Sorry I've been away for so long; a member of my family has been very ill. However, I'm back at home now, and I'll start cranking out more stories for you all to read as soon as possible. A very heartfelt thank you goes to all of you who have given me so much praise and insight. I want each and every one of to know that wherever you may go in life, my respect and gratitude will be with you, always....
MoogPlayer
P.S. The places mentioned in the story are very real. However, they are only used as backdrops for this tale, which is total fiction. Oh, and don't forget to vote!
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My name is Michael Hayes, I'm six feet, four inches tall; I have dark brown hair and blue eyes, and I weigh roughly two hundred and fifty pounds. I was the only child my parents had, became a widower at twenty-eight and Jane, my late wife, had been gone for almost four years when all of what you are about to read took place.
Chapter One
Let me begin by telling you a little about my life. I was raised in a small coastal town in Texas, Surfside Beach, on the Gulf of Mexico. My teenage years took place during the seventies, and for those of us who grew up back then; it was right after "The Pill" and way before AIDS, and we were part of "The Love Generation". I graduated high school in 1977 and went on to the University of Texas on an athletic scholarship, where I received my degree in engineering four years later. I met Jane at a party during the spring semester of my freshman year.
Neither of us denied our initial attraction to one another, and after dating for six months; we moved in together right before the fall semester of my sophomore year. We were both so young and so very much in love with one another. Jane was a classic beauty, and it seemed like we simply couldn't get enough of each other, not hesitating to have sex at any and every given opportunity.
She stood five feet, eight inches tall and was built like a brick shithouse; she had long blonde hair that fell down her fit body and right past her beautiful tight little ass. She had emerald green eyes that could stare a hole right through me, and was easily the most beautiful girl that I'd ever seen....and we fell in love with one another almost immediately.
The war in Vietnam had ended and the United States was still trying to heal itself not only as a nation, but as a people as well. And when it came to politics, Jane and I were idealists, passionate in our beliefs. We honestly thought that we both had what it took to be able to really make a difference in the world; hence the reason we chose to get married the summer between our junior and senior years in college. And then like the blind idiots we both were back then, upon our graduation we volunteered to work for the Peace Corps instead of seeking fortunes here in the U.S.
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For the next seven years, were sent all over Central America. I was there to over-see the construction of schools, roads and bridges; and Jane because she was a teacher. We never thought about having children, because we didn't think the lifestyle we led was conducive to raising a family, and we also thought there'd be plenty of time for that later. What did happen, though, was that Jane contracted malaria while we were in Nicaragua and died the day after our sixth wedding anniversary. It stormed terribly on the day we buried her, and I've hated the fucking rain ever since.
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I was lost without her; and the memories of her brilliant smiles and tender caresses, as well as the sound of her voice, haunted my every dream for the first few years. And at the behest of my parents, who both worked and lived in Miami, Florida, I immediately moved back to the United States and took on a job, working on my Uncle's ranch just south of Houston, Texas. It was near a small town named West Columbia, down south in Brazoria County. Both of my parents were born and raised there, and a few of my aunts and uncles, and a couple of cousins still live down there. Plus, it was only a few miles from where I grew up so, there was the added familiarity that gave me comfort.
My Dad is the youngest of three boys. Uncle Jake, the oldest, was sixty seven and looked fifty, and his wife, my Aunt Rita, was sixty four and looked no older than forty at the very most. They owned and operated their own live-stock ranch, and I had worked and lived there during the summers between my high school and college years and knew my way around the place very well. Plus, my Aunt Rita's cooking was out of this world delicious.
However, being there this time allowed me to live a life of anonymous obscurity, as I still wasn't yet ready to face the rest of the world. And for a long while, the ranch became my own safe little world, and Uncle Jake and Aunt Rita became the only people that existed as far as I was concerned. Of course, I went into town every now and then, whether it was to order more feed for the cattle, or to take Uncle Jake to one place or another, but never anything more than that, and never socially.
Before I go any further, let me tell you about Uncle Jake and Aunt Rita. Uncle Jake was one hell of a guy in my opinion. He joined the Navy as soon as he was old enough, and served with the Naval Combat Demolition Units (NCDU) after the end of World War II; which later became the Underwater Demolition Teams (UDT) during the Korean War. And in 1962 when President Kennedy wanted a special unit that could operate in all three theaters of combat, Sea, Air, and Land; the Navy SEALs were born. Uncle Jake was one of the first six men to be called a United States Navy SEAL. He served until he was wounded in 1968, and soon after, he retired with full honors after twenty-three years of service. Both of my parents, as well as Aunt Rita, all say that I look almost exactly like Uncle Jake when he was my age, and in knowing that; I feel proud to be related to such a great man.
My Aunt Rita, which is short for Margarita, was a very beautiful woman in her own right, and came from true Spanish decent. Her parents, as well as the rest of her family, were all born and raised in and around Cordoba, Spain. It is in the Iberian Peninsula in a region of the country known as Andalusia. I first met her when I was eight. Her hair was very long and very dark, and I always loved the way that it fell past her knees. She had a beautiful olive complexion with hazel eyes. Aunt Rita spoke perfect English, and it was funny that she only spoke in her native language when she was pissed off at Uncle Jake.
They met when Uncle Jake was in Madrid, where Aunt Rita was going to college. They stayed in touch with one another, fell in love; and when Aunt Rita took him home to meet her family for the first time, they received him with open arms. They were married a year later with her entire family's blessing. When Uncle Jake retired from the Navy, Antonio de Mateo, my Aunt Rita's father, gave him ten Andalusian horses, two studs, and eight mares as a business investment, hence the reason him and Aunt Rita now have a ranch, the "Rocking H".
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Actually, they raise a whole lot of different live-stock, mostly Black and Red Angus cattle, but Uncle Jake's pride and joy are his Andalusian horses. He's won a ton of money at shows with them over the years, and he has named each and every one of them, all thirty-four of them. It's really cool how they respond to him, almost like the way a small child would respond to its parent. And watching Uncle Jake with them has truly shown me, that from the toughest and strongest of men come the gentlest of souls.
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"Mikey," Uncle Jake said one afternoon, "Why don't you and I take a ride to the beach on horse back?"
"Wow," I smiled, "That sounds like fun. I'll go and saddle up a couple of horses then."
"No need," grinned Uncle Jake, as he patted me on the back, "I've already done it, come on, boy, let's ride."
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"So how are you doing these days, Mikey," Uncle Jake casually asked, as we rode along, "You don't look so good, kid."
"I'm okay I guess."
"Are you still having those dreams about Jane?"
"No sir, not so much anymore," I sullenly replied, "Well at least not every night, that is."
Look Mikey," he gently said, "When I first came home from the Navy, I had bad dreams, too, and I used to wake up covered in sweat and fear."
"But you've never been afraid of anything."
"Says who, Mikey?" he laughed, "Whoever it was doesn't know me at all."
"I don't understand," I replied, "You were a Navy SEAL, Uncle Jake."
"Yeah, and every time I got called on to do my job, I was always afraid. Hell, anybody who says that they weren't afraid, is either crazy, or they're lying their ass off," he said, "That means that it's okay to be afraid, buddy. It's working past our fears that make us better men."
It was then that I realized that my understanding of the wise counsel that Uncle Jake had given me that afternoon was only the beginnings of the healing that my heart and soul were so desperately in need of.
