Strie Three. You're Out!

Author's note:

This is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed in this story are not real people. Any similarity between characters and organizations and real people is purely coincidental.

Thanks to all who read Chapter 1 and provided criticism. It is always welcome...even the criticism that hurts.

One apology...Someone pointed out that the Marines do not carry AR-15s. In my research, going back to the time of this story, I read that they did use that weapon for a short time. If I screwed the pooch on that one, my bad.

Also, a few commenters mentioned that they had no idea that this was a 3-part story. That was stated right in my opening comments.

Lastly, I realize that the LW readers are a tough crowd. Hey, I'm one myself. But quite a few readers seemed to be pissed that I'm publishing a short story in 3 parts. That one really threw me for a loop. There are writers in this category, and they're excellent writers too, who have drawn out their stories over months. In fact, I'm kind of upset at one of those writers right now because I really want some closure on his story but have yet to get it. So, I empathize. But I was surprised that since I mentioned that each part would be published in a tight timeframe, readers still got upset. Why short bursts instead of getting it done in one shot? Because from my perspective, if you don't like the story, you can jump out at any time, as opposed to reading a long story, investing all that time, only to be pissed at the end because you didn't like the way it turned out. Okay...I get it...Sorry folks.

For those of you who were pissed after reading Part 1, be warned...YOU WILL BE PISSED AFTER READING PART 2. Leave now.

*****

After two weeks in the hospital, Rocco was shipped back to the states. During those two weeks, he spent quite a bit of time with Father Mickey. They formed a bond of sorts, even though at that point, Rocco wasn't really a practicing Catholic. His experiences in the desert, and now with the way things turned out with Page, really didn't do much to help bring him back into the Catholic fold. But Father Mickey never pushed him on it. No. Their relationship was much more cordial. The priest had a way of speaking that made Rocco believe that everything was going to be okay.

For the first couple of days, between being depressed about his wounds and Page dumping him, combined with his worries about his mother, he really didn't want to speak with anyone, didn't want to see anyone, and just generally wanted to wallow in his own misery. But the priest never gave up on him. By the end of the first week, they were best buds. Through Father Mickey's faith, he was able to convince Rocco that the breakup with Page was probably for the best, given that it had happened before wedding vows were exchanged. He kept telling Rocco that there was someone else out there for him, and that he was going to do great things with his life. Father Mickey had that way about him. He had that special Irish charm that enabled him to bond with anyone, be they Catholic, Jew, non-believer, and even Muslim. This quality served him well when he was counseling Rocco. He sensed something special in Rocco that told him that he would overcome this setback in his life. He knew Rocco would one day move on and be more than okay.

Rocco was scheduled to remain on active duty for three more months before his unit was deactivated and his reserve status reinstated. He would spend the remainder of his active duty tour at Camp Lejeune in Jacksonville, North Carolina. For his participation in the firefight on that fateful March night, he was awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star. He hated wearing those ribbons. Every time he put on his dress uniform and looked at them in the mirror, he would think of the comrades he left behind in the desert. And the ribbons weren't worth the damned dream that kept coming back each night to haunt him. In his dream, he would see the heat of the desert and the woman in the burka approaching him, just like it was happening again in real life. He would wake up just before he pulled the trigger on his father's old pistol. Waking up every time in a cold sweat, heart racing, he wouldn't get any sleep for the rest of the night. Even his talks with Father Mickey didn't help the dream. Over the years, the dream didn't happen quite as often. But when the dream came to him, he would see the woman in the burka as clear and as vivid as on the day it happened. Even with some counseling the dream would not leave him.

And while he wasn't completely over Page's betrayal, with Father Mickey's help, he saw that he could move on. He was raw and still somewhat depressed, but he was making progress and looking forward to his discharge, and then moving on with his Computer Engineering career. He was making the best of his desk job with the Marine Corps Enterprise Information Technology Services unit (MCEITS) while wrapping up his active duty. His temporary assignment might even open some doors for him.

Let us now follow Rocco as he tells us his story from the present day.

**********

Rocco

Although I was raised Catholic, I am not a deeply religious person. However, I do have several firm spiritual beliefs. First, I believe that there is a God, or a higher power, or a supreme being, or whatever you want to call It. And that higher power gave us free will. So, we can fuck-up as much as we want. What many of us don't understand, however, is that we are responsible for the consequences of our own fuck-ups. I also believe that God is a female because she likes to really fuck with the minds of men the way many women often do. Just like a woman, when things are going well, when all is right with the world, she throws a curveball at your life. I didn't think that I could ever trust another woman again with my heart.

But despite what happened with Page, I believe in miracles, especially the miracle of love. Think about it. Think about how miraculous it is to meet someone with whom you find a deep spiritual and physical connection. You come together as complete strangers. Then you live your lives together, have children, and leave a lasting legacy on the world. If you're lucky, you grow old together. And long after the physical attraction has passed, you live your life together into old age as friends and partners. Part of that miracle is that we are all given one opportunity to meet that one great love of our life. Some of us are too stupid to recognize that love when it's right in front of our faces. For those of us who are lucky enough to meet our mate for life, if we fuck it up, we'll never have a chance at great love again. That is not to say that we won't fall in love with someone else if our one true love fails us. But the great love...well, screw that up, and it's gone for all eternity. You'll never get it back.

And my last belief is that there is a hell. And in that inferno, there's a special place down deep in its pit that's reserved for male predators who pursue and subdue other men's women when they are in a vulnerable state. To me, there's nothing as vile nor as ugly as a guy who takes for himself another man's wife. They are the lowliest scum on the planet. And one level in hell just above that pit is where the devil banishes the heartbreakers...the cheating women. Yes, I believe that in the after-life there is retribution. I'm not a big believer in revenge. The sins of cheaters carry their own punishments. Eventually, their vulgar traitorous deceit and corruption catches up with them.

The scars that my former fiancé Page left when she sent me her "Dear John" letter ran deep. I didn't think I'd ever get over the pain. It left me bitter and with an irrational hatred for women in general. I know. That's crazy. But I was hurting big time. Let me bring you up to speed so that I can tell you the rest of my story.

You already know that my name is Rocco Pistiglione. Some people call me Rocco. In professional circles, they call me "The Pistol." How did I get that handle? Well, if you read chapter one, you'd know. I don't wish to recount the story, so I'll move on. I'm a major league baseball umpire. Some might consider that a glamorous job. In many respects, it is just that. The starting salary at the major league level is $120,000. There's extra money to be earned if you get to work any of the post-season games. And a senior umpire can make over $300,000. But the road to the major leagues is filled with days and nights in the minor leagues where the hotels are ratty, the food is greasy, and the pace is grueling. If that's not enough, you spend a considerable amount of time down in the minor leagues, away from your family. Depending on where you're posted, you might not make it home for months at a time. And this was my fuck up. I traded the love of my life in pursuit of one day making it to the major leagues. And some lousy scumbag predatory prick bastard took advantage of my absence. You see, I had long since gotten over Page. She was nothing more than a blip on the radar. Just as Father Mickey had predicted, I did meet someone else, and I fell deeply, hopelessly, and forever in love with her. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I am forty years old, 5'10", and weigh about 185. Because of my profession, I stay in great shape. I do quite a bit of weight training and running during the off season. The time on the field during the baseball season keeps me pretty trim. In 2001, I graduated from New Amsterdam University in Westchester County, New York with a degree in Software Engineering. 911 happened the fall after I graduated. My Marine Reserve unit was activated and I was shipped off to war. I never thought that would happen when I signed up.

While in College, I played baseball. I loved the game and lived to someday become a professional ballplayer. But I wasn't good enough. There was no way I could compete at that level. As chance would have it, when I was stationed stateside at Camp Lejeune, someone asked me to umpire a camp game. I found that I enjoyed it. Hell, I knew the game. And I got to participate in the action. My take charge attitude and assertive personality made me a natural for the job. You see, I was no wallflower. I was a take charge, no bullshit kind of guy. Being raised on the streets of the Bronx will do that to you.

An interesting thing happened when I was about two weeks from being discharged. I got a letter from none other than Page. Seems she got my address from a mutual friend. She realized it was all a mistake, and that she made a bad choice. Turns out that soon after they moved out west, she found him in bed with another woman. Imagine that! She begged me for forgiveness and asked if there was any way we could get together again. Here was my reply:

Dear Cheating Cunt Ex-Fiancé,

Do NOT EVER contact me again. Go and fuck yourself!

Rocco

When I was discharged from the service, my family wanted me to take a job in Information Technology. But I was a little restless and decided to take a different route. I attended professional umpiring school in Florida the spring after my Marine reserve unit was deactivated. Unfortunately, following school, I didn't get an offer to umpire professionally. I was told that I was very good, but there just weren't enough open spots. So, I packed my bags and headed home to the Bronx. I did get a good paying I.T. job, but I also umpired high school, American Legion, and semi-pro ball at nights and on weekends.

The following spring, I got the call. I got an offer to umpire Class A minor-league ball in the East Texas League. That was the year I had my miracle, and met the great love of my life. Oddly enough, her name was Paige, spelled differently, with an "i." Paige Collins was everything you could ever want in a life partner. Even though the name was similar, she was radically different from my earlier Page.

My chance at love almost didn't happen. My umpiring partner and I were in San Antonio getting ready for a night-game. Suddenly a heavy storm came through and the game was called off. We were due to leave San Antonio that night for a game the following evening in Austin, about 90 miles north. However, the rain was so bad, we couldn't get on the road until after the storm subsided. So, we stopped at a pub after we left the ballpark. No drinking that night. The league has some pretty serious rules about DWIs. But we had a nice dinner and just hung out.

You know the feeling when you meet someone and you have an instant connection? Call it a spark, call it a jolt, whatever. I thought I had it with the earlier Page. But this encounter with love was so different. In retrospect, that initial feeling with the first Page was nothing more than hormones and horniness.

No, this was very different. There she was in the booth sitting across from my partner and me. When I happened to glance in her direction and locked eyes with her for just an instant, I felt like I got hit with a ton of bricks. Then slow embers started glowing in my stomach. And I could tell that she felt it too. She was sitting with two of her girlfriends. I just couldn't let the moment pass. I simply got up and introduced myself to her. Hey, I didn't get to where I am today by being shy. I went right over to her booth, looked her in the eye, and said, "Hi. I'm Rocco. And I think someday you and I are going to get married."

"And what makes you so brazen to think that I would fall for a pick-up line like that?" she responded with a bit of sarcasm in her twangy Texas voice.

"Because I know you feel the same way. You practically begged me to come over to your table with your eyes."

How to describe Paige? Well, the narrator of my story used the movie star comparison, so why don't we stick with that? The closest star I could think of to describe my Paige is Rachel McAdams. While the earlier Page essentially dripped sexuality, my new Paige couldn't be any more different. Don't misunderstand me. She was hot with a capital H. But this Paige was someone you wanted to take home to meet your mother, and then make slow passionate love with right afterwards. She was as wholesome as apple pie, while at the same time as erotic as a classy Playboy model, but in an understated kind of way. Perhaps a better way to describe her would be to say that she was the proverbial "girl next door." With shoulder-length light-brown hair and light highlights, she had deep dark brown eyes that sang a long, slow country-western love song to me every time I looked into them.

She giggled, excused herself, took me by the hand, and we got our own booth. We must have spent an entire hour just talking and getting to know each other. Turns out, Paige had recently graduated from Texas A&M and was due to start an Accounting job in a couple of days. She was the real deal, the whole package...brains, beauty, and an understated sensuality. Finally, my umpiring partner, who was making small talk with Paige's friends, told me that we really needed to get on the road. Paige and I exchanged cell phone numbers and promised each other that we would meet the next time I came through San Antonio. From that night on, we would call each other every day.

I was in San Antonio two weeks later to umpire a three-game series. I got into town the evening before my first game. Paige met me at the same pub that brought us together. We were all over each other that night. After the meal and a couple of drinks, we went back to her apartment. As soon as the door closed behind us, Paige jumped up into my arms and kissed me deeply, allowing our tongues to freely roam over one another. We basically ripped each other's clothes off and fucked right on the floor of her living room. There was no foreplay, just fast, furious, and hard fucking. It wasn't long before we both screamed out in pleasure as our orgasms rocked us. As we lay there in each other's arms, we just kissed slowly. Then she took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom where we made love over and over again until the sun came up. I'm sure you can imagine that I was more than a little exhausted during the game that I umpired the following evening.

By the next spring, we were married, and living near my mom in the Bronx. Paige was an instant hit with my family, my Irish mother most of all. They all thought that her little southern accent with a Texas twist was cute. Between my mother with a brogue and Paige with the southern accent thing, when the two of them had a conversation, it was something to see. My mother couldn't get enough of Paige. She treated her like her very own daughter. Paige very quickly found a public Accounting job in Westchester county. Life was good. We were all set.

Paige is not what you would call a great cook. However, there was one dish she made that was amazing. Honestly, it was the best thing I have ever eaten before or since, though I would never confess that to my mother. Paige's "signature dish" was good old, down home beef stew and cornbread. I lived for the nights when she prepared it.

We settled into a nice routine the fall after we got married. During the off-season, I took temp jobs in I.T. Paige's Accounting job was going well. Being from Texas, she was a bit of a novelty with her office staff and her clients. Our plan was to save for a few years and buy a house. In two years, we realized our goal and moved away from the city. Life was good. Our passion for each other and our lovemaking never slowed down.

Paige was not in the least bit put off my umpiring job and all the travel that it entailed, at least she didn't tell me she was. She was as supportive as any of the wives of my fellow umpires. She knew it was important that I pursue my dream. We somehow dealt with the travel and the lonely nights. Since I got a job soon after we got married in the Mid-Atlantic league in class AA ball, I made it home quite often during the season. Were there any issues of trust or worries of infidelity? Not a chance. We were so much in love, that was never even a thought. Being on the road, I had plenty of opportunities to stray if I wanted to. But I never even had an inclination. I had something special waiting at home for me. When I did make it home, all of the time we spent together was special.

Everything we did, no matter how mundane, was special because we did it together. Neither one of us had any close friends. We were best friends with each other. I never saw a need to hang out with the guys, golf, hunt, or do any of the things that guy friends did. My entire life was invested in Paige. She had some work friends, but she never had any girls' nights out, at least none that I knew of. And she never made plans to be with them when I was in town or during the off season. Yeah. I know what you're thinking. How could two people sustain that level of intimacy over the long haul. But we did. And a side benefit that came along with Paige was quite a surprise. The PTSD dreams stopped. No longer would the murderous bitch with the burka haunt my sleep.

But, of course, since this story is in the Loving Wives section of Literotica, you probably already figured out that my whole world would eventually go to shit. It actually fell apart in a relatively short period of time. We were married for nearly five unbelievably wonderful years. We were both so happy with each other. Our love making never gradually tailed off like many of the other couples you read about. Sure, we had the occasional spats, but nothing cataclysmic and certainly nothing that would drive us apart. We had some money issues because I wasn't making that much in the minors. But Paige always encouraged me to pursue my dream, and told me that while it was rough going, sooner or later she knew we would make it financially and that we were building something special. We had no problem making ends meet and saving for our future.