclaiming that the possessor was a “unique” and “special” individual, even though they essentially merged into a mishmash of bad hair and blue ink.

I’d taken a second to find Billie’s area and I grabbed a prime booth. She hadn’t seen me arrive. So, she got a shocked look as she approached, which was followed shortly thereafter by one of wariness.

I said brightly, “My, my, what a lovely coincidence running into you.”

She said, suspiciously, “What are YOU doing here?”

I gave her a smile that showed all my teeth and said, “To eat, of course. So, what’s good?”

She kicked into waitress mode. She said, “The BLTs aren’t bad, neither are the salads. But the steak is the best thing on the menu.” She was looking at me with a truly puzzled expression as she talked. It was like she was trying to figure out what I was up to.

I said, attempting to sound debonair, “Well, steak it is then. Just unscrew the hooves and sashay it past the stove.” She looked like she didn’t think I was funny.

I admired her incredible beauty as she bustled around waiting on tables. She was wearing her standard outfit, a white oxford shirt and jeans. It clearly wasn’t supposed to be sexy. But it showcased her extreme curves and every male in the place was staring lustfully at her.

I was amazed that such a gorgeous woman would be waitressing in the wilds of eastern Wisconsin. But you can’t dictate where you’re born and the people you’re born to. There are very few talent-scouts in the tall timber of Hicksville. So, you end-up where your social and economic limitations put you and that’s rarely the cover of Sports Illustrated – which was where Billie belonged.

Realistically though, I’d only seen Billie once in the flesh, and it’d been a very uncomfortable situation, a blind date. She had been a lot more reserved then. Now, she was a powerful presence, clearly very intelligent. She sparkled with energy and good humor as she engaged the regulars in constant banter and witty give and take. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She caught me staring a couple of times and looked disgusted. Finally, she brought out my meal and more-or-less dumped it in front of me. Then she just marched off. She’d stopped to joke with every other customer.

The steak was hideous. I have no idea what cut it was. But it must have worn a saddle in its previous life. Even worse, the only reason I was there was to break the ice and that was clearly not happening. I’d wanted to build some rapport. But Billie was busy serving people and she was actively ignoring me.

Drat!! This wasn’t working out like I expected.

I’d finished eating and was sitting there nursing a beer, wracking my brain for a good opening line. I’m not usually tongue-tied around women. But the pressure of taking the first step had muddled my thinking. Like I said, love, lust, or whatever it is, turns you into an utter fool.

It was late in the evening, and the place was nearly empty. Billie said something to another waitress and then stalked in my direction. She looked grim. I got an uneasy feeling.

She plopped into the booth opposite and sat there for a full fifteen seconds just staring at me frowning. Finally, she said angrily, “Really!!?? Seriously??!! You think I would go behind my friend’s back.”

Okay, game on! I’d guessed that she might view my miraculous appearance that way. The girl code is a mystery to us testosterone bearing animals. But the principle is still the same. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s boyfriend. And I was prepared to address it.

I said, “You’ve clearly guessed why I’m here. I know that you and Marvin have broken up. So, I just wanted to talk.”

She said irate, “How do you know that?!!”

I said mildly, “He told me at lunch.”

She said sulkily, “We were never that serious. But I thought I’d take a chance. He was a decent guy. There aren’t many of those around these days.” She was making the point that she I wasn’t on the “decent guy” list.

I said, “I want to change your opinion about me. You’ve only gotten Skipper’s side. Let me tell you mine.” Her beautiful face wrinkled in a frown. She really had deep intelligent hazel eyes.

I said, “You think I’m a creep because I’m pursuing you behind my fiancé’s back, right?”

It didn’t take a fortune teller to make THAT connection. I continued with, “In fact, Skipper and I have never had anything other than a friends-with-benefits arrangement. She’s single, I’m single and we have sex.”

Billie looked shocked and then angry. She said, “You’re lying ... Skipper told me that you are totally in love with her and the only obstacles preventing her from accepting your proposal are her other suitors. She’s trying to decide which one of you to choose.”

I thought to myself, “That lying little bitch!!” Still, it made dumping her a whole lot easier.

I said, trying not to sound pissed, “To your knowledge, have I ever taken Skipper anywhere except that concert?”

Billie said, “No, but she told me that that’s because you can’t afford it.”

I laughed and said, “I’m leaving for England the week after next. Does that sound like somebody who can’t afford to take the love of his life out for an occasional meal?”

She said weakly, “But you asked her to marry you.” For the first time she looked a little uncertain.

I laughed again and said, “I’ve never made a single commitment to Skipper, or even as much as used the L-word in her presence. I understand that her divorce messed her up. But we were never going to be anything other than fuckbuddies. I made that clear to her from the start and I resent her making it seem otherwise.”

Billie just sat there looking beautiful and confused. She said, “I’ve heard about you, and I don’t believe you. You’re just telling me that to add me to your long list of conquests.” Fair assumption and perhaps justified, but not true in this case.

I said, “Ask Skipper to tell you what we do together. How do we kill time during the many loving hours that we spend with each other? You’d think there’d be a lot of happy memories, wouldn’t you? At least, if I planned to marry the woman. Well, I’ll tell you what; you aren’t going to get an honest answer out of her because none of that ever happened.”

I finished with, “I can’t explain it, but I’m very attracted to you, and I think you might be to me. I know that we could be happy together.” Then I added meaningfully, “Just to let you know. I plan to break up with Skipper no matter what you decide. I don’t like the stories she’s been telling.”

Billie grimaced and said, “That will kill her.”

I shrugged and said, “All’s fair - my beautiful friend. I never told Skipper to invent the bullshit that she’s been handing you. You’re the woman I want and it’s better that I end it with Skipper now rather than string her along any further. Wasn’t that what you told Marvin?”

That last shot hit home - HARD. I could see the gears turning behind her exquisite eyes. She was really a very bright person. How could somebody that smart end up a divorced waitress in a backwoods hash house? I wanted to explore that further.

I finished with, “Once I get back from the UK I would very much like to get to know you better. Serious romance is my goal. But I’m going to leave the final choice up to you. Here’s my number. Call me if you want to take a chance on us. You won’t regret it. Because I’ve never been more sincere in my life.”

Where did THAT come from!!?? I meant it. But it was a long way from the fanatical lone wolf that I once was. I knew putting the decision in Billie’s hands was a big gamble given the stakes. But she would have to trust me before she’d roll the dice on love. So, I had to let her decide.

I rose, gave her a meaningful look to underscore my sincerity and walked out of the diner without another word. I drove the hour back to my place feeling both anxious and exhilarated.

I think it was Samuel Johnson who said, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” That was an opinion that I shared with old Sam. So, I did a teaching gig every summer at Imperial College in South Kensington. Between the pub life and the English girls, I always looked forward to the trip.

This year however, I had extra motivation to get out of town. I’d ended it with Skipper. I suppose she had her dreams, like every other desperate person. But they weren’t even remotely rooted in reality and prolonging them was just digging the hole deeper.

Thus, I sucked it up and told her that I was moving on. Predictably she didn’t take it well. It didn’t seem fair for me to have to suffer deep pangs of guilt for ending what was essentially a booty call. However, it was still heartrending listening to her cry.

I told her that I thought she was a wonderful, good-hearted person and she deserved somebody who was serious about coupling up with her. But that just wasn’t me.

In the end, it was a cautionary tale about misinterpreting relationships. I never had feelings for Skipper except lust. But I’m a dude. I’d fooled myself into believing that women can be intimate and not form attachments.

And let me stop you right there!! ... I know what you’re thinking and I’m not totally delusional. I was fully aware that I was building the same fantasy house of cards with Billie Starnes, and yes indeed, it DID make me very nervous. But I knew that I had to take the chance. Because I couldn’t picture life without the woman. That was how hopelessly unrealistic I’d become. The sensible me was appalled.

The phone call came in as I was packing to leave town. It was the watershed moment of my life. I didn’t recognize the number and I almost didn’t pick it up. When I did, I heard a tentative voice say, “I’m ready to talk.”

I laughed out loud, which was very bad form given that Billie’d just put her heart on the line. But who else but me would get the green light from the one person he’d ever wanted to be with, while packing to go away for a month? The irony killed me.

She’d already hung up when I put the receiver back to my ear. So, I quickly star-69’d her. She answered like she had been crying. My heart melted. I said desperately, “Oh My God!! I’m SO sorry!! It’s just that I’ve been waiting for you to call and I’m leaving town tomorrow. I reacted like I did because it was so ironic. Frustration’s the story of my life.”

She sniffed and said, “I know that you and Skipper have parted company and I’m ready to talk about a possible future. How long are you going to be gone?”

I said my voice dripping with regret, “A month.”

She said decisively, “Well it will have to be tonight then. Can you pick me up?”

I said eagerly, “I can be there in an hour.”

She said, “I need a little more time to arrange a sitter and you have to pack, right? So, make it two-and-a-half hours.” That would work fine. It was only four o’clock.

I pulled up in front of her neat little bungalow at precisely 6:30. It was at the end of a long driveway on a small dairy farm outside of Waukesha. It was a perfect reflection of the woman. The well-tended yard was full of summer flowers and the house itself was immaculate.

I rang the bell and was greeted by a little girl with all the promise of her mother’s beauty. She said graciously, “My name is Ally. Please come in.” She might be twelve, but she was handling this like she was an adult.

There was a boy standing behind her. She said, “This is Ronny. He’s, my brother. He’s nine.” The kid was big for his age. But very shy. He extended his hand like a man, and we shook. He blushed and said politely, “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

Okay, I understood that it was scripted for my benefit. But I was still impressed by the grace and sheer beauty of her kids. I walked into their spotless living room which was decorated with professionally done oil paintings.

The little girl said proudly, “Those are my mother’s. She’s very artistic.”

Now I knew that “artistic” wasn’t a dog-whistle for unattractive. How in the world could somebody that talented end up waiting tables in the wilds of Wisconsin?

A woman who was disturbingly close to my age was sitting in their dining area. I could see where Billie got her beauty. But as the cowboys say, life had ridden this one hard and put her up wet. I feared for Billie’s future.

The woman said in voice that could have been Billie’s if it hadn’t been wrecked by a lifetime of cigarettes and booze, “I’m Kath, Billie’s mom.”

I’d lived in the wild long enough to recognize a bar-skag when I saw one. Seriously??!! This woman was even giving me the classic, “Hi there sailor ... New in town” look. Some of the pieces of Billie’s life began to fall into place. Fortunately, Cinderella arrived at that point.

She’d gone all-out to make herself attractive, real makeup and hair. She was so eye-wateringly gorgeous that I actually stood there looking stunned. My-my ... how suave and debonair ... The woman could take me out of my game by just appearing in the room.

Billie was wearing a little black dress. It contrasted nicely with her thick auburn hair. It was modest. But it hugged her fabulous body and showed off her legs. It was the first time I’d seen those, and they were just as amazing as the rest of her.

Her round hips were also emphasized, and you couldn’t miss how tiny her waist was. But the two massive things underneath her top were awe inspiring. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. It was like viewing the Himalayas for the first time. I said awestruck, “You’re gorgeous!!”

Ronny added helpfully, “She made the dress herself.”

Allison said in her big sister voice, “Shut up rodent! He’s not supposed to know that!!”

I laughed and said, “She paints, she sews, I’d marry her if she could cook.”

Their two sweet faces registered sadness. I actually meant it as a joke. But from the look it seemed like both kids took me seriously.

Billie said gently, “He’s just kidding!” Then she turned to me and added, “They both miss having a man around the house.”

I said as kindly as I could, “Well, maybe I’ll be around more often once I get back from my trip. That is, if your mom lets me.”

Billie said seriously, “That’s what we need to talk about.”

I’m sure that every one of you has had memorable times, the moments when your life changes. The next four hours were mine.

I took Billie to Artisans, which is over on the shore of Lake Pewaukee, just a short drive from her place. I’d called ahead for reservations, and they had us in a window table. The sun setting across the lake would be a romantic counterpoint to our dinner.

Billie’s self-assurance was the first thing I’d noticed about her. I suppose being gorgeous your entire life makes you confident. But it was more than just knowing that she was the best-looking woman in any room. It was her fundamental intelligence. Billie’s personality was rock-solid-steady and controlled. That quality doesn’t fade with age.

We were both a little nervous, as we pulled out of her drive. So, just to make conversation, I asked her if she still did dairying. She told me that her ex-husband was the farmer and he’d taken the cows in the divorce. She said lightheartedly, “Good riddance. I hated the stupid, smelly things.”

That gave me the opening to ask the million-dollar question. Billie was not the kind of woman you would expect to find on a farm, and I was curious how she got there. I said casually, “How did you meet him?”

She grimaced and said, “I’m the oldest of three kids. My father was a shiftless skunk. He left early and of course you’ve met my mom.”

I said noncommittally, “Interesting woman.”

Billie laughed and said bitterly, “She’s an aging slut.” I kept my mouth shut.

Billie continued with, “Mom would leave us by ourselves to go out to bars. I was eight. So, I more-or-less raised my two siblings.” She paused and added wryly, “Needless to say, that restricted my social life. But it also made me want my own babies.”

She added, “I was planning on going to Waukesha Tech after I graduated. I’d been saving my entire teenagerhood and I did very well in school. So, I had a scholarship. But Brad hit on me that summer, while I was grocery shopping, and I was lost. I was eighteen. He was twenty-six.”

She added with regret in her voice, “He was just so good looking and persistent. I finally gave him my virginity. Once I did that my direction was set.”

I must have looked perplexed. She said, like it explained everything, “I’m Catholic.” I still looked puzzled, so she added,” I found the church by myself. I needed something spiritual.” I still didn’t get it, but I was a lot more rationalist than religious – probably something in the dogma.

She continued with, “I truly believed that I had to marry Brad because I’d had sex with him. But mainly it was my mother who pushed me into marriage.” Billie paused and looked sad, “I think she wanted to get rid of me.”

This was starting to sound more like Snow White than Cinderella. I could see the problem. Her mother couldn’t deal with her daughter’s emerging beauty. She had to be the “fairest of them all.”

Billie said, “Brad and I were happy for a while. But Allison came along and then there was Ronald and Brad just couldn’t take the chaos of raising children. So, he was out of the house a lot.”

I said, “What was he doing?”

She said, “At first, he was just hanging around with his buddies drinking. But he’d always come home and get up at five AM to start his chores. Then he began to stay out all night and he’d show up here at the usual hour.”

Oh-oh ... I gave her the look. She grimaced and said, “I realized what the bastard was up to. I ignored it for as long as I could but everybody in town knew that he was living with Linda Schulte. She didn’t have kids.”

Billie looked sad. Then she said furious, “I had him served at her apartment.”

I said sympathetically, “That must have been tough. You aren’t a farmer. How did you survive?”

She said, “Well, it’s only been four months and I’ve done what I had to do to support my children. I took the waitressing job because it was available. I work double shifts and I’ve been doing sewing on the side. We’ve managed to scrape by so far. I don’t know how long I can keep it up though. It’s frightening,”

I had a solution for her. But that was up the road, after my trip. I said questioningly, “Your ex must be paying a substantial amount of child support though, isn’t he?”

She laughed bitterly and said very matter-of-fact, “His family is well connected in this area, and his aunt runs the local Friend-of-the Court office. What do you think?”

I said astounded, “You’re doing this on your own!!?”

Billie made a sad face and said, “What choice do I have?”

We drove in silence for a while. I thought to myself, “That explains it. She might be a world class beauty. But she’s a single mom with two kids whose focus is on day-to-day survival. She’s got absolutely no friends, no education, or any real experience. Yet, she’s hanging on grimly, without a word of complaint.”

I admired Billie’s courage. But more importantly, I could see that a woman of enormous personal strength was lurking behind that wonderful face and figure. If there was ever any hesitation about what I had to do next, that made up my mind.

Once we were seated and the denizens of the restaurant had stopped craning their necks I said, “How did you learn to paint like that?” She gave a self-deprecating little laugh and said, “I just dabble. I’ve always been interested in art.”

That was an understatement. If depth and complexity of color were any criteria, the two paintings in her little living room should have been hanging in the Guggenheim.

I looked at her across the table. She was studying the menu while chewing on her lip. I said, “Do you want me to order for both of us?” She glanced at me gratefully and said, “I’ve never been in a place like this. Brad said that these kinds of restaurants were for rich losers.”

I ordered the sushi grade seared scallops for her and the pancetta for myself. Hers was a simple dish, easy to navigate. I also got a good bottle of Chenin Blanc.

Billie’s native intelligence let her quickly adapt to the situation. So, although she had never been in a fancy place like this, she seemed right at home by the time the sommelier appeared with the wine. We talked as we ate, and the comfortable give-and-take felt like we had been together forever.

Then I remembered that she had acted just as relaxed when she first met Marvin and my green-eyed monster reared its ugly head. I told myself not to be such an immature jerk. That was the past. This was the present. Honestly!! I needed to get over myself.

Compatible is a lazy and subjective word but that’s the way it was that magical evening. It was a strange phenomenon. It probably had something to do with our similar qualities and values. But by the time I’d paid the bill we were wrapped in a cocoon of intimacy that we both could sense.

There were public benches outside the restaurant, along the lakeshore. Billie took my hand as we walked over to watch the moon rise in the soft July night. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I looked at her lovely face and she appeared to be as puzzled as I was by our easy familiarity.

I had to say it, “I know that this is really just a first date and that we have an odd history. But I’ve never felt more comfortable with a person in my life.”

She gave me a sexy little sideways glance from underneath her bangs and said simply, “Me neither.”

She added quietly, but with a lot of underlying emotion, “So where do we go from here?”

I said, “I get on a flight to Heathrow at nine tomorrow morning. I’ve always looked forward to this trip. But NOW, my only interest is in building a relationship with you. So, this month-long hiatus is very scary and frustrating. I don’t want some other guy scooping you up while I’m gone.”

I was baiting a trap. I knew about Leon, and I was wondering what she would tell me. Her huge eyes got as big as the full moon rising in front of us. She said gravely, “There’s something that I need to tell you.” I thought, “Oh shit!! Here it comes!!”

She stared at me for a moment, like she was appraising me, and then said shamefaced, “I’ve been seeing a man. He’s a lot like Brad, big, crude, and aggressive. It’s just sex, like your situation was with Skipper. But he’s married.”

I think my misery was reflected in my face because she quickly added, “I’ve only been with two men since my divorce, Marvin, and him. You know about Marvin. So, I wanted to tell you about him too, just to lay all of my cards out on the table.”

I knew the story already. But it still killed me to hear it from Billie. At least she was up-front about it. I was starting to trust her.

She’d made an irrefutable point though. Sex is part of living and Billie was a healthy adult woman. Naturally she’d take advantage of a hunka-hunka-burnin-love who’d just appeared on her doorstep.

For my sanity’s sake I wanted to tell her to dump the guy. But the reality was that we were only on a first date, and I was about to swan off to Europe for a month. I wasn’t THAT delusional. Still, the idea of Billie banging the adulterer next door while I was in London sent me into fits of jealous frustration.

Yet, what could I do? It was too early in the relationship to start laying down rules about exclusivity. My God!! What an emotional mess!!

Billie read my look and said gently. “Honestly, my relationship with that other man has weighed on my conscience from the start. I think that you and I have something here. So, I will promise you this. I will break it off with him and be exclusively yours if you can guarantee the same thing.”

I laughed. Was that relief in my voice? I said, “As far as I’m concerned it will only EVER be you.” She gave me the sweetest kiss and said shyly, “Me too.”

My room at the college was in a dorm overlooking the Royal Albert Hall. It was right on the plaza so people attending the BBC Proms in the summer kept me awake smoking and talking underneath my window. Normally I’d be at those events. But I had happier prospects now, and so I was just serving my time until I could get back to the bright new future that I had in front of me.

The enforced distance helped me think about my life in a broader context. In retrospect I was painfully aware of the total lack of empathy that I’d shown for Skipper and all the other women I’d been with. It was never anything but “just sex” with them.

But then again, is there ever such a thing as, “just sex?” I mean, unless you’re a total psychopath, you don’t fuck somebody without getting a sense of their otherness, the noises they make, how they hold themselves. But what about their distinctive inner self, their individual hopes and desires, their fears, and aspirations? What did I know about those?

I had no idea how any of the women who I’d been with felt about life. But they all must have had those dreams. It reminded me how simple and egocentric I’d been. On the other hand, I truly sensed Billie’s innate self. That’s the distinction that being in love makes for a guy.

I felt the anxieties of a little girl growing up with the duties she had. I could sense her loving soul as she cared for her siblings. I could understand her longing and disappointment at not being able to lead the normal life of a teenager. And I could see her joy and eventual disillusionment as her marriage fell apart. More importantly, I understood what had made her into the person she was today.

My ability to walk a mile in Billie’s shoes was how I’d come to understand what loving somebody was all about. Now, my first thought wasn’t about the way something would affect ME. It was how it would impact US. Billie and I could face life together because we shared a common understanding about it.

The sense of our shared humanity made my past selfish ideas about life and love look shallow and short-sighted. Now, I could see that life with another person makes you exponentially stronger. It gives you a partner who you can trust and share things with and a cheerleader to encourage you. More importantly, you have somebody who’s willing to face the challenges of life together.

I think about Arctic Bison when I imagine the ideal marriage. Whoa!! Now THAT’s a bizarre analogy. I mean, what do a couple of thousand-pound herbivores have to do with life in suburbia?

Well – a bison’s natural predator is the wolf. So, how do two bison fight a wolfpack? Wolves always attack from behind. I mean seriously!! No wolf is going to challenge an animal that big and lethal head-on. So, each bison stands back-to-back horns pointed out at the encircling threat, protecting itself by protecting its partner.

Obviously, the two beasts have to have absolute trust in each other’s commitment to work in close harmony and stay united. But you’ll go a long way in life if you can find another human being who is willing to make a stand with you.

Hence, Billie might be a head-turner on the surface, but that was the least of her appeal to me. I knew that she was the one I could face the wolves with.

We wrote to each other off-and-on. But I was busy, and it was obvious that letter writing was not Billie’s forte. The woman I knew was smart and perceptive. But Billie had had just a minimal high school education and that was ten years previous. So, I got a couple of awkward letters in her childlike scrawl full of spelling errors and malaprops. I treasured every one of them.

Our primary means of communication was an overseas phone call. Every Monday and Friday I’d finish off class and head for the student union across the quadrangle. I’d grab a couple of pints and some pub food and read the Evening Standard from back to front. English newspapers have their sports section at the rear, and I was a Chelsea supporter.

I had to kill time because Billie worked a split shift lunches and dinners. So, her only window of availability was around four o’clock in the afternoon, which was 10PM my time. That was before cellphones were common. So, in the late evening I’d stroll down to the payphones along Queens Gate Road with a stack of coins.

Billie always sounded eager and a bit sad when she answered. I understood because I felt the same way. There was no time for deep conversation. That would be far too expensive. We just wanted to keep the flame burning. It was pitiful how needy we’d both become.

Then one dark Friday, her mother answered. I was disappointed. But there had been a few other times when Billie was called in to work or had something crop up.

Her mother was as hostile as ever, it had been obvious from the beginning that she was envious of her daughter. I said cheerily, “Hi, I was just giving Billie my usual Friday call.”

Her mother said, coldly, like she was passing along a message, “She’s on a date.” The meteor that ended the dinosaurs didn’t hit as catastrophically as those four words.

I thought I’d misunderstood her. So, I said, “Excuse me. I don’t think I heard that right.”

The mother said irritated, “I just told you. She’s out with a guy tonight, call back some other time.” And she hung up on me.

Out on a date ... well THAT was a kick in the nuts!! I’d actually sorta known that it was too good to be true.

I stood there for an embarrassingly long period staring dumbly at a dead receiver. Finally, I staggered over to a nearby bench, where I slumped down and put my head in my hands. It was my nightmare scenario, the one that I’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid. I’d been sure that Billie was my safe harbor. Well, I’d certainly fucked THAT up.

My mind shattered into three distinct pieces, all of whom were yelling recriminations at each other. The practical me slapped me upside-the-head and said, “No shit! You asshole. You had one date with the woman and laid your heart on the line based on WHAT??!! You’re a pathetic loser.”

The cynical part, the one I’d always suspected was my true self, sneered and said, “You trusted her stupid!! How many times do I have to tell you that there’s no such thing as a happy ending, or for that matter love at first sight? That’s all just bodice-ripper trash.”

Then the other part, the infantile one that I’m not proud of, yelled, “Shut the fuck up, both of you!! Women are just cunts. Never trust a bitch. They’re all liars.”

That argument raged on as I sat there in the hot London night, the sound of traffic and diesel fumes enfolding me. I finally rose and dragged myself painfully back up Queen’s Gate to Prince Consort Road and my dorm room bed. I lay on my back in the dark, hands clasped behind my head, and tried to work out what to do.

All I actually knew was that Billie went somewhere with a guy. That in-and-of-itself wasn’t really a violation of our exclusivity agreement. I mean, I spent every day with female students and quite a few evenings with women colleagues., which had been the source of “stimulating” times on prior visits.

Those conditions hadn’t changed. It was only my agreement to behave that had prevented any current shenanigans. Yet, Billie going out with another fellow sounded very suspicious.

The trouble with romance is that its emotions cloud your situational awareness. Maybe my thinking was colored by the fact that she’d been fucking the guy next door. But I knew what Billie’s life was like. It was work and childcare, not late afternoon excursions with men.

It had been a tough battle for me to hold the moral high ground for three weeks and a girl has needs. But I knew that I wouldn’t be understanding If Billie’d fallen. The logical thing to do would be to talk to her. But that wasn’t going to happen. She was six time zones behind me. I drifted off to sleep with my mind in turmoil. It was never supposed to be like this.

The next day was a Saturday. Oddly enough, I had tickets to watch the San Francisco 49ers play the Washington Redskins. I hear you asking really??! ... Well, the NFL was just starting to market to the Brits, and they were playing a pre-season game in London.

It was an overcast Saturday, great for football, not so great for my mood. I was making my way out of the quadrangle, past the porter’s office, when one of them flagged me down and said, “A call came in for you late last night. Here’s the message.”

The Bulldog handed me one of those ubiquitous pink message slips, which I absentmindedly stuffed in my backpack. I already had too much going on in my battered brain. Whatever it was - it could wait.

I walked down to the Gloucester Road Underground stop and took the Piccadilly up to the Jubilee at Green Park and was at Wembley a mere forty minutes later – easy, cheap, fast.

The Brits were still getting used to real football so most of the crowd, was gathered around the end zones, where the goals usually are. As a result, I had a prime seat on the fifty-yard line.

I’m from Wisconsin but I hate the Cheeseheads, and the 49ers are just too effete. But I’d worked in Sodom-and-Gomorrah-upon-the-Potomac enough that I thought I qualified for a Redskins jersey. Hence, I was proudly wearing the burgundy and gold with “7” “Theismann” on the back. I knew it was eons out-of-date. Still, it was cheap.

Two unanswered touchdowns and a pick-six later I was stuffing the jersey into my backpack to hide my shame. That was when the message fell out. Curious, I picked it up. It said, “CALL ME ANY TIME.” There was no call-back number. I didn’t need one.

I grabbed the backpack and streaked for the exit. The usher at the gate stopped me and said, “You can’t leave this way, sir.” I said, “I’m a doctor and I have to make an emergency call.” Well, I AM a doctor, just not the rich kind, and this was definitely an emergency. He stepped aside.

There was a phone box across the street from the stadium gate. I didn’t have change, so I ducked into the offy next door and gave the nice Pakistani gentleman ten pounds for eight pounds worth of silver. I didn’t want to run out of coins in the middle of the conversation. Then I dashed back out and dialed. It was seven o’clock in the morning in Wisconsin.

There were the usual squeaks, pops and clicks and I heard the ring. The phone was snatched up like the person on the other end had been sleeping on it. I heard her voice say eagerly, “Hello?”

I said, “It’s me. I got your message.” She burst into tears. There was a minute or so of crying while I fed half-crowns into the slot – WOMEN!!

Billie sniffled, “My mother told me what she did. She even laughed about it. She told me that you fell for it hook-line-and-sinker. She wants me to be as unhappy as she is. Please let me prove that I was at work. Peter will attest to it.” Peter was her boss, “And I can show you my time card.

Then there was a pause and she said in a strangled voice, like she didn’t know how I’d react, “I love you and I’ll always love you. I’ll be yours forever if you’ll have me.”

Do I hear an AMEN AND A HALLELUJA brothers, and sisters??!! I believed her. Hell yes, I did!! Poke Salad Annie’s mom comes to mind when I think of Billie’s mother, “A wretched, spiteful, straight razor totin woman - Lord have mercy.”

Still, it was the tone of Billie’s voice that absolutely convinced me. It was obvious that her confession of love came out of a profound fear of losing me.

So, in effect, no matter how much temporary heartbreak her ghastly mom had caused, she’d gotten me the one thing I most deeply desired. I was thinking that I owed the malicious old bitch a thank-you card, maybe even some flowers.

Any intelligent and sensible person would have reassured Billie ... told her that he trusted her and that he loved her. Me? I proved beyond a smidgen of a doubt that I’d completely lost my mind. Because the first words out of my mouth were, “Will you marry me?” OH MY!!!

Where the fuck did THAT come from?!! That was so NOT who I am. I’m an intellectual. If I choose to spend my life with a woman, it’ll be after hours of discussion and comparison of worldviews. It won’t be while I’m standing in a big red phone box next to an off-license, thirty-nine-hundred miles from the object of my proposal. Like I said, love makes you do crazy things.

Nevertheless, I’d put it out there and I knew that I meant it. Obviously, this romance thing drives normally sensible people batshit crazy. Billie gasped and said incredulous, “Did you just propose??!!”

I was stunned too. It took a second of crunching around in the gearbox to get my mind back into gear. Then I said in the most rational voice I could muster, “Yes, I guess I just did. I know it sounds insane. But I’m convinced that you’re the only woman I’ll ever want and so I might as well just cut to the chase.”

She said with deep emotion in her voice, “We’ll have to talk about it when you get home. But if you’re still serious, then I am too.” She finished with a gentle, “I love you, hurry back.”

I’d left Heathrow at ten AM and arrived in Milwaukee at noon - eight hours later - thanks to the six-hour time zone change. The hands on my internal clock were spinning like a roulette wheel. I spotted the three of them as soon as I cleared customs.

A superb woman and two beautiful kids were standing in the concourse. They looked tentative but eager. That scene gave me a feeling of peace and fulfillment. My heart expanded. I was home.

We were awkward at first. I mean, this was STILL only the fourth time I had seen Billie in the flesh, and what flesh it was. She walked up to me, and we kissed. No sloppy tongue swapping extravaganza, just the gentlest greeting.

Then Ally, who has all of her mother’s fire and self-possession, gave me a soft little hug and said, “Welcome home.”

The two of them turned to poor Ronnie who was hanging back looking very uncomfortable and said, “Well!!” He extended his hand, head down and mumbled, “Welcome home, sir.” I grabbed him in a bear hug and said, “Welcome home yourself!!” He struggled but he was giggling. Both girls laughed out loud.

We’d arranged to meet at the airport so we could drive directly up to the Dells. That was the neutral turf where we were going to hash this thing out. Billie had parked her dilapidated 150 in the long-term lot, and I’d rented a sedan from Hertz for the relatively short drive to Lake Delton.

We checked into one of the three-bedroom condos at the Grand Resort and Spa. I’d chosen the Grand because of the waterpark just behind it. Billie and I both knew that there’d be baggage in this deal. That is, if we were going to get together for life. So, the kids had to be part of the discussion.

The condo was pricy, but I’d made a bundle on my teaching gig. The kids’ real father had been a cheap and selfish motherfucker - her words. But there was a new sheriff in town, and I wanted them to experience a life they’d never known.

The condo was spacious. Billie and I had the privacy of a king suite. There was a regular bed in one room for Ally, who was definitely going to be my girl. Ronnie had his own bunk in the other bedroom, and he was thrilled. It was the first time that he didn’t have to share a room with his bossy older sister.

We dropped our stuff and the kids immediately jetted for the pool. This was the first time Billie and I’d been alone, and we were both a little uneasy. It was hard to blame us. We’d been together exactly four times, one of those times when she was with another guy, and now we were talking marriage. What could possibly go wrong with that!!??

I opened my arms and she snuggled into me like we’d been cuddling that way for years. She had a hard body, built from all those years of work. The contrast with her big pneumatic tits made it feel like we were clutching a pillow between us.

Billie looked up at me and silently searched my face. I knew what she was asking. I said, “Yes, this is crazy but I’m not kidding. It just feels so right. I’m ready to do this as soon as you’re comfortable with it.” I thought, “Ick! I’m turning into a caricature of a soap opera Romeo.”

Billie made a little noise, then she stood on her tiptoes, and we really kissed for the very first time. It was like somebody’d thrown a switch. Her mouth opened like a flower, she moaned loudly, then she threw her arms around my neck and plastered herself to me. It felt like she was trying to merge us.

We kissed wildly for a minute. I could sense her heat. Her lips were constantly in motion writhing and nipping with passion. Then the knowledge that her kids were in the vicinity moderated us like the control rods slamming down in a nuclear reactor. We broke away, panting like bloodhounds on a hot Georgia porch.

That moment together had clearly astonished both of us. I looked in her eyes and there was savage hunger. This was a new and different Billie, full of sensual fire and excitement. I said shaken by the experience, “We’ll continue this later on.” She gave me a sharp nod of affirmation.

I took them to Hot Dog Avenue for dinner - yep hotdogs. The kids were in shorts and t-shirts, just cheap white cotton, no message. Billie was in shorts and a sleeveless top with pink flipflops. It was a simple outfit, and it was by no means revealing. But people still stopped and gawked like they were looking at something special. The fact was, they were.

There were better places to eat. But I’d gotten uncomfortably aware that I’d made a mistake by bringing Billie and her kids to such an upscale place. I’d been trying to go all-out to show her how I felt about her. But now I realized that I’d dropped her into an alien universe. We should have had this discussion in familiar surroundings, her farm, or my house.

The three of them had never experienced anything like this before. Their few meager clothes were all packed in a single suitcase, and they kept ogling the decor and furnishings. It was the typical example of me not really considering other people’s feelings. Still, for a change I’d realized my error, and I was being as considerate as I could. Maybe this new concept, “love,” wasn’t half bad after all?

The kids wanted to go to the pool one last time. So, Billie and I sat on the terrace and watched the sun set over the lake. My brain was buzzing like it does from westbound jet lag. Eastbound you can always reset your clock with a short nap. But westbound you just have to power through to a reasonable hour before you can sleep, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it much longer.

I was sipping a double Laphroaig, just to keep some steam in my boiler. She had a G&T. I looked down at the two happy kids frolicking in the pool and said, “They’re wonderful. I know this is strange territory for all of you and I’m sorry for dropping you in the deep end like this. But you’ve all coped beautifully.”

Billie gave me her patented sexy sideways glance from underneath her bangs and said, “My children have never experienced anything like this. I love you. But I love you more for including them.”

I said candidly, “Love me, love my kids – you three are a package and I might add that they only make the experience richer. You are a woman who any man would be proud to be with. But there is so much more to you than simple looks. You are a great mother, and your kids reflect that fact.”

She looked at me with luminous eyes and said, “So, what should we do about that?”

I said, “Full disclosure, I’ve never had an honest relationship with a woman in my life.”

Her face fell. So, I hastily added, “That is, until I met you. I have no idea why I feel this way, or why I’ve acted like I have. But in the past, I’ve always held something back. Now, I can see that I was just marking time until you came along. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s the way I feel.”

I mumbled with a hint of mortification, “It’s the reason why your short affair with Marvin almost killed me.”

Billie chuckled and said, “Well it serves you right for fixing me up with him - instead of yourself. Honestly, I felt the same way and I kind-of resented Skipper because she’d met you first.”

I said, “Now, all of the barriers are down, and I never want to lose you, or even be apart from you. I might add that I am utterly appalled at my neediness. But it’s definitely true. I want you in my life forever and if that requires holy matrimony then so be it.”

She said seriously, “Would you become a Catholic? We’re divorced so we can’t be married in the church. But still, I’m sincere about my religion.”

That was an easy answer since I’d marry her if she was a practicing Druid. But it revealed something new about Billie. She was deeply spiritual. That boded well for the sturdiness of her moral foundation.

I laughed and said, “I’ll take my chances with the Almighty. Just as long as your people are willing to allow a heathen in their church. I promise, no human sacrifices or anything messy ... at least not right away.”

She laughed and said, “Just show up on Christmas and Easter and help me with the kids. I want them raised with a solid sense of values.” Was there anything I didn’t love and respect about this woman?

That was when the kids made their appearance wrapped in their beach towels. We made our way dripping back to the condo and Billie supervised bed time while I turned on the gas fire in the fireplace.

When she came back, I was sitting on the couch enjoying a last drink. She snuggled up next to me in that boneless way that women can do. I would have fallen off the couch if I’d folded my legs like that. She said, “They’re asleep and very happy. Maybe we should go to bed too. What time is it in your head?”

I looked at my watch and it was ten o’clock. I said, “Four AM my time, but right now I don’t want to think about how long my day’s been. Let’s just sit here and watch the fire for a minute. I have something I need to ask you.”

I hesitated and said, “Tell me ... how old are you?”

A little voice from somewhere underneath my chin said, “Thirty, why are you asking me that?” That was younger than I’d hoped, but Billie was a very mature person.

I said, “Well – it isn’t like I’m robbing the cradle, since you DO have two kids and all. But I’m forty-five. Do you have a problem with that age difference?”

She sat up straight and said indignantly, “What does age have to do with anything? When you commit yourself to a marriage you promise to deal with life TOGETHER. Nobody knows what’s going to happen in the future. But whatever it is we’ll work through it. I mean, I might turn into an ugly and crippled seventy-year-old and you might be a hale and hearty eighty-five. Would you abandon me?”

I looked utterly horrified. Billie said triumphantly, “See!!”

All I could see was the lady bison I wanted guarding my back for the rest of my life.

I was the one who was as nervous as a new bride on her wedding night, even though I’d been the one who’d lived all those years foraging in the wild. Whereas Billie’d been on the market a mere four months.

The full moon lit our bedroom in a silvery glow. I chuckled. It seemed like there was a full moon every time something momentous happened between us. Billie came out of the bathroom wearing nothing at all. The moonlight delineated the planes of her superb body. She was completely unselfconscious and unashamed. She was breathtaking.

She prowled toward me, like a stalking tiger. This was her jungle. She knew it, and she was about to prove it. Her huge breasts swayed with weighty majesty. Someday those rock-solid nipples would be pointing straight down. But today they were aimed at me like the big guns on a battleship.

She slipped lithely into the bed and lay back against the pillows breathing heavily. One breast was puddled directly on her chest and the other hung slightly off to one side. She gave me a penetrating look that said, “Here I am ... now what are you going to do about it!?”

I’d known the sensible, loving, and intelligent Billie. This was a brand new and totally unexpected facet; a powerful sexual being, with absolute confidence in her feminine powers. This Billie could please any man. But she demanded pleasure in return. I had the passing thought that Marvin never stood a chance.

In my not-so-humble opinion, the key to a successful marriage revolves around two people’s ability to maintain an exciting sexual connection. I mean, in practical terms, you’re probably as emotionally attached to your kids as you are to your spouse. But you only share the profound experience of physical intercourse with your wife. That is, if you want to stay married.

Hence, although Billie and I were mentally close and we clearly had common values, the long-term prospects for marriage were always going to come down to sexual compatibility. And so, as they say in the wide world of sports, “This game was for all the marbles!!”.

I knew that contrary to popular male belief, women don’t find it romantic to be dragged around by their hair or mounted like they’re being bred. Sex for them is a sophisticated physical exercise, like the dance. It’s their form of intimate expression.

Hence, the cliched comparison of a woman’s body to a musical instrument is apt. The man’s role in that scenario is to evoke a virtuoso performance. And in that respect, Billie was a Stradivarius.

She was lying there relaxed, looking at me with challenge in her eyes. I saw no fear, or hesitation. She was profoundly sure of her feminine abilities. I could also see the immense passion crouched there like a hungry predator. So, I thought I’d tease it a bit.

I propped myself on one elbow, reached over and gently put a single finger on her perfect cheek bone. Then I slid it past her little nose to her wide sensuous mouth. Her lips were moist and full and slightly parted. I touched them. She let out a very small sigh, enfolded the tip of my finger with her lips and lightly touched it with her tongue, like a kiss.

She released it and my little traveler passed over the exquisite point of her chin. I traced down the solid ledge of her jaw to her long perfectly muscled neck. It felt both soft and hard, smooth, and exposed. It was extraordinarily hot to the touch, as the heated blood pulsed through it. She let out a much louder gasp and then a long sigh, steadily holding my gaze, still challenging.

My finger lightly caressed her womanly shoulders. I felt the urge to kiss those vulnerable things, so small in proportion to the power of her hips. But the time was not right. Instead, I moved down the swell of her left breast and across its broad quivering surface to the aureole.

The aureole had wrinkled to a much smaller area as her nipple hardened. But it was still as expansive and fertility brown as a newly turned field. The nipple stood out, proud and quivering, round and high as a solitary castle at the top of a great mountain.

I circled my finger around it, marveling at its symmetry. It grew redder and wider as her hot blood engorged it. This feature would require considerable special attention at a later time. She gave a single groan and I passed on; the exploration wasn’t close to being finished yet.

Her chest was heaving with increasing passion as my little traveler frolicked from nipple to rib cage, traversing down the impossibly long underswell of her breast. It paused to explore the deep crevice formed by the breast as it lay on her chest. She gave a loud groan and said stressed, “What are you doing to me??!”

The explorer didn’t answer. Instead, it skipped lightheartedly down her rib cage to the point that overlooked the wide flat expanse of her belly and hips. The vista was breathtaking, like coming to a cliff overlooking an incredibly broad and fertile plain, her hip bones framed a valley at the far end. Her mons stood in the middle like a prominent distant hill.

My traveler traced lightly across the smooth muscles of her stomach. Her skin was like dusky satin. The muscles underneath rippled wildly as my finger passed and little gasps and cries accompanied its progress.

It stopped to explore the crater of her belly button, eliciting a short and very profound gasp then a loud moan. She muttered under her breath, “You have to fuck me.” The traveler ignored her.

Instead, it moved over the undulating swell of her lower belly and into the exceptionally broad and bountiful expanse directly between her hip bones. Then it began to climb her mons. It passed over a well-tended lawn as it progressed, like you would encounter if you approached a grand estate.

Then, it encountered a hypnotically enchanting fissure at the top of the crest, wide and deep; the folds were slightly brown reddish, and they were opening in front of the traveler’s eyes begging to be explored. The female scent coming from that place was intoxicating in the extreme. The moans were getting louder.

Those agitated cries urged the traveler to plunge into the fruitful space between. But there was still considerable rich abundance to be explored before that could happen. So, the traveler pressed on across her pubic bone to the considerable space at the juncture between her thighs and her hips. The traveler had a decision to make, right, or left?

The traveler chose left. He traced down an extraordinarily full and well-muscled thigh. The skin covering each of those highly defined muscles twitched violently as he passed, while she groaned in an agony of sensory overload. Because the traveler was in no hurry the journey took some time. She called the traveler a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. Yet, she allowed him to proceed.

When the little traveler reached the knee cap, she moaned, cried, and begged to be fucked. But there was still some distance to go. So, it bypassed the top of the knee, and jumped over to the silky-smooth skin of her right leg.

That change of pathways caused a yelp, a loud groan, and a bucking of her hips. At which point the explorer took a short detour to trace the extraordinary bulge of her calf muscle. The exploration was complicated somewhat by the uncontrolled flexing of her powerful leg.

The moans, gasps and pleadings became more frantic. The traveler paused to examine her feet. They were muscular and utilitarian, high arching and solid with neatly painted red nails on their toes. Then surprisingly, those toes curled tightly, and their owner began to buck wildly in the grip of a powerful orgasm.

Billie convulsed herself into a perfect arc using only her drastically pointed feet and the very tops of her shoulders as a fulcrum. She held that pose while she began to shake and quiver moaning loudly and rhythmically. Only a body as strong as Billie’s could have endured the stresses that position imposed. Finally, she relaxed slowly back on the bed.

She lay there like she was dead for another thirty seconds then her eyes popped open, and I saw to my utter horror and delight, that I’d unleashed the beast. In one continuous motion and without saying a word, Billie sat straight up, shoved me violently flat on my back, cocked a leg over me, grabbed my throbbing erection, and literally jammed it into her hot silky tunnel. My God! The woman was strong!!

She uttered a loud “Unngghhh,” and began to grind like a madwoman making continuous Uh! Uh! Uh! grunts. I knew by her contractions that this was going to be short but very intense. But still, the growling shocked me. It was a primal sound, from the very pit of her soul, “HRRRGH, HUNGGH, HRRGH!”

She leaned forward as she worked, tenting her long auburn hair around us, and stared intently into my eyes. It was like she was trying to meld our souls. I was embedded in her to the hilt, and she was grinding and panting with effort like a bitch in heat.

Then she said in a strangled voice, “Oh Jesus!!!” Her eyes crossed and then rolled dramatically up into her head. Her mouth drooped wide open, and her body began outrageous, high frequency shaking. The subsequent orgasmic thrashing could only be described as “out of control.”

That tripped my circuit breakers, and I came so hard that the atmospheric pressure inside her womb must have changed. While that chaos was happening in my nether regions, Billie’s autonomic contractions were milking me like a berserk Iowa farmhand.

Afterward, she lay on me unmoving for several seconds with her insides still extremely busy. I was trying to get consciousness back on line myself. It took a while.

She finally pushed herself wearily into a sitting position, still astride, and with me buried inside her only slightly softer. She said with an impish grin, “WHEW!” I said “WHEW!” She rolled off me and burrowed under my arm, head on my chest.

She lay there for another minute. Finally, she said with a twinkle in her voice, “That was utterly amazing. You’ve just turned me into your love slave for life.” Which might have been a slight overstatement. But still, the little voice in my head yelled “YES!!” - did an end zone boogie - and spiked the ball.

My heart rate might’ve been in the two-hundreds. Yet, my mind had never been clearer. I said, “Well then, we’re going to have to make it official as soon as we can.”

Okay ... I get it!! It’s crazy to marry somebody you’ve known for less than two months. But the old adage about “he-who- hesitates...” was running through my head. Billie was a rare prize and I had to stake my claim or risk losing her.

Consequently, the following week we drove up through the part of Wisconsin that the Michiganders call the Upper Peninsula, to spend a weekend at the Grand Hotel. The nineteenth-century world of Mackinac Island was a revelation for my new family. Ally in particular loved the horses.

The wedding was on the West Porch with the Straits in the background. It was just us four, as it would always be. Ally was Billie’s bridesmaid and bashful Ronny was my best man. St. Anne’s provided the priest.

He was a decent guy. He knew that we had a divorce problem. Nonetheless, he thought that God wouldn’t mind if he said a few words on a porch.

Billie was wearing a brilliant pale blue and white wedding dress. She’d sewed it herself. It looked vaguely like the gown that Cinderella wore to the ball. But that’s a fairy tale. Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life.

And naturally, we all lived happily ever after – NOT. Because marriages don’t work that way. Marriages involve people and people are notoriously fickle. Which isn’t to say that Billie and I didn’t have a love for the ages. It just meant that we had to work to overcome the shit that inevitably happens between husband and wife.

Billy’s farm was part of the community property, and they were desperately trying to sell it before it was foreclosed. So, the obvious solution was for her and her kids to move in with me. Accordingly, the two of us wrangled all of her possessions into my house over one weekend. There were a few uncomfortable weeks while we rearranged things and then we settled into married routine.

The addition of three new mouths to feed was a cost. But I wasn’t prowling the bars anymore, so we actually saved money. More importantly, I had a woman in my life who was far beyond my meager expectations. Which naturally, presented a new problem to a psycho like me.

Billie was gorgeous and a sexual dynamo, and that bothered me a lot - mainly because I’m an insecure weenie. I knew that I had lucked into her because she was born in a nowhere place, and I was the first guy she’d met who wasn’t a Wisconsin shitkicker.

I appreciated my good fortune, and all. But I was also aware that I had brought this stunning woman into the wider world where the predators lurked, and I was punching above my weight. I mean seriously – I’m a pretty confident guy as a middleweight. But Billie was fuckin’ Muhammed Ali.

Maybe you can empathize with my situation. I had a wife who was so spectacular that the likes of Bezos, Branson, or Musk would be proud to have her on their arm. Hence, whenever we walked into a room, people just presumed that I was either wealthy or in possession of a twelve-inch unit. Sadly, the answer to both those assumptions was, “none of the above.” So, what are you going to do if you’re me?

I was aware that I wasn’t giving Billie enough credit. She’d proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was a person of honor and integrity. So, in effect, my thoughts were an act of disloyalty. But still, I had to lay them to rest before I could be entirely at peace.

A single guy in a neighborhood is a curiosity. Hence, I’d always been more-or-less invisible to the families who lived around me. That’s probably the reason why the locals acted like we’d just moved in when my readymade family arrived.

One of the real joys of being around kids is discovering the people they’re going to become. Within weeks, beautiful Ally was the most popular girl in the sixth grade.

On the other hand, poor shy Ronnie had no friends, and he got sadder and sadder as time passed. It’s very hard on a little boy to lose his dad through divorce. They always blame themselves.

Ronnie’s sadness triggered an odd reaction in me. I was more affected by his unhappiness than I might have been if he was my biological child. Maybe I saw too much of the young me in him. Anyhow, I signed him up for kid soccer and even volunteered to coach the team as a way to get him involved with other boys.

During my visits to the UK, I’d played and watched a lot of what the Brits speciously call “football.” The Fox Point soccer field wasn’t Stamford Bridge, and my under-tens would never be mistaken for the real CFC. But my version of the mighty Blues finished the season top of the table and big strong Ronnie was our star.

More importantly, the team’s camaraderie and Ronnie’s personal accomplishments brought him out of his shell, and he seemed truly happy for the first time. Billie sensed it too and she kept cutting me adoring looks. She knew I was the one behind her son’s newfound confidence.

Ronnie had a best buddy who was our striker, and in my opinion spoiled rotten. But Cade was a wily little shit and he worked Ronnie mercilessly. Ronnie, who was just as naive and trusting as his mom, loved the little varmint. So, I tolerated him and his dad.

Cade’s father was my self-appointed assistant and another in the long line of conceited fools I’ve had to suffer. He was in corporate sales, which meant he oozed testosterone. He was age appropriate for the other fathers on the team, early thirties and he was very fit and good looking. Plus, he was a typical Fox Point home buyer, meaning he had money to burn.

I coached in a sweatshirt, cheap shorts and red Chuckies. While Chad pranced around in royal blue warmups with CFC’s “lion rampant regardant” logo on the chest and Adidas Predators on his feet. All his showing-off did was remind me of the joke about the number of Chelsea supporters it takes to change a lightbulb. The answer is one - they hold the bulb and expect the world to revolve around them.

But Chad had clearly watched a lot of Premier League games. Because when he was around the kids he talked like a Sky-One commentator. You know what I mean – lots of “Oh well played’s,” “nice idea’s,” “brilliant challenge’s,” and “into touches,” all in received pronunciation.

That gave him loads of cred with the other parents. Consequently, everybody thought that Chad was the afficionado, while I was only a dad. Which was fine with me since I was there for my kid, not to leave the mistaken impression that I was born in the West End. But the thing that irritated me the most was old Chad’s barely disguised disdain for me.

I clearly didn’t fit into his arriviste mold. I was over a decade older and maybe a tad less affluent, since I’d bought into that pricy suburb during the housing crash. Worse, I’d committed the unforgivable sin of having a wife who was exponentially hotter than Chad’s own woman. I could guess by his attitude that he thought that Billie deserved better.

He had enough smarts to stay out of the actual coaching, since he really didn’t know anything about the game. But he liked to stand on the sidelines in his warmups looking noble. It left the impression that he was there to take over once the inevitable infirmities of old age caught up with me.

Then, at the end of the season he threw a barbeque at his palatial McMansion to celebrate his “success.” Keep in mind these were eight and nine-year-old boys, not the millionaire players in the Champion’s League. But was treating the event like the Queen herself was going to present the trophy.

I mean seriously!! The man was a pretentious clown, and his kid was an insolent little shit, badly in need of a trip to the woodshed. So, nothing could possibly go wrong in that scenario, right?

It was a beautiful fall Saturday in the Badger state. Ronnie was super excited since he had just been voted MVP for the entire under-tens and he and his buddy Cade were going to receive the award from the league president at the barbeque.

Alright, to be completely honest the league president was a suburban housewife and Cade’s only association with the MVP was that he had talked Ronnie into sharing it. But who’s counting?

Both Billie and I were over the moon for our little guy. Obviously, Ally and her super sophisticated twelve-year-old friends’ saw this as stupid boy stuff. Still, she was happy for her brother. So, she even condescended to join us, looking bored of course.

We arrived at Chad’s house promptly at four o’clock. Billie had one of her world-famous charcuterie concoctions and yes indeed, my wife was indeed an excellent and very sophisticated cook! While I was clutching a decent Bordeaux.

Chad, sans wife, greeted us at the door in his skin tight warmup. It was like he was waiting for Billie to show up ... Unbelievable!! Did he have the thing tailored to show off his package??!!

I didn’t like the way he was looking at my wife. It was as if she was a little wooly lamb, and he was a hungry wolf. I immediately went to battle stations. Billie must have noticed too. But she’s civilized and it was a little premature to call the dude out.

Thus, she went through the standard greeting procedure which included a slightly prolonged hug. I was the coach. Hence, the league president, whose origins sounded faintly Mancunian, hijacked me to talk about the award ceremony, leaving Ronnie, Ally and Billie in shithead’s clutches.

It really was a lovely, framed certificate. Ronnie could put it up in his bedroom along with a little trophy. I emerged back onto the deck to see Ally sulking on a bench playing on her ubiquitous phone and Ronnie larking around the pool with his pals, but no Billie!!

The rest of the group was socializing over drinks. It was an affable crew, mid-thirties wanna-be denizens of the C-suite. Then I spotted Billie as far away in the back of the property as you could get.

It looked like Shithead was giving her a tour of the place, guiding her with his hand placed low on the small of her back, not quite on her fabulous buns. They got to the rear fence, which had a bright row of tulips planted along it.

Then assface stopped and more or less turned Billie toward him. He leaned down and said something to her with an arrogant smirk on his handsome face. Billie reared her head back and there was a minute of her jamming her finger in his chest. That was followed by a long conversation that involved headshaking, finger-wagging, and more jabbing.

He said something else, and Billie pivoted on one heel and came stomping back toward the house with steam coming out of her ears. She walked up to me and said angrily, “We’re leaving!!”

I said calmly but firmly, “No we’re not. This is Ronnie’s day and I’m not going to spoil it. Now, calm yourself down.”

People were beginning to look inquiringly in our direction. I said apologetically, “She just found out how much I spent on our new riding lawnmower.” That’s a perfectly valid explanation in suburbia. So, they went back to what they were doing.

Dickbreath was walking in our direction, looking like he wanted to do some serious butt covering. So, Billie grabbed me by the shirtfront and dragged me into the utility room off the deck. She slammed the door, turned to me, and said, “Do you know what that asshole just said to me!!”

I said with mild irony in my voice, “I can guess.”

She said, “He offered to give me a night of sex that I would never forget!! You men are such morons!! Do you EVER use that auxiliary brain located in your skull??!”

I chuckled and said, “Rarely.” Then I added tongue in cheek, “Let me encourage you to tell me what you REALLY think.” My wife was one very pissed off woman.

Billie said boiling, “I told him he wasn’t man enough to handle me and he told me that he was a hell of a lot more man than an old guy like you.” Well-well-well ... it looked like I’d be needing a new assistant.

Billie was still spitting like an angry cat. She said, “So, I told him that he only wished he was half the man you were ... that I couldn’t get enough of what you gave me. THAT shut him up.”

She added emphatically, “I told him that even if he was the stud he claimed to be, which I didn’t believe, I’d made a promise to you, and I wasn’t going to throw away my self-respect for something as trivial as sex with him.”

She finished angrily, “I told him that there are a few more important things in life than adultery - like family, children and the love of a good man.”

Then she stopped and looked at me pleadingly. It was endearing really, she wanted me to understand and accept something that I already knew. She said gently, “The life we’ve built together, is infinitely more important to me than a simple biological function. You believe that don’t you?”

I got it – Shithead had made the classic guy mistake. There’s a persistent belief among us denizens of the treehouse that every female, except of course your own wife and mother, is eager to forgo home and loved ones, not to mention their pride, for the opportunity to experience “mind-blowing” sex with any swinging dick who happens to wander idly by.

The shrinks call it “projection.” Basically, a fellow who believes that fairy tale is projecting his emotional inadequacies and infantile fantasies onto the people around him.

Admittedly there ARE women that stupid. Billie’s mom being a prime example. But normal people don’t act that way. Which is why, any female with a shred of dignity would be justifiably outraged by the assumption that she’d willingly sacrifice her honor for a roll in the hay with a narcissistic d-bag.

The good news was that Shithead’s trying it on with Billie confirmed once and for all how seriously she took the issue of her personal fidelity. It was odd how the actions of morally bankrupt people just kept driving us closer – first Billie’s mom and now Assbreath.

At that point somebody knocked on the utility room door and told us that they were ready for the award ceremony. I hastily kissed my wife and said, “Now, let’s get out there and act normal for Ronnie’s sake.”

The ceremony made us proud, and our son was overjoyed. Naturally, Ronnie’s buddy Cade tried to hog the limelight. But everybody knew he was a poser, just like his father. All Cade’s antics did was make my son seem even more magnanimous.

I was careful to keep Billie away from Douchebag. It was obvious that she still wanted a piece of him ... and not in that fun sorta way. Because every time he glanced apologetically in her direction, she’d growl a warning, like she was a Doberman contemplating ripping out his throat.

I hear you asking, “And what did YOU get from that experience?” Well, I’ll tell you what I got ... I now knew for absolute-certain-sure that my loving wife and I would face the wolves together, back-to-back, horns pointed out, until death-did-we-part.

EPILOGUE
Provence in the summer is perhaps the most beautiful place on earth and Avignon is its crown jewel. Billie and I were sitting in the soft sunlight on the top deck of the boat with a bottle of the local Chateauneuf-du-Pape taking in the Belle Epoch architecture that lined the quay. It was a bit early to be drinking. But it seems like the only entertainment you get on a river cruise is local color and alcohol.

It wasn’t our official thirtieth anniversary. That would come in a couple of months. This cruise was to honor the extraordinary day that another guy’s blind date changed my life. Up to that auspicious point I’d merely settled - after Billie I’d excelled.

The money from the books and the other rewards of a successful career let us travel. While the proceeds from Billie’s art doubled the pile of money. So, life was comfortable. But the real reward was the ability to spend thirty years with a brilliant and dynamic partner.

Billie’s spectacular beauty hadn’t faded at age sixty. It had just become more refined, like the fine wine we were sipping. She still had her eye-popping curves but those were an infinitesimal part of her attraction. What DID amaze me was how easily her powerful spirit had broken the bonds of a simple farmer’s wife and become the passionate, sophisticated, and compelling person she was today.

We’d raised three wonderful children. Huh??!! I hear you asking, “Three??!”

Billie wanted a child with me, and she was still only thirty-one. Even so, starting out as a new daddy at age forty-six was a scary proposition. But of course, my new daughter’s sweet little soul changed my mind about parenthood, just as her mother altered my thinking about love.

With the possible exception of her mother, little Britannia was the love of my life. Okay – I admit it. I’m a bit of an Anglophile.

Brit’s twenty-seven now, with all of her mother’s beauty and the advantages we were able to give her.

She didn’t waste them either. She’s currently with the U.S. Attorney’s office in DC. But there is talk that she would be an ideal candidate for the House from her district in Maryland.

Her husband plays for the Caps. He’s a Canadian, polite, open, and friendly. It’s weird really. Gus graduated from Moose Jaw High and he’s not especially bright. But he makes six-million-five a season. Brit’s brilliant. She graduated from Marquette Law, and she makes sixty thousand a year. I guess Brit’s problem is that she can’t put the puck in the net like her husband can.

But they seem to be modeling their marriage after Billie’s and mine ... boundless mutual respect to go along with the friendship and love that you have when you really like each other. Trust me ... They will have a happy life.

I loved the other two kids just as much as my biological one. But I didn’t have the advantage of knowing them as babies. Ally, the beautiful, got a degree in theater arts from Marquette. It was a logical career path for somebody who lit up every room she walked into. Her mom would have probably been a movie star too if she was born in a different place.

Ally was always special to me. But we had to let her go early. She got her first professional modeling gig at age sixteen, a mere four years after we’d met. She’s on the west coast now. I sometimes see her on a TV show, or in a movie. But according to the tabloids she’s mostly focused on raising my grandchildren. Her kids call me Pop-Pop ... so much to love and so little time.

Ronnie went to Annapolis. He played football there, but it was the righteous kind. He caught a couple of TD passes in the Army-Navy game his senior year. I nearly fell out of the stands celebrating. Now, he’s a Lieutenant Commander and XO on a Seawolf class fast attack submarine, down there in the deep blue underneath the ocean. Needless to say, he isn’t bashful Ronnie any more.

Which brings us back to where we began. Love is an odd thing. Unpredictable and uplifting to the people who experience it. Still, whatever the word might mean to you in personal terms, the ability to spend your days with the right person will give you a life well lived. That gets particularly important as the icy winds of your seventies begin to blow, and you know that the frozen reality of winter is right behind.

I would have never understood that simple truth in my earlier years. It took the perspective of a long life to see why sharing every aspect of yourself with the right person is the most gratifying experience in the entire diverse pantheon of human rewards.

It was blind luck that led me to Billie. But once I’d found her, I was smart enough to do whatever it took to get and keep her. Looking at my wife’s dear face now, I think about how much we’ve supported each other in the inexorable climb toward the end of things - and it reminds me how fortunate I’ve been.

Blessed are those who can look back at their life and say, “It was all worthwhile.” I’m one of those lucky few because of one caring woman opinion is important:

Share with others what you think about
"Cinderella"