Finding Himself

Finding Himself

Thanks to Black Rand for inviting me to contribute to this 2^nd 'Legends Day', and many thanks to those who suggested my stories to her...

Some special thanks to my readers FB & MM and the ever present Voldamort, whose suggestions are almost always included because they are usually correct!

For LW readers: sorry, but there are no bitches burned or bastards crucified, just people making mistakes, going off in wrong directions and generally screwing things up. That is to say, being human. And as is usually the case, they muddle through!

This is a 4-part story with each part coming a few days apart. Part 4 is already with my readers for final corrections, adjustments and improvements.

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By the early 17^th century, coffee and coffee houses appeared in Europe, first in Venice, Europe's gateway to the Middle East and within a decade there were already coffee houses as far away as England. I remember reading somewhere that in many of the European cities you met with your friends and acquaintances at the coffee house because people's 'living space' at home was too limited to be comfortable.

The coffee house became, in effect, everyone's 'salon' as well as many a businessman's office. Edmond Lloyds Coffee House in London, was where the famous insurance consortium started and Lloyd's of London is still in the specialty insurance business today — although they outgrew their space at the coffeehouse long ago.

Nowadays, most of us have houses or apartments that are large enough to have friends over to entertain, but then we have to remember to get food to serve and after the guests have left, we have to clean up.

The modern day coffeehouse still seems like a convenient place to meet up with friends and do business. I've taken to meeting people over a cup of coffee that I haven't actually had to make myself. The advantages have been making me a coffee house habitué.

My local favorite (a one off, not the big one out of Seattle) off of Topanga Canyon in the West Valley, north of L.A., was where I encountered my friend Joe White having a cup. This wasn't one of the oversized, sanitized and mass produced coffee houses. It was snug, warm and comforting. The baristas at this establishment knew their coffees; they made it right (and sometimes with those fancy little designs and all that nonsense).

The owner, a friend of mine, actually paid his employees enough to keep them there working and learning for years, not months at a time. They even believed in customer service.

Joe asked me to join him, which, after getting my own light-roast, regular size cuppa with all the fixings, I did.

I need to amend what I just said a little, though. I called Joe a 'friend', but he wasn't quite the level of friend with whom I spent a lot of time with drinking or hunting or even watching sports, although he was more than a mere acquaintance. He was married to a woman I'd known since the seventh grade, Susan White, nee Thompson, and became by osmosis, a friend of mine. Joe was actually a couple of years younger than Susan and me and had attended a different high school.

As I recall, Joe and Susan met several years after we had all graduated from high school. I had gone away to college while Susan had gone to work as a receptionist/secretary in a law office (she would eventually become a paralegal, which she remains today.) Joe had gone to work right out of school for his Dad who owned one of the local auto repair shops that eventually Joe took over. Susan brought her car in for some minor maintenance. Joe saw her, asked her out and the rest, as they say, is history.

Anyway, Joe was a nice enough guy, at least I thought so, and he was a darn good mechanic. I hate to tell you this, but good mechanics and good plumbers can be as valuable to know as your doctor or dentist! At least when your car won't start or your toilet stops working on a weekend. But forgive me, I digress.

Joe was on his lunch break, which accounted for his sitting there drinking coffee in the middle of the week, while I had just been doing a little shopping in the neighborhood.

We chitchatted a bit bringing each other up to date on our kids, how his shop was doing, what the chances for any of the local teams to go anywhere were. In other words: trivialities. Until I inadvertently asked the 'can-of-worms' question.

"So, Joe, you and Susan have any special plans now that the kids are all out of the house? Take one of those 'gotta see' — what do they call 'em? 'Bucket list' vacations, or anything?" I asked. Their youngest daughter had left for college that Fall and their son had enlisted in the Air Force so they finally had time for themselves. Their older two had been out on their own for quite some time and were both married and producing grandchildren.

Joe sort of hemmed and hawed before he answered, like he was deciding whether he should tell me or not.

Oh yeah, for politeness sake, I should introduce myself: I'm Ted Barnes. Just an average guy in just about every way: average height, average weight, mid-fifties and a single widower. My hair used to be a light brown, and although it has been getting grayer recently I still have most of it.

Thank goodness my teeth are all my own. My eyes are hazel and women used to tell me I had 'bedroom' eyes, whatever that means. I'm reasonably healthy, save the normal conditions associated with my age.

Almost the only unusual thing about me is that I retired in my mid-forties when we (my wife and I) sold a family business. I didn't especially want to sell the business at that time; I thought we could get some additional good growth out of it. But other family members who were part owners wanted to cash it out, so we did.

It didn't leave us in the super rich class, but we would fall into the 'comfortable' with a nice retirement nest egg category.

Anyway, I just sat there silent while Joe mulled over telling me whatever it was.

"Ted, I guess I might as well tell you, since you'll probably hear about it one way or 'nother.

"I'm thinking of finding myself a place, an apartment or a condo and taking a little time out away from Susan to 'find myself.' Isn't that what they call it these days? You know, take a couple of months on my own to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life."

I looked across the two-person table — a jaundiced look in my eyes.

"Joe, it sounds to me like what you're really talking about is about getting out to check out the available pussy. Just at the time in life when you should be pulling Susan closer to you, you want to 'find yourself?' It's pretty much like telling her that you want a divorce," I pointed out.

"Oh no. Nothing like that. Just a little break from each other before we get too old to change direction if that's what we need to do. Susan and I have been talking about this off and on for, I don't know, maybe four years."

Somehow I suspected that Susan might view this whole thing a bit differently than the way Joe was explaining it. Remember, I'd actually known her longer than Joe had, granted not as intimately, but I doubted that some of her core attitudes would have changed that much.

I sighed, but had to make my pitch, "I don't understand why you would want to do this to Susan. She is a great wife. She is a loyal woman, a wonderful mother, a hard worker and just to add icing on the cake, she is a very attractive and desirable woman."

Honestly, Susan had a very pretty face with intense and seductive looking dark-brown eyes and a cupid's bow mouth that simply asked to be kissed. Her hair was a light brown (although I suspected that was the result of good hairdresser — I remember it as being darker when we were young) and came down a little longer than shoulder length.

She had photos of herself with her two daughters and they could have been three sisters, not a mother and daughters. Susan was rounded and solid in the right places. Shapely legs and ass and as I recalled, bodacious big tits.

"Plus," I continued, "just think of the economic aspects of it. Trying to support two separate households is a lot more expensive than one. Are you planning on financially dumping on Susan?"

"Oh no," Joe replied, "I'll still be contributing to keeping the house running. She might have to cover some of the utilities, car insurance and her own stuff — clothes, food and the like. Almost everything else is paid off. And remember, she's got a good job and makes pretty much the same as I do.

"Anyway, the most likely outcome is that after I've taken my little break, I'll probably be ready to move back home and spend the rest of my life with Susan."

The assured self-deceit of an optimist.

"Joe, let me explain how women think about 'finding yourself.'

"First, you need to understand that women themselves tend to be risk averse. When a woman tells her boyfriend or husband that she wants to move out for a while to 'find herself', it usually means that they've found someone else and they want to take some time to be sure about the new guy before irrevocably moving on. Her current man is the 'back-up' position, so that if the 'true love,' 'soul mate' that they've found turns out to be just another, what our British cousins call 'a tosser', they can come home and declare that they were successful in 'finding themselves.' Until, of course, the next new exciting alternate possibility comes along.

"So when you give Susan this baloney about 'finding yourself' that is how she interprets it. That you are trying out some potential second wife and when you show up again at her door, it's only because you've decided that your trial love interest wasn't really a keeper."

Joe interjected, with a certain amount of resentment in his voice, "But I don't have a girlfriend!"

I looked at him and saw a hint of guilt in his eyes.

"Maybe not. But I'm just telling you how SUSAN will interpret your actions. And if you don't have a girlfriend now, AND Susan believes that, she will still be pretty sure that you want to be separated so that you can audition a few for the job."

Joe looked a little deflated at that.

"Then, assuming that Susan DOES take you back, do you think that your marriage will ever be the same then as it was before your great adventure? Do you think Susan will trust you as much afterwards as she did before? Will she love you as much?"

Joe was nodding at what I was saying, but I think it was just one of those 'I hear what you are saying' nods, not a 'that's great advice that will change my mind' nods. I'd found in my life that most people who come to you with an idea, no matter how nutty, really want you to tell them that it is the greatest thing that you've ever heard of and they should go charging in full-speed-ahead!

"I hear what you're saying, Ted, but honestly, I'm suffocating where I am now. Its like I'm an animal with my leg caught in a trap and I can't escape. And pretty soon I'm going to be gnawing off my paw to escape. That's why I need to take a break," Joe explained.

I acknowledged that he was feeling as he described (after all, he knows his feelings far better than I can!) before replying.

"Hey bud, I feel your pain, but that sounds more like something that you should be seeing a counselor or a psychologist for — not leaving your wife and trying to solve your issues on your own. That's one of the things that wives like Susan are so great for; they are there for you, watching your back." I knew this wasn't going anywhere but I had to try. "Buy a 'Vette. In the long run it will be cheaper!"

"Ted," Joe replied, "that's easy for you to say — you've been single again for a while so you don't have to be making the compromises or putting up with a woman going through menopause and getting older at the same time she's coming to grips with being an empty nester."

"That's true, Joe, but honestly, I would give up the so-called benefits of being single to have my Pam back again." I could feel my eyes tearing up, still missing my wife.

I'd met Pamela O'Hara at an off-campus party (no, not some sort of wild frat affair) when we were both Seniors. It was a combination of people who shared our libertarian-ish political viewpoints and grad students who I'd known for years. Our host introduced Pam and me to each other and as far as we were concerned, for the rest of the night there was no one else in the room. We were together from then on, first as best friends, then as lovers and in the end, as soulmates.

Pamela was what is known as a 'Black Irish' lass, with the blue eyes, dark hair and a pale complexion that came from the mixing of Irish women and Spaniards who were shipwrecked after the Armada was destroyed by Drake. She was of medium height and slim, not full bodied but athletic looking. I later found that her body was completely explained by good genes. She never worked out a day of her life, before or after we were married.

Although her looks immediately attracted me, it was her charm, her wit and intelligence that kept me. She was also one of the kindest and gentlest people I'd ever known. Pretty damn sexy too!

After we finished our degrees we moved in together (much to our parents consternation) and just over a year later, we were married.

We lived, we loved; we had our two kids (a boy and a girl) to fill our replacement quota. We lived a good life and had our wonderful family.

I took over the management of my family's business (as I mentioned earlier) which we sold while I was still in my late '40's. Pam was a journalist/writer and worked on the Op/Ed page of a regional newspaper. After we sold the business, I semi-retired (not really doing anything, but looking for any interesting business opportunities and doing some select consulting jobs) but she kept her job, which she loved. And she was good at it.

Then one day I got the call, the sort of thing everyone in a happy marriage fears. Pam had collapsed at her desk and despite all of the efforts to revive her she was declared DOA at the hospital. Later we found it was a brain aneurysm and that if there was any pain, it was over in an instant. I hope to God that they were right about that.

So we were robbed of a mother, a lover, a friend and companion. My everything. Needless to say, it was not a short or easy recovery for me. Despite the typical assurances that we made to each other, that if one of us should die that the survivor should move on with their life, find a new love, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, I still could not envision remarrying or even of finding a new long-term relationship.

Joe looked across the table at me as I wiped my eyes.

"Sorry, Ted, I didn't mean to bring up such a painful subject."

"No, Joe. Don't worry about it. It's been awhile, but the sorrow will be with me until the end of my days.

"But right now I'm trying to save you unnecessary grief in your life.

"Look at from another angle: if you are out 'finding yourself' what is to prevent Susan from doing a little 'finding herself' as well. You know, a 'sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander' sort of thing. I hate to be the one who brings this to your attention, but a woman has this thing called a 'pussy' and she can get guys to screw it at the drop of a hat.

"Just for example — what if some single handsome, charming, debonair, pussy-hound cad, like me for example, discovered that she was suddenly available and decided to move in on her. If later on you moved back in with her, how would you feel about that? Knowing that she had been with other men while you were out on the prowl yourself?"

Joe started laughing as I was finishing my thought.

"Sorry Ted, I hate to disillusion you, but I have to tell you: if you want to try and date Susan after I leave, you have my permission!" He laughed again. "You see, years ago, when Susan thought that I might be jealous of you, she told me that if anything was ever going to happen between the two of you, it would have happened 40 years ago, when you were teenagers and it didn't. So sorry to burst your balloon, but she just doesn't find you attractive in a romantic or sexual way!" Joe shrugged his shoulders, "I guess you're just not her type."

I grinned at him, "Ok, Ok. Maybe I'm not the best example even as a hypothetical, but imagine SOMEONE, some other man, with your wife. And don't think of it in abstract terms, like 'oh she's dating', or 'she's going out with another man.'

"Think of it in concrete terms. Close your eyes and see your wife with some guy taking off her clothes stripping her naked. They are kissing and trying to check out each other's tonsils with their tongues. He's playing with her tits, sucking on her nipples, while his other hand is between her legs stroking her clitoris and fingering her pussy. She's groaning with pleasure. Envision your wife, naked and down on her knees with another man's cock in her mouth, sucking him off, swallowing his juices. See her with her legs splayed up in the air while some other man is stroking his cock in and out of her pussy. She's telling him 'more', 'harder', 'oh my god I love it,' orgasming so loudly that the neighbors complain! Maybe she would try out other things, things that she has never done with you. What would you think of that?

"Now consider it carefully — do you want to risk that happening? Because if you walk out on her to 'find yourself' you have to understand that you won't be in a moral position to criticize her if she finds men to fuck around with."

Joe's body language was dismissive.

"I don't think that Susan would do anything like that. You just don't know her like I do. I know you've known her for a long time, but you just don't have a clue as to how 'straight and narrow' she is. She's always been kind of a prude. Now, even worse, she's older and not that interested in sex at all anymore — I don't know why.

"And I honestly don't think that she would even consider going out with other men just because I wasn't around all the time keeping an eye on her. Heck, even while I'm on my own I would expect that we would still spend time together. I could take her out on dates. That might even help our relationship get back on the right path."

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at Joe.

"Joe, you know what I think about the idea, and I hope that YOU are right and not me. But I hope that at least I've given you something to think about before you act on this urge."

"Thanks, Ted. I really do appreciate your advice, but I think that Susan's and my marriage is strong enough to deal with this."

With that, we parted.

Over the following weekend I did think about Joe and Susan and me.

Like I said, Joe and I were pretty average guys. We were both good enough looking that women didn't run away in horror at our looks, but neither of us would be considered in the elite class of 'male model' handsome either. Brad Pitt and the other Hollywood 'pretty boys' had no competition from us. I was between five-nine and five-ten feet tall and I weighed in around 160 pounds. Joe was a little shorter — maybe five-seven to five-eight, with very dark eyes and somewhat unruly black (now getting a little gray as well) beard. He was built broader and was a little chunkier than me at around 180 pounds. Not obese but not svelte either. His hair was almost black and he had those tight curls that reminded me of someone on a Greek bas relief. He still looked like the wrestler that he'd been in high school.

I had been single since my wife had passed away and while it wasn't a struggle to find female companionship when I wanted it, it wasn't as if I was beating off the ladies with a stick. It's true that the ratio of available women to men seemed to get higher as you got older, but that didn't necessarily mean that the world of possibilities was that great.