A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02

Preface:

If you've read part one of this story you may have noticed no annualized time frame was indicated. The timing of the story was in terms of months; the period from shortly after Thanksgiving until sometime in the following fall, roughly October of the next year. Knowing this we can proceed with the understanding the year of those events could only be dated from Francis's limited understanding of electronic appliances such as cell phones, GPS units, and various audio and video recording devices. Additionally, I erred in one important technological instance. I mistakenly referred to Leslie's phone as an IPhone; let's correct that to simply cell phone. With that in mind we'll only add the things we've heard so far probably occurred just a few years after the 2007 melt down. That gives us the time we'll need to find out what happens, but don't count on us burning any bitches. Don't count on a reconciliation either. Then again, everyone knows I'm a limp dicked, man hating, wimp. So only follow along if you're ready for uncertainty.

And now on to the second part of this tale.

~~~V~~~

(Near the end of September in Oakland, Maryland not far from the West Virginia state line. Francis's wife Leslie had committed adultery, then she'd tried to dissuade him from believing his own eyes, but she was caught in Baltimore with her paramour. She'd been subsequently sent away. )

~~V~~

"Dad," Richard began, "we know you still love her. Victoria and I just wish you'd give it a little more time."

"Son I've given things nearly seven months already. I'm not submitting any separation papers; I'm just moving out of the cabin and donating all Leslie's clothes to charity."

Victoria slipped her hand in her father's, "We know it's been tough for you. We know you think you need to move on, but just give it a little more time. We hear from mom all the time; she's really suffering."

"And I haven't suffered? Look, like I said, I'm not filing anything. I picked out a house. I'm tired Victoria. I'm tired of waking up in 'our' bed. I'm tired of washing 'our' dishes. I'm tired of splitting wood. I'm tired of being cold all winter. I feel like I'm living in a mausoleum. I need to get out. I just want something different."

Richard asked, "You picked a place?"

"The old Hamilton home over near Red House."

Victoria scoffed, "That old place?"

"It's not that old. It's a nice little bungalow, and it's on a quiet side street in the woods. It has oil heat, and with the money we, 'I've' got in the bank I'll be able to swing a decent down payment. Besides, look at our situations; Richard you're at Frostburg now, and Victoria you're a senior and my mom and dad said you can stay with them till you graduate."

"What about the dogs," Richard asked?

"I'm taking them with me. Plus your mom's Avalon is coming off my insurance, and I'm dropping her from my health plan. I'm selling one of the pick-ups too."

Richard rebuked, "That's cold dad."

"Look son she's gone. She's not coming back, and even if she did...I don't know that I'd want her."

~~~V~~~

(Early October, Baltimore, Maryland.)

"I don't think this is a very good idea Leslie."

"Mom I love you and father, but I've made up my mind. Oakland is my home. That's where my children are. That's where my husband is, my heart, my home is there."

Leslie's father looked at her skeptically, "He doesn't want you. Your kids hate you. There's nothing there for you."

Leslie tried to counter her father, and though she was far from sure she tried to be persuasive, "No father you're wrong. First Francis hasn't submitted any divorce papers. If he really wanted to be rid of me he'd of done that months ago. The kids don't hate me. We email back and forth all the time. They're angry, they're disappointed, but they don't hate me. They tell me about Francis. I know he's lonely. He doesn't date. He doesn't see anyone. He just plays with the dogs."

Leslie's father retorted, "What about Mr. Weatherby? What about Richard? We thought you and he..."

Interrupting her father Leslie countered, "No Father you're wrong. Oh sure, yes, Richard and I have been seeing each other. I guess you'd say we've been dating, but it hasn't been about us, not like that. Since his second wife left him he's come to terms with himself. He wants to go back to Richmond. He wants to try again. He wants his old life back."

Leslie's mother countered, "That's not what he said to me. He told me he loves you. He loved you back when you in college. Don't send him away again. You've got to get past your Forest Ranger. Get a divorce. Move on with your life."

Leslie reflected on her mother's remark, 'Richard had left her back in college, not she him. Mother either forgot or Richard misinformed her.' Just the same Leslie was determined to go forward, "Mother I'm past forty. I made a bad decision. I wished Richard had never come to Oakland. I need to go home. I need my family. I want my husband back."

"Leslie," her mother retaliated, "That man Francis; he doesn't want you. He'll make a fool of you."

Leslie held her ground. She knew her mother and father disliked her husband. Even after over twenty years and two children, children they'd never truly accepted, they still hadn't gotten over her decision to abandon her 'entitled' life for some 'mountain man'. She persevered, "Mother I'm already a fool. I've ruined the best part of my life. I don't know if he'll take me or not. I kind of doubt it. It only matters now that I get back home, back to Oakland. I need to be where he is. I need to see him. I need to be near him."

Her father warned, "You're setting yourself up for another heartbreak. You'll only tear yourself apart."

"I've already done that father."

Her mother asked, "What will you do? Where will you live?"

Her father interrupted, "Don't count on us; not one red cent."

Leslie wasn't surprised; her parents hadn't lifted a finger, not one finger, not once to help her and her husband, and she an only child. She reached out and clutched her father's arm, "I know father. It's OK. I've already got something, and I've found a place to stay. I know I won't have any money, but there's a worse kind of poverty, the poverty of the heart. Sorry father. I can't live like this anymore. If I can't taste the cream at least I can still see it."

Leslie's father was incredulous; he just shook his head, "Good luck."

Her mother chided, "You'll be back."

Careful not to muss her mother's makeup Leslie air kissed her cheek, then she held out her hand for her father who took and shook it. At last she chided, "We'll see."

~~V~~

(The Trek back.)

I left my childhood home early the next morning.

I decided to take old Route Forty west from Baltimore, through Frederick, by Hagerstown, through Indian Springs, Hancock, Cumberland, by Frostburg, Grantsville, out to Keyser's Ridge, then down #219 to Oakland and home. She thought, 'that's the way Francis and I had taken when we first came out right after we'd gotten married. We'd loaded some of the stuff I hadn't taken when I first moved, and then we'd driven a U-Haul all the way out.'

In the back of her mind, rumbling around in the deepest recesses of her memories something kept calling out to her, 'In spite of all I'd seen and all I'd done as a child and young woman I still can't help thinking that simple drive west has always been my greatest adventure.'

I drove north on Charles Street out of Baltimore to the Beltway, then west to Route Forty. I remembered my mother and father had disapproved of Francis. They'd disapproved of our marriage. They never said it, but I knew they thought I'd married beneath my status. Oh they'd been nice, but the trust fund money never materialized. They cut me off from their insurances. They'd put $2,000.00 in my savings, but that had been it.

Francis and I had done the big Catholic wedding just like mother and father wanted. We'd had the mass, I'd put flowers on the altar for Mary, yeah we'd done the whole thing. If I'd married someone more appropriate I knew my parents would have seen that we'd honeymooned in Europe, but Francis wasn't good enough for Europe, we got a gift card and just enough cash to spend a weekend at Niagara.

The drive wasn't that long, so I thought I'd do it all in one day. Not much to think about till I got past Frederick. Just west of Frederick was a crossing point on the Appalachian Trail. Francis, me, and some of his friends had hiked parts of the trail. It had been the summer right after our wedding, and the trail was pretty crowded. No one cared. We had one of those little igloo tents. It was easy for me to forget about the rocks when I was snuggled in tightly with my man.

Francis was a gentle sort, and I needed that. I hadn't been a virgin on that wonderful hike. We were already married, but I'd only been with two other boys before, one had been right after high school, and the other had been Richard Weatherby. I cringed; I'd given myself to Richard near the end of college. Even in that tiny tent Francis had been a more caring and considerate lover; that hike in the Appalachians was filled with golden moments.

Francis was more than a forester; he'd minored in archaeology. He knew all about the Appalachian Mountains. He explained to me how the Appalachians we knew weren't really the mountains at all. They were the residual valleys that had existed between what he called the 'Old Appalachians'. Francis was a mental marvel; he'd really studied. He explained the whole Appalachian Chain was actually a giant 'eo-geo-syncline'. It had once been a vast inland sea that had been pushed up to create a mountain range once as high as the Himalayas, but they had been totally eroded away. He told me that was why there was so much limestone in the old range; the limestone, he said, was the residue of millions of years of sea life that had died and settled on the sea floor.

I never knew any of these things. I was overawed. I remember I asked him where the eroded material had gone. He told me the whole eastern coastal plain was composed of the eroded material; especially the areas east of the Piedmont Plateau. He added on the west side it made up the rich soils of the Ohio River Valley.

As I drove along past Braddock Heights; the area they say where the British general had been buried after his disastrous invasion of the Ohio country back in 1754 I thought about my high school years. I'd been a good student. I'd been popular with my classmates, and I'd been well liked by the boys who attended the nearby 'all boys' academy.

I remembered all through high school I'd followed my father's advice. I'd kept that aspirin held tightly between my legs.

Why had I given up my cherry right after high school? I suppose it might have had something to do with the usual adolescent rebellion. I was just eighteen and pretty much free to make my own decisions. Back then most of my girlfriends were all already pretty much sexually active. They raved on about their hot orgasms, how they were able to manipulate boys with their pussies and, how much they liked getting and giving head. I didn't even know what 'giving head' meant until my junior year. One of my girlfriends had to explain it to me.

My first time wasn't anything like what they said. For one thing, I didn't especially like the boy. He was an athlete and was supposed to be experienced. After all the confusion and uncertainty I wasn't so sure. I'd 'fooled around' before; foreplay is what they called it. I knew I was supposed to be wet before he did anything. That didn't happen. He just pushed in, he bounced around a few times, pulled out, ejaculated all over my stomach, and then he sat back and lit up a joint. I was so disappointed I decided to skip any return performances. It wasn't until much later in college with Richard before I gave it up again.

My Mother and father had always been difficult for me to sort out. I believed they loved each other, I believed they loved me, but they were so reserved; there was never any emotion, no enthusiasm. That wasn't completely true; father was a vigorous man, a dedicated businessman, a tireless philanthropist, and an avid golfer. Mother had always been a devout Catholic; someone others counted on to head up charities or chair special committees. She'd been an almost full-time docent at the Walter's Art Gallery. She'd dedicated herself to adding to the number of worthwhile volumes at the Pratt Library. Yes, mother and father had always been involved in many wonderful causes.

They provided excellently for me also. I always had a nanny. I attended the best private day schools, and when high school beckoned they found the finest private boarding academy for me. I spent my summers at a variety of camps and toured with numerous excursion groups. I, my girlfriends and their parents had walked the 'Great Wall of China', toured up the Nile, and we'd seen all the great museums of Europe. My favorite European city, after Paris, was Florence. I had the finest and most expensive clothes and the flashiest cars. I lacked for nothing.

My mother had attended an exclusive private college just outside Baltimore. I surprised her by doing the same. I joined the same sorority, and I gained the same kind of reputation as a woman who devoted herself to helping others. I worked hard, I studied, and my grades were always good. By my senior year I was far enough ahead to spend much of my time helping others.

In north Baltimore there was a small children's' hospital. Kids from all over the world with all kinds of ailments came for a variety of treatments. It was there during my senior year that I had something of a 'mountain top', or more accurately a 'slough of despair' experience.

There'd been a horrific fire down in Guatemala City. Hundreds of people had been killed. Dozens of children had been terribly burned. Eighteen of these poor burn victims were brought to the Children's Hospital. None of them was expected to survive. I started my so called 'service career' at that hospital before Christmas just as those children arrived. Imagine visiting a hospital three or four days a week intent on delivering all the TLC one could give. Imagine watching as, one by one, each of those poor pathetic little children slowly died. The last one, a five year old girl, died the spring of my senior year. I was crushed.

It was during my senior year when I'd met Richard Weatherby. He was very tall, very blond, very athletic, and very handsome. He was the most beautiful and most charismatic man I'd ever met. We started off dating slowly. He had another girlfriend, and I refused to take him seriously as long as he was keeping company with her.

I was fortunate he was around while I was visiting Children's Hospital. Richard was there for me. Every time one of the little ones faded away he was there. He was so warm, so considerate, and so compassionate. He held my hand. He listened to me talk. He rubbed my head and caressed my cheek whenever I railed against God. He held me while I cried, while I poured my heart out. I guess I fell in love.

He broke up with his old girlfriend and we became a couple; it was with him that I learned about true love and what genuine passionate love making was all about. He taught me how to give head. He literally took over my body. He used his manhood and his tongue, and together we explored all the secrets of sexual love. I even gave him my ass. I became his wanton.

I loved Richard so. I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. It wasn't to be. One night in May, just before graduation he took me to New York. We stayed at a terrific hotel. We saw a fabulous play and ate at a wonderful restaurant. Late in the evening of our last day he broke my heart. He told me he'd been talking to his old girlfriend; he said he wanted to make it up with her. Oh I cried. I begged him not to leave me, but he was adamant, he was convinced she needed him, he said it was his duty to marry her.

Shortly after Richard gave me up I decided to go into teaching. I'd acquired the credentials. I decided to find a place as different from my past experiences as I could; that was how I ended up in Western Maryland, and that was how I came to meet and fall in love with the man I would marry.

I felt a lot of uncertainty about Francis at first. He was so different. He was so confident, so sure of himself. He was the most witty and most intelligent young man I'd ever met. He was always surrounded by friends. Whenever he appeared it was like the whole room lit up. He had the most dazzling smile, and when he talked it was never about trite or trivial stuff. He always had something interesting to talk about. Honestly, I have to admit whenever we were together we usually ended up talking about me. He acted like I was the most important and most interesting person in the world. Whenever he was around me, though he seldom flattered, I felt like I was the center of the universe.

Well I guess I fell in love. No, I didn't just fall in love with Francis; I fell for him like a ton of bricks. He was an only child like me, but his parents weren't like mine. He introduced me and they took over. They wanted to know everything about me, and they wanted to be in on all the things we did. It wasn't long before I felt more like a daughter than just another girlfriend.

There was another thing I found out about Francis. He was immensely popular. I think every girl in the county had a crush on him. I could see why too; he was nice to everybody. I never once heard him say a bad or mean word about anyone. If there was someone he didn't like or he disapproved of he simply remained quiet.

I think it helped that he had a big dog, a big ugly brown hound of some type. The thing had the longest ears and the most wrinkled up face, but that dog just adored Francis. I'd never been around animals much. Dogs were something not allowed when I grew up so I didn't know much about how treat them. At first I was afraid I'd be bitten. Was I ever wrong! That dog fell in love with me. I think after a few days he loved me more than Francis.

It's funny how going from just a dog a person can learn to love all kinds of animals. Oh for sure, I'd learned to ride, but they were always somebody else's horses. I would have liked to own my own horse, but my father was practical. He said horses were a 'dead expense; 'glue on the hoof' is what he called them. He said it was 'more economical' to rent one or ride someone else's.

Oh forget father; with Francis and that old hound around it wasn't long before I was cuddling up with kittens, playing with new puppies, stuffing carrots and sugar cubes into horse's mouths, scampering around with heifers, spying on bears, and learning to trail and bag wild turkeys. Francis was a great teacher and a natural when it came to animals.

I realized early on Francis was what they call a 'Renaissance Man'. He seemed to know or be competent about almost everything.

~~V~~

As I drove into Cumberland I thought about how we came to meet. I'd gone to an apple festival with a couple teacher girlfriends. I'd gotten a job teaching English at one of the high schools. The kids were all pretty nice.

That was another surprising thing. I'd gone to private schools and then a private college. My parents, and most of my friends and their parents had never had much real contact with 'regular people'. I recalled later how my parents sort of treated the people who worked for them more like interchangeable parts in a machine than human beings. I was like that too. Oh sure we were polite and kind, but if some employee had a problem and needed 'real' help we'd usually just let them go. We had an immaculate house and a pristine lawn, but our employees were all illegal. It was and wasn't funny how my father decried the 'intrusion' of illegal aliens, but he religiously chose them over citizen employees.