Forgiveness Denied

In early 1976 MaryAnn's mother moved in with us. I never got along with her, but I maintained a wary truce with old slutty bitch. She really had no choice about moving in as she was diagnosed with the big "C" and there was no one in Oak Park, IL to take care of her. Her younger brother, the one that is two years older than MaryAnn, was a prominent Radiologist and partner in the largest hospital in Pensacola. Her treatment would not cost her anything. As it turned out, after about three months, even she could sense the tense conditions in the Davis household and she rented a small apartment about two blocks away from our house. She died about four months after moving into the apartment.

The situation between MaryAnn and I was strained. I knew what she was and any protestations of fidelity rang false after she had smashed any trust I had when she betrayed and deceived me so she could spend two days getting her brains fucked out by LTJG Dickwad in Sue Monroe's house in Albany. GA. I felt like Charlie Brown who eternally trusts Lucy not to pull the football away. No more.

The old saw that two wrongs don't make a right is probably true, but sometimes a wrong feels really good. I hope the statute of limitations has run out on officer and enlisted fraternizations because I fraternized the shit out of a really cute little 2nd class petty officer who worked in my office at NAS Whiting. She had a killer body, very dark brunette hair and the most electric blue eyes in Christendom. But her best feature was she dearly loved to suck cock above all else, anytime - anywhere. She had perfected the deep throat technique. When I asked her how she did it, she responded. "I just learned how to breathe through my nose and not panic when a big dick pushes past my tonsils." Whatever works.

For about three months I would leave the house an hour earlier and spend that hour getting my knob polished in Kathy's apartment in Milton. I would give her a ride to work and at 4:30 each afternoon we would go back to her place and I would eat her and fuck her silly. I don't think MaryAnn ever learned of my good fortune, or if she did, she didn't care. It was good for me on several levels. The first was I had steady pussy from a gorgeous 25 year old. I was a 39 year-old horny guy, and the alternative was to beg an occasional fuck from MaryAnn. I never asked her about her sex life and I didn't care. She could be fucking the mailman, or the neighbor's German Shepard, for all I cared.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Kathy never told me that she was married and legally separated from a guy I really liked. He was a civilian firefighter at NAS Pensacola. When they separated, he transferred from Whiting to NAS Pensacola and rented an apartment not too far from my house. Well, Mike and Kathy got back together and she moved in with him. A funny thing happened a few months after Kathy and Mike got together. Her car broke down and she asked me for a ride home. Since her and Mike's apartment was only a few blocks from my house I readily agreed. I'll admit I was hoping to get a long blow job on the way home. I really missed Kathy's special talents. When we got to her place, (no blow-job) she looked in her purse and blurted "Aw Shit, I left my door keys in the car." She had forgotten her keys and had to wait for Mike to get off work at 6pm to let her in. I said "Leave a note on the door for Mike to pick you up at my house and you can stay with me until then. I also volunteered to swing by in the morning to give her a ride back to Whiting (I wasn't giving up on that BJ.

I was in high humor at the way MaryAnn behaved when I walked in with Kathy in tow. I said "MaryAnn, I don't think you've met Kathy who works in my office at Whiting." She wanted to be pissed but she knew if she even started down that road I had the upper hand. Her multi-year affair and pregnancy with LTJG Shithead did not give her much moral high ground. Her best shot, and she waited until Mike and Kathy left, was "Don't ever bring that slut in my house again!" Her eyes actually narrowed and her voice was a jealous hiss. I laughed in her face and said I would damn well bring anybody I wanted to MY house, and if she didn't like it she could move out.

Chapter 9

The three years I spent in Pensacola were not the best years of my life, but hell, it was shore duty and I got my share of good sex away from MaryAnn. We had our moments. She never truthfully apologized for her infidelity, her blatant cheating, and for going back on her promise to never contact LTJG piss ant. In Jan of 1978, I got a great set of orders to BuPers in Washington, D. C. Just a few weeks after I received my orders, I went to a Change of Command ceremony at the Naval Aviation Museum. Looking at the rows of chairs in perfect alignment in front of the podium, I got a real shock. In the third row was LT Fuckhead. The bastard was with a mousy little woman who looked about eight months pregnant. Well, I already knew he wasn't shooting blanks since he had knocked MaryAnn up. Seeing him caused my stomach to knot up, but in a flash of insight I knew for certain that he was plugging MaryAnn and had been for at least 3 or 4 months. MaryAnn's mood and general attitude had been on the upbeat and I was just glad she wasn't bitching about everything to analyze the situation. Lucy pulled the football away from me once again. LCDR Fucker has been nailing MaryAnn while his wife has been pregnant. Interestingly, when I got home I was straightforward with her. I came in the house, went to the fridge and popped a beer. I didn't beat around the bust. "So, MaryAnn, you are hooked back up with shithead Vince again, huh?"

No teary denials, no "it was just one time, honey; it didn't mean anything" she looked me right in the eye and said. "Neil, it's none of your business what I do."

"I've been wanting to tell you that I will not move to DC with you. I'm just tired of packing up and moving every two or three years. I'll stay here and you can live in the BOQ and come home when you can." I said "Let me see, I live in a tiny BOQ room in D. C. and you live here with me paying the bills while Dickwad drops by and fucks you anytime he can get away from his wife and newborn baby. Is that about right?"

"You can believe what you want, Neil." was her only response. I knew that was about all I was going to get out of her, that she would not tell me the truth. Why should she? She has been cheating and fucking behind my back with that same asshole for at least ten years. I finally put on my big boy pants and told her "Get a lawyer MaryAnn, because I have finally had enough of you."

She had the gall to sneer, "You won't divorce me. You are afraid to be on your own."

I just said with some sorrow in my voice. "MaryAnn, you've come a long way from that sweet, lovable virgin I married 19 years ago. I wish things had not gone this way, but right now I have nothing but disgust for you." "I'll go to D. C. by myself and we will dissolve this horrible excuse for a marriage."

I learned that divorcing a wife is not like selling a car. A woman can fuck the crew of a destroyer and it doesn't make a hill of beans in court. She still gets alimony and if there are children under 18, child support.

In May, 1978, I did leave Pensacola headed for Washington in a 1973 VW convertible with everything I could pack in that little car. As I predicted, I did live in a secession of BOQ rooms. When I was at AFB Andrews the rule was I could stay in the BOQ from Monday to Friday noon and then had to vacate so the weekend warriors, Reserves, could use the rooms. When money was tight and when I couldn't find a place to stay, I slept in the VW. I only stayed at the Andrews BOQ until I got in the BOQ at the Bethesda Naval Hospital; that place was a bit weird. The building was coed, the showers were unisex and most of residents in the building were Navy nurses. (I may write another story just about my adventures in that sexy environment.)

I was limited in what I could afford because MaryAnn had maxed out three joint credit cards and I had $400 a month alimony plus $400 a month child support. I only made $1600 a month so I was on half pay until my 17 year old daughter had her next birthday. Then I only had to pay $200 child support for my youngest who was sixteen

I finally found a decent apartment—two rooms and a small kitchen in an old apartment building near the Pentagon where I worked. Unfortunately, the Shah of Iran was deposed in early '79 and I could not remain in the building because the Iranian civil war came to our building. Many of residents were Iranian and split in two factions, one supporting the Shah and the other supporting Ruhallah Khomeyni. When they started building fires in front of their rival's apartment doors, I split.

I went back to the Bethesda BOQ for a few months until I took a plunge and bought a 33 ft. sailboat and docked it at the Washington Marina right across the river from the Pentagon. The mortgage payments plus the slip fee was less than rent payments in the overpriced apartment houses near the Pentagon. I lived aboard the very spacious sailboat, with a TV, fully equipped galley, a shower, and head. There was a king sized bed in the bow of the boat and I don't want to brag, but I didn't sleep alone very much. There is something about a large sailboat that acts like an aphrodisiac on young, single secretaries and legislative aides. I had great neighbors, an unmarried couple that both worked at the White House. We had a dock parties every weekend. My sex life started to really pick up with all the single women in DC.

Chapter 10

My separation papers were served on June 20, 1979. The divorce was final on Feb 4, 1980. I was married to a cheating, unfaithful bitch for nineteen years, eleven months, and 14 days. In all fairness, the cheating and lying only happened in last ten years. I was relatively happy during the first nine years. I was an enlisted petty office then and worked two jobs plus my Navy job to put food on the table for my little family. I worked two hours as a TV repairman (they actually repaired TVs back then) after my Navy job and also acted as a tailor for all the young sailors at the base. I sewed on rank patches, tailored dress uniforms and put zippers in the navy jumpers to get that skin tight look that was in fashion back then. The faithfulness of my wife during that time was never in question. I didn't know it at the time, but that was the very best years and I know now that I did love her. Out marriage was simply one of the millions of casualties of the Viet Nam war. Lyndon Johnson was the real culprit in the demise of my marriage. I can't seriously blame MaryAnn. Oh, she could have handled it better, but shit, so could I. Several times in this narrative I alluded to our having an "open marriage." That wasn't the complete truth. Open marriage, in my understanding, is like a swinging lifestyle. Each partner was free to have sex "in the open" with no recriminations, or jealousy. Truth again, every time I thought about MaryAnn fucking or sucking Vince I would get physically ill. Maybe if I had embraced the lifestyle like the Maddens, I would still be married to MaryAnn. Who knows?

MaryAnn's slimy lawyer would not agree to a clean divorce but demanded a separation period hoping that congress would pass the grossly unfair "Military Spouse Protection Act" written by Congresswoman Patricia Schroder that requires all military retirement pay to divided equally if the marriage lasted over 20 years. I missed having to give my ex-wife half of my retirement pay by just a few weeks. The slimy lawyer miscalculated on when the law went into effect. I remained on active duty for 36 years. I retired as a Navy Captain, (O-6) Commanding Officer of the Naval Training Center in Orlando, Florida on August 1, 1992. MaryAnn missed out on a huge amount of cash. There is a God.

Epilogue

In 1986, I was ordered back to the Pentagon to serve as the Officer Community Manager for Limited Duty and Warrant Officers on active duty. I was a bachelor and lived in the Greenhouse apartments just inside the beltway with my two grown sons. Life was good. I was keeping exclusive company with a very sweet woman who was a high school classmate back in Southern Illinois. She was the victim of a cheating husband who divorced her to marry his 27 year-old secretary. Heidi had been married over twenty years with three adult children when the shithead dumped her. I had thoughts that my life might have been much happier if Heidi had come to my New Year's Eve party 56 years ago and I had married her instead of the unfaithful cheater.

Heidi was, and I'm sure still is, a wonderful, sweet and very sexy woman. Again, I could detail our very active sex that we both very much enjoyed for the eight months we dated. No matter how out sex life was in perfect sync there were a few incompatibilities between us. Heidi was a true blue liberal in every sense; she hated guns and the South. I on the other hand, have a large gun collection and retired to Florida because I love the South and am a staunchly conservative Republican.

I might have accepted the problem areas and married Heidi for all her good points. I did not do that because my karma was finally swinging to the happy side. To my much undeserved good luck, CDR Donna Dansig, USN, had her office in the same wing of the Pentagon Annex as mine. The first time I saw this very proper and very beautiful naval officer I was, like the Brits say "Gobsmacked."

The way I followed this incredibly beautiful woman around was skirting the definition of stalking. Like many things in my life, I almost screwed this up. As the Officer Community Manager, I had professional dealings with a Captain Bruce Dansig in OP-05, Aviation Plans. Donna had a Captain's parking tag and a set of gold naval aviator wings license plate on the front bumper of her car. She parked in the privileged 0-6 parking spot near the building door. I put two and two together and came up with five. I assumed CDR Dansig was Mrs. Dansig. No way was this Navy Commander with movie star looks single. I learned later that Donna had a bit part in a real Hollywood move. The Human Factor was shot on location in Naples, Italy and Donna was cast as a Naval Officer involved with a CIA agent. She originally had a bigger part but because she balked at kissing an enlisted driver, a real Navy officer would never do that, her screen time was drastically reduced. The movie is on NetFlix if you want to see it. So, if not a star, she had been "in the movies."

In December, 1987, I was waiting at the bus stop in front of the Navy Annex on a cold, snowy day, about a mile from the Pentagon, when CDR Dansig and her assistant, LCDR whats-his-name, came out of the front door of the Annex. She asked me "Are you waiting for the bus to the Pentagon?, Is this the right place to board the bus?" This was the first time I had heard her speak. Her voice was pleasant and melodious and went perfectly with her lovely face and gorgeous body. I said nothing for an awkward period and finally croaked, "Yes, I think it is." Think it is?? What a stupid thing to say, so much for a good first impression. The two boarded the bus and took two seats halfway back in the mostly empty bus. I had to do something to show I wasn't a total fool. I walked back to where they were sitting and said to the junior officer "Sit someplace else, I need to talk to CDR Dansig." As he had to do as a junior officer, he jumped up and went further back in the bus and sat down." OK wise guy, now you are here what the hell are you going to say? I noticed Donna had an amused look on her face as if she was reading my mind. With her looks she must get hit on constantly and is likely an expert in the brush off to get rid of people just like me. I hadn't thought this through, obviously. But, I didn't have a plan for accidently meeting her on the DOD bus. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration. I'll tell her I know her husband, Bruce. I dove right in, "Say, I know your husband, but I have never formally been introduced to you. I've got an office down the hall from you." Her response was priceless, and I remember it as if it was yesterday. "You are the guy who has been following me around the wing with puppy dog eyes." "You finally screwed up the courage to talk to me, huh? Oh, just for the record, I'm not married, and I don't even know a Bruce Dansig." She was having a hard time keeping a straight face and then she burst out with the most feminine tinkling laugh. At that moment I fell in love with her deeply and forever. We talked continuously until we reached the Pentagon. I asked her if I could buy her coffee in the Pentagon concourse that contained the shops and restaurants. I could tell she wasn't making up an excuse but was sincere when she said "I'm very sorry, but I'm tied up all day in meetings, how about lunch tomorrow?"

We saw each other every day until I had to leave town because I promised my parents I would spend Christmas with them. When arrived in Centralia, I went to a florist owned by one of my high school classmates and ordered the biggest poinsettia Christmas arrangement they had. I included a card with the simple note "Thinking of you." When I got back to DC I called her and she said she loved the flowers and mostly the card. Donna lived with her recently widowed mother and even my future mother-in-law liked my gesture.

On my first day back I asked her to dinner at a popular place in Georgetown. I picked her up in my 1983 Bronco II. She really didn't like my 4-wheel SUV because it was hard to get into with a tight skirt. When we got settled in, she turned on the radio and the greatest tenor in the world, Luciano Pavarotti, filled the car with the aria from the opera Rigoletto La Dona Mobile. She gave a little squeal and said "My favorite opera and opera singer. What station is this?" I replied, "That is my tape, it is not the radio, and that is my favorite opera too." Years later, my fantastic wife told me that was the moment she fell in love with me and vowed to marry me. As I said, my karma just got better than best.

We just celebrated our 27th anniversary a few weeks ago. I am the happiest and luckiest man in the world. With both of our Navy retirements and my salary as a professor of psychology at the University, we are well off. The mortgage on our lakefront home is paid off which gives us a considerable discretional income. Donna was a linguist in the Navy. By virtue of growing up as a diplomat's daughter, she speaks five European languages fluently. We travel to Europe at least twice a year and spend two or three months a year at our leased casa in Granada, Nicaragua. The house is a two-story typical Central American mansion with two indoor courtyards and an indoor half-Olympic swimming pool. A full-time cook and house maid frees us to just have fun.

In our 27 year marriage Donna has never given me an instant's concern about her faithfulness. She is a cradle Catholic who was educated by nuns in parochial grade school and attended the Jesuit University, Georgetown U. She considers adultery as a mortal sin and has let me know with absolute certainly that if I ever came to her for forgiveness for an extra-marital affair I would be shit out of luck. She would leave me in a heartbeat. I know if I cheated on her the last words I would hear on this Earth, while lying in a pool of my own blood, would be "How in the Hell do you reload this damn thing?"

Needless to say, I have trod the straight and narrow for 27 years. I won't prevaricate and contend that I have been free of temptations. Several times I had an opportunity to break my marriage vows. Once, I was invited to be the M in a MFM threesome. I politely declined. I am not a fool. For a few hours of sexual adventure, I would lose a lifetime of marital bliss. I am also a (converted) Catholic and feel very strongly that sex is enjoyed only within the marriage. You see MaryAnn, unlike you; I know it just isn't worth it. The best sex is with a partner you love to the depth of your being. Casual sex is wrong on many levels. OK for singles, but never for married people. As Benjamin Franklin said "The pleasure is fleeting, the expense exorbitant, and the position ridiculous." Most people, when seeing a photograph of themselves in coitus, feel embarrassed, not aroused.