I Did Mind, I Did Matter

At the last minute, I decided I needed to insure there were no last minute foul-ups, as well as get some closure of my own. I had to be there to watch Sarah sail off to her fate.

I caught the previous flight to Santiago before my ex would arrive and took that crazy bus trip from Santiago to Valparaiso. I got to practice my rudimentary Spanish (they've got their own dialect, mixed with Quechan). There were chickens and piglets caged on the roof, and lunch cooking on braziers in the aisle with dried Vicuña dung as fuel. I doubt it's the same now but it was fun then.

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When I got settled in my hotel that evening, I called Sandra's home phone. "Sandy, as soon as Sarah's airborne, you can begin shutting down the office. Just don't close the bank account until all the refunds are in, the bills are paid current, and services are cut off."

When the day of the Sarah's flight out arrived, Sandra picked her up and gave her all the tickets along with the "emergency" envelope, explaining what it contained. She should open it if things went horribly wrong, and follow the instructions immediately.

Sandra escorted her to the flight gate area (this was before 9/11), sat with her until she got on the flight and then watched it take off. When the plane was out of sight, Sandra called to tell me everything was in motion before going back to the office to pack up her personal items while she waited for Sarah to make her San Diego connecting flight to Santiago.

When she called me back to let me know Sarah was winging her way to Santiago, I had her cancel the return flight from Seattle. I made the call to cancel the cruise. It cost me the reservation deposit but the major balance was returned to my numbered account.

When all the business matters were settled and the office was empty, Sandra got the leasing agent to inspect the space and confirmed she would be officially out of there on Friday.

The corporation would rot in bureaucratic red tape and eventually be officially closed by the state when the required annual paperwork wasn't filed. No tax returns would be filed because the corporation had made no money. It was a wash.

When I last checked with the airport the previous afternoon, Sarah's flight had landed in Santiago. A check with the bus company that morning confirmed she was now aboard the bus to the docks, with a couple of sightseeing stops at vineyards along the way.

Both the cruise ship and the freighter were scheduled to leave on the evening tide, leaving her less than four hours for any last-minute maneuvering...precious little time.

I spent the afternoon of her sailing day kicked back in a bar near the freighter, sucking down a locally-distilled concoction called Piscola (Chilean Pisco brandy and Coke) and watching the crusty old barge being loaded with copper ore when my ex arrived at the bottom of the freighter's gangplank.

When she saw the rusty old bucket creaking in its slip, I expected her to immediately start calling to get herself back home by any other way. But, after taking a long look at the old sludge bucket, she marched up the gangplank as if she owned it; only to have a filthy sailor grab the collar of her designer blouse and the seat of her designer pants and march her right back down to the dock.

All the way back down the ganglplank, she kept pointing to her "pass" and yelling the name on the ship's stern, as if louder invoked a universal language translator.

He may or may not have understood English, but the sailor clearly didn't care for her attitude. I was in the cool black shadows of the café and close enough to have heard him call her a 'jodienda puta', an apt name or her, as he shoved her into her pile of luggage and went back up the gangplank, using the hand ropes like a spider monkey up two vines.

This promised to be interesting and well worth the long trip down here. I put my feet up and ordered another drink, "Uno mas, no paraguas, por favour" (skip the umbrella).

As soon as the seaman disappeared, she ran over to the dock's office. I was betting she was going to make those "help me, I've fallen" calls home and to the airline.

When that didn't work, she would likely contact the US embassy or consulate. The US stance would be to let the Chileans pay to get rid of her; after all, they'd let her in. Finally, the Chilean officials would tell her "no ayudar" as well, because she already had emergency passage home (that knowledge courtesy of a prior phone call by me).

If she failed to use the freighter pass, the Chileans would not likely be very happy and she could be stuck in a Chilean jail for up to a year until deported per treaty protocol.

It was her choice whether to tell stories back home of a two-week sea voyage back to the US aboard a rusty freighter and possible rapes by a diseased crew; or of a year of jail and certain rapes by diseased peasants, criminals, and guards -- a delightful choice, no?

About 45 minutes later, she came back frowning and parked her ass again. About 15 minutes after that, the captain came to the ship's rail. When he recognized her from the picture I'd faxed, he came down the gangplank to get a better look.

They talked for a few minutes before he disappeared back up the gangplank with her passport and cash in hand.

After always having been able to think well on her feet, she was now out of her element and thousands of miles from home. She had no more money, nobody else to call, and no choices left.

She'd realize she was trapped...lost in a world patterned after her own design and of her own making. She could guess I was somehow at the heart of her problem, but couldn't know for certain and wouldn't have time to ponder it.

A few minutes later, the same grungy seaman came down and over to me at the bar. The captain had sent her seaman's papers for me to see and sign. I noted the name of the official, signed with my opposite hand, gave him the papers and first annual parment. After counting the cash and signing my receipt, the crewman went back to the ship.

Two hours later, as the dock cranes and conveyors finished the loading and withdrew, the captain returned to the ship's rail and Sarah began ferrying up her luggage. When she had everything aboard, he made her stand outside the bridge as he barked orders for the crew to make ready for sea.

Tug boats towed and nudged the ship away from the dock and turned her toward the harbor entrance. Then it was through the breakwater and underway to Seattle, eighteen days sail and around nine hundred fucks away. She ought to enjoy that part, anyway.

I watched as the ship slowly made its way over the horizon before returning to my hotel to get ready to go home. Just before I checked out to catch the bus and my return flight, I called Sandra to tell her to cancel the rent, car, and pet care payments.

Sarah had left me with a dead dog, an empty home, a devastated life, and nothing but memories of misery and confusion. It only seemed fair that she was now penniless, soon to be evicted in abstentia, her car repossessed and possessions put to the curb, her pets gone forever; and left with only a myriad of crushing memories.

I called Sandy again on Friday and found she'd closed the bank account, but didn't know what to do with the $4,000 or so that had still been in the account after the bills and refunds. "Sandy, you keep the money as a bonus and good luck in your new home and job."

The following Monday, I had my attorney notify Child Support Services (CPS) that Sarah had gone on an extended vacation and left her son with her aged parents, who were unable to provide adequate care to a severely disabled and very unruly child; and that Sarah had now apparently disappeared from a foreign country and could not be contacted.

After investigating and finding Sarah's trail cut off in Chile, CPS filed a 'missing person' report about Sarah having disappeared, and contacted Steve to assume custody for his child.

Claire called me several months later and told me she'd had a baby girl name Desiré and listed Steve as the father on the birth certificate. She was working on more child support from him. If he can't ante up the money to fight paternity and he'll have to pay support for my baby for the next eighteen years or more. "Hey Stevie, it's spelled, 'C-u-c-k-o-l-d'. How does it feel to be on the receiving end this time?"

CPS pushed forward a child custody suit for my ex's baby, and Steroid Daddy was forced to assume sole custody of his deformed child by Sarah. I did what I could to make sure CPS stayed all up his ass with court-ordered monthly visits and reports that my lawyer passed on to me.

Steve couldn't pay for the paternity tests and got stuck with my by Claire kid, too. "Sorry, good buddy, but it's time for you to get that third job to pay for 'your' three kids, only one of which is really yours. I guess you should have kept your dick in your pants and your mouth shut."

As I said earlier, there would be special retribution for him. A healthy four year old child is a handful. A severely mentally and physically handicapped boy is easily a hundred times that difficult and will only get worse with time. "Hey, Stevie, just wait until he's eighteen, 6'8", 295 lbs, ten times as strong as you ever were, and way crazier than he is now.

Selfish as she is, Sarah won't try to overturn the court order when she eventually gets home, so Steroid Pipsqueak is going have to man up for the rest of his life, unless he figures out something else.

Three weeks after the freighter had sailed from Valparaiso, the captain called me from Seattle to let me know they would be leaving in a few minutes on the morning tide for China with my ex still aboard. All was as we had wished.

I went back to living life as well as I could ever wish, in more ways than one. Making money was no longer my priority; having fun was, and before I got too old to enjoy it. My days were filled with new ideas about places to go and all kinds of things to see and do; and then going and doing them, one or two at a time.

Best of all, I met a young wisp of a girl, not much bigger than a minute and as fresh as spearmint on the stalk. It seemed as if life was new to my Latin doll. After my first go-round with love, I didn't think I would ever feel that way again. And I didn't.

I had loved Sarah with all my heart, but my new love is so much more than the old one ever was or could have been. Mariah fixed all the holes and filled all the empty places in my heart that Sarah had left behind.

I love her name, Mariah, and every little detail about her. I respect and, even more importantly, I trust her. Yes, I was "once burnt and twice shy", but I also know she won't do me wrong...kill me maybe, but not wrong me.

Mariah is wonderful with kids and critters of every type and temperament, and has lots of friends. She's very popular at parties but doesn't flirt and turns down guys by the dozen. She can also turn on the elegance, grace, and charm at formal society or charity affairs. Every day is another surprise. She never ceases to amaze me. What a life!

I bought a house off the beach in the hills between Malibu and Santa Barbara; and about a year later, we got married in Costa Mesa in a Hispanic ceremony. I think about half the population came to our reception.

We live in the hills behind the jealously-protected private beaches but we do have access to a couple of them thanks to some good neighbors who liked sharing barbeques and swapping lies, but not wives.

After having two baby boys in two and a half years, we decided to space the next kids at least three years apart to give Mariah time to get back into her original svelte condition between pregnancies. With two older brothers to protect her, we both wanted a daughter next.

Mariah's beautiful and, well let's just say, not the least bit disappointing in the boudoir. A lot of women can give a decent blowjob, but she can turn a simple "hummer" into a full symphonic orchestral production.

When she is the maestro, I experience a range of feelings that can be represented as soulful strings, howling woodwinds, brass attacks, raging percussion tempests; and culminating in a rendition of the 1812 Overture with a mighty cannonade at its end. It's always at least a seven-gun salute to her talents...and she will swallow every drop.

But what wins hands-down is when she locks into my saddle and starts snapping her ass against me like she's riding a horse at a canter (faster than a trot, slower than a gallop), and stuffs her 36C tits in my face, spins to show me her rear, and rides me with 'mucho gusto', facing either side.

Once she gets her jollies, she eases into a forward-leaning, ground-eating lope that brings her off about every ten minutes and me injecting another load of seed in her about every hour. We've never discovered how long we can continue that, but all-nighters are fairly common. We just go until we're both happy, one of us passes out, or the kids join us in the morning.

Before you ask, yes, I have all the 'proud papa' pictures my wallet can hold, and albums full of my beautiful wife and my family that I would share with the slightest provocation. I'm finally fulfilled and satisfied in all the ways a man can be.

I talked with the ship captain on the first anniversary of my ex's original departure, to get any news and arrange transfer of the annual payment to his account. He told me Sarah hadn't started to fully earn her keep until recently when he began to pimp her out to the dock workers of the ports they stopped at. They would come aboard three at a time, get a half hour, and another threesome would replace them.

At the end of the third year, he said he was going to keep her because he was averaging almost $10,000 a month off her from the dockhands in the ports they visited. When fuel costs were up, he was staying extra days in each port until business "petered off" with my ex. He said he made as good a profit in port with her as he would have averaged under steam at sea, and would be able to buy his ship in a few more years.

After that, I called him once a year anyway, just to see how things were going. I even helped him with some financing to let him complete the buyout of his ship. He continues paying me back in big chunks after every roundtrip from the Americas to the Far East and back.

Mariah eventually managed to drag out of me what the big secret was with the foreign and ship-to-shore calls on the phone bills, and I finally told her the whole sordid tale from beginning to end.

I could tell she didn't approve; but she never said another word about it to me. However, her family began to treat me with even more respect. It appears I am now seen as mucho macho...a man with money, power, and heart; and who makes good Latin grandbabies and doesn't take shit from anybody. Is seems revenge is big to those of Latin persuasion.

A few years later, Claire called me one day and asked me to come back and put another baby in her. Her ex was in line to be promoted to supervisor sometime this year and would be able to support another baby, but he didn't have the cash to fight her yet.

I talked with Maria about it and was surprised when she agreed without hesitation, so I went and did what was asked of me with pleasure. Claire was still stacked and energetic in bed; and she does make smart, good-looking babies. At only four years old, my first boy by her can already read Shakespere and play some piano. It seems the Reaper sows seed as well as he reaps and it appears that Steve would soon be paying for two of my kids.

Finally, at the end of the seventh year, the captain told me my ex was no longer bringing in the big bucks and the fleet was tired of her bitching and stinky pussy. Her asshole was too loose and her blowjobs no longer sucked, so he was finally going to put her ashore in San Diego along with a shipment of Christmas toys from Taiwan in two weeks.

Of course, I told Mariah and found myself waiting alone in the shadow of a warehouse at the slip in San Diego where the captain said he'd be moored. When the ship was secured and the gangplank came down, so did my ex. The ship had a new coat of paint and my collateral actually looked pretty good, but my ex looked a lot worse for the wear and nothing near respectable.

What a difference seven years can make. She would be closing on forty in calendar years; but looked to be somewhere between eighty and eight hundred in mileage years as she swayed down the plank with sea legs and a small duffle bag over her shoulder containing everything she owned in the world.

The captain had told me she'd repeatedly caught every venereal disease known except AIDS (amazing) and was required to immediately submit to quarantine and testing at the port infirmary for 10 days, and mandatory testing for six months after that.

As she passed, I stepped out of the shadows. "Hey, sailor, buy you a drink?" It was definitely a hackneyed line, but why use the good stuff on a worn out old whore?

She stopped and looked at me. Her eyes were lifeless, as if she'd had enough misery for one lifetime and was just going home to die. It took a full minute for her to react.

"Jim, what are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you."

"You knew I was going to be here? Wait...you set the whole thing up, didn't you?"

"Sarah, you hurt everybody who ever met you and any one of them could have been the one who set it up. They all hated you so much, they may have even formed a committee for it and taken donations to make it happen, but does any of that matter now?"

"No, I guess not."

"Do you have time for a drink before you go to the infirmary?"

We talked for awhile in a pub at the end of the dock. I bought the drinks and asked her if she still had her original seaman's papers. As she pulled the folder out of her duffle bag, I said, "The official's name was Oriego Pansala, wasn't it? Do you recognize the handwriting of the signature?"

"No."

"That's because I wrote it with my right hand."

"You were there when I was shanghaied and you signed these papers so that fat bastard could take me away? You even had him take my money, so I couldn't escape?"

"You knew who and what I was and yet still you woke the "Reaper", even though I told you to leave him forever behind me. You insured your own damnation. Hell, I taught you most, but not all, of my tricks. You used them against good people, and even against me. For that reason that, yes, I was in Chile when you left on the freighter. Know also that I will have you in my sights if you EVER use another of my tricks to harm another person ... you will die."

I got my personal payback when I showed her the picture albums of my wonderful wife and growing family, our palatial new home with the huge lanai overlooking our private beach in Hawaii with the outdoor garden shower; our 90' yacht at the seaside villa in southwestern Tuscany when Hawaii was too hot, etc.

I said goodbye for the last time and watched her make her way to the infirmary. It's the last I ever saw or heard of her. I know she never went back home or contacted her family.

When she dies, I hope old Coon gets the chance to sink his spectral teeth into her ghostly ass at the Pearly Gates before she gets sucked into hell. "Hey, Dante...I got another one for your Inferno!"

As it turns out, I Did mind and it Did matter, after all.

"And now you know the rest of the story." - P.H.

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I owe many thanks to the editors who helped me achieve a new level and to the readers who have shown their support of my early efforts.

Many readers, named and Anon, have inspired me to try to become better, even those of you who ripped my early efforts (most times I agreed). I hope this, 'the rest of the story', has lived up to your expectations.