"
BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER IS A SICK, FUCKING PERVERT
!"
The words still rang loud and harsh in my ears, eight hours later. As I drove toward the setting sun, paying little attention to the passing landscape, I once again recalled the last conversation I had with my father.
I had just finished my second year at Ohio State when I learned that my father was leaving my mother. He dropped by the dorm early this Saturday morning to inform me of his decision to leave her. His appearance was rather disheveled and he fairly reeked of alcohol.
"Why did you come here to tell me this?" I inquired.
"I wanted you to hear my side of it before your mother filled your head with lies and half-truths," was his response.
"How am I to know which of you isn't telling the truth?"
He stared out the window, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, while he pondered my question. Slowly, he turned to face me.
"I guess you will have to discern where the truth lies yourself, Robert. You are a grown man now and I feel certain that you have learned that every lie has some kernel of truth in it."
I began to probe for reasons behind this seemingly rash action. He was evasive, saying that the two of them had developed irreconcilable differences. His demeanor deteriorated when I refused to accept his Clinton-like equivocations.
"Look, Robert…I came here to tell you this personally, out of respect for you as a man, as well as my son. I could have just as easily sent you a letter or an e-mail, but felt the right thing to do was to stand before you and admit my own failure. However, I don't think you are entitled to know some of the very personal aspects of your mother's and my life together."
"Bull shit! If I am not entitled, then who is, the friggin' court system?" I blurted. "Suppose she contests the divorce or the property settlement? Then all your dirty linen is going to be aired for the entire world to see! Do I have to wait until I read it in the papers?"
My outburst was a result of my frustration, and frankly, I was getting angry.
"I don't think that is likely to happen, Robert. There will be no contest of the divorce. I am giving her everything and I am quite sure that she wouldn't want her "activities" to become public knowledge."
"What activities? What the hell are you talking about?" I almost shouted. "What could she possibly be doing that would warrant you just packing up and absconding into the night?"
Dad turned away from me and walked toward the window. With shaking hands, he tried to light his cigarette. He threw it on the floor in disgust when he realized he had lit the filter end.
"Is Mom having an affair? Is that it?" I asked softly.
"Oh, if it were only that simple," was his mumbled reply.
"Is she gay? Is she sticking an ice pick in your ear while you sleep? Did she fill your gas tank with water?" I inquired.
"No, no. Don't be silly," was his response to each of my questions in turn.
"Then what the fuck is wrong? Why are you divorcing her?" I asked as I reached out and grabbed him by the arm and spun him around to face me
That's when he blurted out those hateful words.
"Huh?"
"You heard me, Robert. You just won't leave it alone, will you?"
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
Dad looked away for a moment before once again fixing his eyes upon my incredulous expression.
"Are you sure you want to know, Robert? You may learn things that you might wish you didn't know."
"Like you said, Dad, I'm a grown man now and I am certainly not wet behind the ears anymore. I am well aware that people are not always what they appear to be, and the twenty-first century has brought about many changes in what is perceived as acceptable behavior."
"Hmmm, perhaps. But what I am about to tell you is a bit beyond the "New Morality" or rather, the lack of morality you seem to infer. You may find it all quite shocking."
"Oh, I seriously doubt you can shock me."
"We'll see," he said softly as he stumbled over and sat down on the bed. This time he was successful at lighting his cigarette. I handed him an empty soda can to use for an ash tray as I moved a chair over to the edge of the bed and sat down, waiting for him to continue.
"Well, as you probably know, your mother has always been a bit of an exhibitionist."
"Yeah, the short skirts, low-cut blouses. But gee, Dad. She always looked great!"
"I agree. She looks ten-years younger than the forty-three she actually is. Lately, though, she has become a bit of an embarrassment. She quit wearing panties and the skirts have grown even shorter. You should hear some of the comments the women, and even some of the men utter when we are out in public."
"Hmm, I guess that is a bit bold. Couldn't you get her to at least put on some sort of g-string or something?"
"I tried, Robert. I mean we even had arguments about it. She always insisted that the panty lines would show and ruin the way her dresses hung."
"I can understand that. The girls here in school subscribe to the same notion. At first I found it quite distracting, but I have become quite accustomed to it and I no longer drop pencils in class for the furtive peek up the occasional short dress," I grinned.
"Ha ha ha! I see nothing has changed since I was in school," Dad laughed.
"So, does that make Mom a pervert?"
"Flirting and flashing is just a harmless game, and one I used to enjoy when we were younger. No, Robert, it gets worse."
He paused, then leaned forward, as if sharing a confidence. "Much worse. Are you really sure you want me to continue?"
To be honest, not only was my curiosity aroused, but so was my libido.
"Yes. I really want to know, Dad."
He leaned back and started at the ceiling. "One of the notable changes in your mother began about a year ago. She insisted that we leave the drapes open in our bedroom all the time, even when we were having sex. She confided in me that it gave her a great thrill to think someone might be watching us. I went along with it because it did seem to give her more intense orgasms. Hell, I found it a bit titillating myself!"
