My husband, my lover is absent from our home much of the time. You see he is a pilot so the children, my ten-year-old son and our five-year-old twin girls and I keep the home fires burning. It is an honor to so respect my husband but also, he demands it. We cannot wait for him to return from his high-flying job, we all relish in what he adds to our lives.
Until I met my husband six years ago, I was party girl extraordinaire often feeling saddled with my son. Oh, make no mistake my son, Jason, was the apple of my eye. I had been barely of age when Jason was born. I felt cheated.
Reading my son to sleep nightly was the pattern of our lives. With a kiss I would tuck the covers in around my little man and then the night was mine. Then with a loosening of my mass of curly auburn hair I metamorphosed into what I saw as the real me -- party girl. The only guarantee was I would be back before Jason got up. He was my life.
It was my time to let loose. Boy, did I ever know how to kick up my heels. At night I felt pretty and popular, in the light of the dawn I hated who I had become. The guys knew for a few drinks and some laughs I would put out for them. The cycle had me in its grip.
Dressed in pour-me-into-them jeans topped with skimpy blouses and T’s or slinky revealing dresses and my hair and makeup done to perfection I quietly slipped out. I knew I was a looker and I was stacked.
The local country bar was my favorite. I’d start walking, soon someone would give me a lift. Rarely did I refuse to get into a car or a big rig. I’d turn on my charm and with a smile say, “You’re in luck tonight.” They’d be my date for the night. They never brought me all the way home; I insisted I be dropped off up the street. Then I’d stumble the rest of the way.
It was a game Mom and I played, I knew she knew and she knew I knew that I hadn’t been alone all evening. She was horrified at what she called my transgressions, “There you go again. You know where you’ll end up, don’t you? Isn’t one bastard child enough? Where’d your Dad and I go so wrong, I can’t believe you’ve become a little slut.” As a good Christian woman, she’d make the word “slut” sound like the sin of the world. “You end up with another bellyful and let me tell you, you’re out of here for good, just you remember!”
Her parting refrain was always the same, “Just you remember when it happens, I’ll keep my precious Jason, but you’re out of here.” Her words would end in a venomous crescendo.
As a teen mother my education had been cut short. I’d been fortunate to find work as a cashier in a small convenience store. The owner was old, a widower, and every payday I paid for my job with a blowjob. I didn’t think it was such a bad deal, all thinks considered. Had mom not let me stay home, I’m not sure if I’d have been able to support us. To this day I shake all over thinking that I could have lost my Jason.
I always seemed to have an ache deep in my belly, well actually more between my legs that demanded my attention. Each night as I trudged up the drive I would silently pray, “Tonight, let me find what I’m looking for. Let me find the man of my dreams, the one who will love me and tame.” At the road the sparkling lights of town pulled me and I knew I would again settle for drinks and a fuck and pray for the man of my dreams tomorrow night.
----
One night, you know one of those perfect late June nights when the air’s laden with the perfume of a dozen different flowers and the warm air wraps you in a cocoon. It was perfect. I felt lucky. Though that night I had to walk all the way and with aching feet I doubted if the perfection of the night actually held any magic for me as I hobbled into the noisy bar.
That night the only possible ride had been a silver Beamer, one of the little ones. It flew by me ruffling my hair as its slipstream washed over me. I knew anyone with a Beamer wouldn’t give a girl like me a second look. He didn’t. But, a girl could dream.
My long hauler friends weren’t around on the weekends. They were making a fast run for home and their little woman. It appeared none of my base friends were around either and that was unexpected. It was going to be slim pickings for a Friday night; the bar was quieter than normal. My local “friends” were there but the best they could give me was a wink. It was the SO’s night out. I heard the women’s comments, “Put your eyes back in your head that Suzie’s nothing but a whore. My gawd, I hope you aren’t doing her on the side, are you?” My arrival caused a stir.
I flashed my sexiest smile and with a toss of my shiny mass of curls I wiggled on past. I knew later in the loo, I’d catch the bitches and throw out, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then with my head high and my back ramrod straight I’d sashay out, reciting to myself, “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.” I’d laugh to keep from crying. I hated my reputation but I couldn’t break the cycle.
That night the only vacant seat was at the bar beside a stranger. Distinguished was the word that immediately came to mind as I watched the thirtish man in the back mirror, but I knew he would consider me white trash. He smelt so good. He was about as close to my dream man as damn is to swearing. Our eyes met, he gave a cursory nod turning to grab the peanuts. He never looked back. I sighed.
“Hey Artie, glad to see you are on tonight. How’s tricks?” I hollered to the bartender. He was pretty good about spotting me the odd drink; I hoped he would that night.
He chuckled as he plopped down a gin and tonic, leaning in he whispered in my ear, “Suzie, you got that question wrong. I should be the one asking you that, shouldn’t I?”
I felt the heat creeping up into my face. I was so thirsty, my mouth watered thinking how my drink would smell and taste, but damn it no one called me a whore. With a wry look on my face and a snarl in my voice, “Ha, ha. You prick!” I tossed the contents of my drink into Artie’s face as he straightened.
“You fuckin’ lil bitch, who the hell, who d'ya think you are? We all know what you are, a cheap little slut who’ll lay anybody for a few drinks.” His voice got louder with each word. I’d made a mistake. The instant silence almost echoed as all eyes were on me. He raised his hand preparing to slap me. Anticipating the sting and the shower of stars from his blow, I closed my eyes, grimacing.
Nothing.
Slowly opening my eyes a slit, I was stunned. The stranger had Artie by the shirt collar. They were nose to nose. “How dare you speak to a lady like that! Apologize! Do it, NOW!” His low voice bespoke an authority seldom disobeyed.
Artie snarled back showering the stranger with his spittle, “Don’t you recognize a cheap whore when you see one? Stay outta this, it ain’t your business, stranger. Mind your own fucking business.”
“You think so, you mean you hope so.” I watched as the big stranger pulled the pudgy Art closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m from the base and I wield a big stick. You’re hole in the wall just went on the no list. Hell will freeze over before you see another air force person in here.” He let Art go, he fell landing hard against his back bar.
I starred in awe at my knight in shining armor, his demeanor and deportment, I now understood. The absence of the enlisted men became crystal clear they had sensed brass and made for safer ground.
He threw a twenty on the bar, “Her’s and mine.”
“Come on. Now.” Squeezing my upper arm he lifted me off the stool; I stumbled. He propelled me towards the door ahead of him. My face was hot and red. All eyes were on me. Twice I attempted to shake him off, he only squeezed harder. My mouth opened and closed attempting to find a suitable retort. None came. I knew I’d wear his bruises for the next week.
One of the regulars, Johnny, who would buy me a drink for some conversation on the nights when there were no young bucks available, made a move as if to stand. The stranger only pointed his finger, Johnny slouched down and hung his head. I couldn’t imagine Johnny backing down so easily.
