Facets of Love Ch. 01

Note to Lit admin. Special formatting in this story includes the use of italics and paragraph centering.

To my faithful followers and new readers: This is the first chapter of a twelve-chapter love story. The entire book is already written, and I will do my best to get each chapter published as quickly as Lit allows.

The tale is told from several different points of view and covers events spanning five decades. To help you navigate the saga, I've included the approximate date throughout. Most of the story is told chronologically although I do include a few flash backs and the occasional foreshadow (evidenced by the first two lines Robert speaks).

All characters participating in or observing sexual activity are at least eighteen years old. The author is well over the age of consent.

***

Facets of Love

Chapter 1

-

Robert Ryan Jones

January 2020

It's all my fault.

I had everything a man could possibly want, and I fucked it up. Literally.

-

August 2017

I was a senior at Auburn University. It was the last Wednesday in August, the day the incoming freshman class moved into their college dorm rooms. The rest of the school would arrive sometime that weekend, but the first-year students had a couple of days of orientation before classes started the following Monday.

One of my many part time jobs involved working for the athletic department. Being a farm boy, I knew how to drive a tractor and fix basic machinery. Having just replaced a blown-out mower engine - smack dab in the middle of the football stadium - I was on my way back to the maintenance facility when the road turned into a parking lot. At least a hundred high-end minivans, driven by moms and dads, were waiting in line to move their teenaged offspring into dorm rooms.

I was in the process of making a U-turn - jumping the curb in the process - when a column of steam rose from under the hood of a candy apple red van. It was August in Alabama... hotter and more humid than Satan's sauna. And having just spent the better part of the morning wrestling with an incalcitrant riding mower, I was sweating like a sumo wrestler on a tread mill. All I wanted was a shower and a beer.

I was prepared to let the unfortunate occupants of the overheated Ford call the auto club for help when the passenger door opened, and a teenaged girl climbed out... crying. And, if that wasn't enough to tug at my inner "knight in shiny armor", the lady who subsequently emerged from the driver's side was obviously the weeping girl's older sister. An inherent urge to rescue the damsels in distress overrode common sense. I parked my truck on the lawn in front of the English department, turned the flashers on, and offered to help.

"Nothing disastrous," I told the ladies after popping the hood and inspecting the damage. "Just a busted radiator hose."

"How long will it take to fix?" the older sister asked.

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. That's after I get the part and your engine cools down."

"You can fix it?"

Or at least that's what I think the younger girl asked. I was temporarily disabled by two ocean blue eyes that could very well be portals to heaven.

"Mary, we can't expect this young man to drop whatever he's doing and take care of our problems."

"You're right Mom," she said and then turned back to me. "I'm sorry. It's a long drive from Florida and I'm kind of nervous... starting school and all... and when you mentioned 'you' getting the part, I thought you were offering -"

"She's your mother?"

"Who did you think she was?"

"I don't know. An older sister, maybe a young aunt."

The angel's eyes took on a slightly darker shade of blue. "Yeah, I get that all the time. It's kind of embarrassing."

"Sorry, it was an honest mistake. One I promise to never make again. But can you blame me? I mean look at her, she's almost as gorgeous as you, and you're the prettiest girl I've ever met."

I didn't mean to say all that. I'm normally not that forward. But the truth is the truth and when I get flustered, I have a bad habit of saying what I'm thinking.

Mary thought about what I'd said and, thankfully, decided to change the subject.

"Does that mean you'll fix our car?"

"I will. Later-on this evening. After we move you into your dorm and the sun gets a little lower in the sky."

"You're not only going to fix our car but you're also volunteering to help carry my stuff up to my room?"

"Yep, right after we push your mom's car off the street."

I didn't really expect the hundred-ten-pound girl to push her mom's minivan a quarter mile to the nearest parking lot. But I did want her to try. Because, not thirty seconds after her mom got in the driver's seat and Mary put her hands on the back of the van, a dozen of her male classmates got out of their parent's cars and offered to help.

We stashed the disabled van in the relative safety of a faculty parking lot. It was almost guaranteed they'd get a parking ticket, but the note I left on the windshield - promising to move the car after I fixed it - might keep them from getting towed. With that detail taken care of, I loaded all their stuff into the cargo bay of my truck and then squeezed the two women into the front with me.

Not having the patience to wait in line, I drove down a few back alleys, across an athletic field, and parked on the sidewalk directly in front of Mary's dorm. Thanks to my part time job, I had a "Campus Maintenance" placard that let me park pretty much wherever I wanted, when I was actually doing maintenance. Yeah, a few parents grumbled when we started unloading Mary's stuff and carrying it up to her third-floor room, but when I fixed the broken elevator, their complaints turned into praise.

With the three of us working, we got Mary's possessions out of my truck and into her room in just over an hour. One of the most enjoyable hours I had spent since... since I couldn't remember when. Watching Mary's cute little ass as I followed her up the stairs promised to enhance my dreams for the next few weeks, but her laugh and smile became the standard I would forever use to judge other women.

As we stood beside my empty truck, I could tell that Mary's mom wasn't overly excited about how well her daughter and I were getting along.

"So, what happens next?" Dr. Spencer asked. That was her name. Dr. Martha Spencer. She didn't say what type of doctor she was but made it clear I wasn't allowed to call her Martha. "Do you think my car has cooled sufficiently for you to work on? I'll pay you of course. Both for helping Mary move in and for repairing my car... if you really do fix it."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get a shower and a bite to eat before I tend to your Ford. Why don't I drop you and Mary at your hotel, let you do the same, and I'll come pick you up when your car's ready? And you don't have to pay me. Consider it a 'welcome to Auburn present from me to Mary."

"That's very generous," the Dr. said, "but I insist we give you something for your time."

"How about we compromise," Mary said. "We'll take you out to dinner and pay for whatever parts you'll need to fix the car."

From the look on Dr. Spencer's face, the last thing she wanted to do was spend another hour or two with me.

"I'm not sure that's a fair deal," I said. "You have no idea how much a starving college student can eat."

"You're a student?" Dr. Spencer asked.

"Yes ma'am. God willing and I pass Mechanical Engineering 402, I'll graduate next June."

"You're an engineering student? Enrolled at Auburn?"

"Yep."

"I'm sorry," she said. "From the way you're dressed and your claim to be able to fix my car, I just assumed you were an auto mechanic."

"If you're worried about your minivan, don't be. I've been working on cars, trucks, and tractors since I was twelve. Good skills to have. My part time mechanic job pays the rent and puts gas in my truck, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life cleaning grease out from under my fingernails."

Realizing I was a 'soon to be' college graduate and not a low life mechanic, somehow made me an acceptable dinner companion. Dr. Spencer agreed with her daughter's plan and climbed into my truck, sitting in the middle... making herself a physical barrier between me and her daughter.

After dropping the ladies at their hotel, I cleaned out the inside of my truck the best I could, took a long shower, and put on my best boots, jeans, and a white, button-down collar shirt. Even with a quick stop at the auto parts store, I still made it back to the hotel a couple of minutes before promised.

The ladies walked out of the hotel front entrance as soon as I pulled up.

Mary wore a light blue summer smock which highlighted her curves while simultaneously giving off an air of innocence. The bulk of her golden blonde locks flowed gently down to her shoulders, leaving a few shorter strands curled around a beaming smile that needed no makeup.

Dr. Spencer opted for a more practical look. Her dress showed a bit less leg and cleavage than her daughter's and her hair was done up in a bun. But even then, it was evident that, if she wanted to, she could give Mary a run for her money.

Several lines came to mind as they approached my truck.

'You girls sure clean up good', was too cliché.

'You ladies look good enough to eat', seemed a surefire way to start off the evening on the wrong foot.

'I'll have the daughter for my main course followed by the mom for dessert,' would have gotten me arrested and kicked out of school.

Instead, I went with a simple "WOW", which brought a smile to both ladies' lips.

Not knowing their financial situation, I drove them to a local restaurant that served large portions of adequate bar-b-que at reasonable prices. I demolished a full rack of ribs, a generous bowl of baked beans, two corn bread muffins, a side of fried okra, and still had room for peach cobbler. The two ladies combined might have eaten half what I did. Which made sense. Women with figures like theirs' most likely subsisted on a diet of lettuce, bean sprouts, and tofu.

Despite my enormous intake of calories, dinner was over way too soon. Not because I wanted more to eat, I just didn't want the evening to end. Sitting at the dinner table with Mary was like going to a Carrie Underwood concert. She pleased my eyes, ears, and soul. Pushing the beautiful-singer simile probably further than I should, Mary seemed to enjoy being the center of my attention and was hesitant to leave the stage. If given our choice, we would have stayed in that booth until the manager kicked us out at closing time.

Dr. Spencer had other ideas. "Didn't you say we needed to get to my car while it was still light outside?"

Mary and I both flinched, as if her words had lifted us out of an enchanted spell. We were so engrossed in each other we had completely ignored her mother and unknowingly acted as if she wasn't there.

When Dr. Spencer waved the waitress over to get the check, I excused myself and headed for the men's room. Yeah, I had to pee like the proverbial racehorse - thanks to the gallon of iced tea I had poured down my throat - but even if nature wasn't giving me an urgent call, I still would have gone to the head, because I was uncomfortable with a lady buying me dinner. I know that kind of thinking is considered chauvinistic - or whatever the phrase is these days - but that's how my Daddy raised me.

-

Replacing the Ford's radiator hose was a piece of cake. Loosen two clamps, remove the damaged hose, install the new hose, tighten the clamps. I topped off the coolant and was just about to wish them well when I thought of a way to spend a little more time with the blonde-haired beauty.

"I'm almost certain I've fixed your problem but, just in case there's another leak in your system, I'm going to follow you back to your hotel."

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Dr. Spencer asked.

"It's standard procedure to give a car a test drive after it's been worked on. But since you've already had a long day; this will speed up the process."

If she hadn't seen through my scam when first proposed, she certainly knew she'd been hoodwinked when Mary climbed in my truck for the ride to the hotel. Dr. Spencer hesitated, as if she was going to forbid her daughter to ride with me but, knowing she'd been beaten, she gave me a knowing scowl and led us on the twenty-minute drive back to the Marriot.

"Are you going to stay with your mom tonight or sleep in your dorm room?" I asked Mary as we followed her mother out of the parking lot.

"I'm staying with Mom. She doesn't sleep well by herself."

"How about you? Will you need a sleep buddy once your mom goes back to Florida?"

"Are you offering your services?"

"No... I mean that's not what I... not that I wouldn't... I was talking about a teddy bear or maybe a special blanket... shit, I don't know what I mean."

She laughed. The eighteen-year-old freshman was laughing at the twenty-four-year-old senior. And it was contagious.

"No," she eventually said. "I am fully capable of falling asleep all by myself. No need for a Minnie Mouse night light or whale sounds or even a fifteen-year-old stuffed giraffe. Although this will be my first time having to share my room with somebody else."

"Only child or rich parents?"

"Both. How about you?"

"I'm the oldest of three boys. For the first time in their lives, my brothers won't have to sleep in the same bed. But they'll still have to share a bathroom with several other folks."

"You must think I'm pretty spoiled."

"Not spoiled, just lucky. That's why I'm busting my butt to get my degree. I want my kids to have the same life you have."

And if I play my cards right, they'll be our kids, I thought.

We rode in silence for the next few miles. I was thinking of ways to see her again. No telling what was on her mind.

"Don't take this wrong," I said after thinking on our previous conversation. "But if your parents are rich, how come you don't have a car?"

"Mom thinks I'll be better off without one. According to the brochures, everything I'll need is within walking distance of my dorm."

"That's true, if you eat all your meals on campus and never want to go shopping or to a movie. I'm sure a gal as pretty as you won't have any problems getting rides. But just in case..."

I handed her one of my business cards.

"Robert Ryan Jones. 'If it's broke, I can fix it,'" she read. "Nice slogan. Does that include hearts?"

"Hopefully you'll never need to find out. But keep my card and don't be afraid to call if you ever need a ride. Anywhere. Anytime."

We followed her mom into the hotel parking lot. I asked Dr. Spencer to pop her hood and "keep it running". Using a flashlight, I confirmed that her radiator wasn't leaking.

"You should be good to go, but if you find a puddle of blue liquid under your car tomorrow morning, give me a call."

I handed the Dr. my card. She handed me an envelope.

Turning to say goodbye to Mary, she put her hands on my chest, raised up on her tippy toes and gave me a kiss... just a quick one... on the cheek... but it was still a kiss.

It didn't mean anything, I told myself as I drove my ancient truck home. Girls like that don't fall for guys like me. To her, a kiss on the cheek is the same as a handshake. Hell, those Florida girls probably kiss a dozen people a day and don't think a thing about it.

Someday, after I graduate, get a real job, and make some decent money, maybe I'll find a girl half as pretty as her.

Later that evening, when I took off my white buttoned down collar shirt while preparing for bed, a note slipped out of the breast pocket.

Call me. 555-239-4876. Mary.

And then I opened the envelope from her mother.

-

Mary Spencer

January 2020

It's all my fault.

God delivered the man of my dreams to my doorstep, and I managed to screw it up.

-

August 2017

I didn't expect him to call that first night... the night he fixed Mom's car and helped me move into my dorm room. He had to know that Mom didn't like him, so I expected Robert to wait until after she left before he called me.

When he didn't call the second night, I assumed he already had plans for the evening.

After three nights without a call, I wondered if he got my note. I thought about putting it in one of his pants pockets but that would have been hard to do with Mom watching. Reaching into one of his back pockets would have looked like I was grabbing his ass. And if Mom caught me with my hand in one of his front pockets, she would have packed up my stuff and driven me back to Florida. So, when I kissed him goodbye in the hotel parking lot, I put my hands on his chest, like I was trying to keep space between us, and slipped the note in the breast pocket of his dress shirt as I gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Maybe he never found the note.

Call me. 555-239-4876. Mary.

Maybe that simple request is still in his shirt, hanging in his closet, only to be found when he goes on his next date. A man as good looking and charming as Robert Jones has to have a slew of girlfriends.

That has to be what happened.

He wore the same shirt when he took out another girl the day after we met. Unlike our first encounter, this coed probably got to see him with his shirt off... and his pants too. I bet she spent the night in his apartment, in his bed, with their clothes strewn all around the place. And when she woke up next to him the following morning... instead of a robe, she put on his dress shirt. That's when she found the note. And promptly disposed of it.

The solution to my Robert problem was simple. I'd call him. I had his business card and he told me to call whenever I needed a ride. "Anywhere, anytime," he'd said.

But I didn't.

Even after I'd been in Auburn for two weeks. Unconsciously looking for him wherever I went. Unable to study because my thoughts always turned to him. Incapable of sleeping without dreaming of him. The simple act of pulling out my phone and pushing a single button - yeah, I had already put him in my contacts - could have brought the mental anguish to an end.

But I didn't.

I didn't call him because, if I did, and he said no... if he said it was better that we didn't see each other... I would have been devastated.

I was sure he'd be extremely polite, gentlemanly, and even supportive about it. He would point out our age difference and insist I date a younger man... a man who wouldn't be leaving in under a year. Those were the exact words Mom used the night we met him. Just before we went to sleep, as we shared a queen-sized bed, she told me not to pursue Robert.

-

I eventually got over it. It took several weeks but, by midterm exam time, I was able to concentrate enough on my studies to get passing grades. I continued to look whenever I saw a pickup truck drive by, and he still played a major role in my dreams. But he didn't call me, and I was afraid to call him.

My social life was crap. Non-existent. Several boys invited me out, but let's face it. They were boys. I wanted a man. The girls on my dorm floor at first thought I was just shy and did everything in their power to set me up with one of their guy friends. After I turned them down at least a dozen times, they quit trying and assumed I was antisocial, gay, or just weird.

I went home for Thanksgiving break and had a long talk with Mom. She's a therapist. She spends her days trying to fix other people's emotional problems and gets frustrated when I won't act like one of her patients.