Judy Blue Eyes

Author's Note: This story is fictional. Names were selected at random, and the setting begins in the 1970's and runs through today's date. There are some references to sex but are just there to explain the actions of the main character. As far as the song, I could not find why Crosby, Stills, and Nash chose the name Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. Back in the day, everyone knew that Stills was in love with Judy Collins. If you have seen the cover of her album Wildflowers you know why! Also, there are areas of this story (mostly towards the end) that all my knowledge resulted from web searches. I apologize to anyone I might have offended by positioning those statements as if they are facts.

Judy Blues Eyes

Yeah, I know, another song reference. At least there is no long preamble to bore you to tears. You do not need to cry -- I have shed all the tears the human-race needs in the past year. I am long past the crying stage because now I am in the 'dying phase.' Nope, no more hope for me -- the doctors are starting to lose money on me, and the insurance companies are happy that their policies do not allow me any more experimental treatment options, just the palliative care that reduces pain and consciousness. You must love the US medical system.

Now, about that song in my head, how does it go? Oh yeah,

It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore; I am sorry

Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud; I am lonely

I am yours; you are mine; you are what you are; You make it hard

So why am I writing a sad story that no one will ever read. Because of Judy Blue Eyes of course! Did not you see the title. Was she my wife, a member of my family, a teacher from way back? No, she was a friend with benefits way back in the day, four years before I got married. How long we dated is not important nor is that fact that we had exactly six dates over 18 months. How about the longest amount of time we dated? One night! Confusing -- not as much as needing to write this story more than 45 years after our last date -- a rock concert in Atlanta. I never saw her again. Well, that is not exactly true -- you will know the answer if you are patient enough to read the story.

My name is Glen Garland. I am 72 years old, married with two grown children -- a daughter and a son. When I say grown, I mean like 40- and 36-year-olds. My wife of 40+ years has her own wing of the house. We have been here for 20 years, and we see each other once a week. OK, it was not that bad. Now, I see her every other day or every third day. Our marriage died about 24 years ago and we never had a funeral or burial. Did I ever cheat on her? No, it does not fit with my moral code. Has she cheated on me? Well, she did, and she still does. It would not make any difference -- our lips have not touched each other in more than 20 years. I will not bore you with details -- every married person experiences a hard year of marriage. Us -- we just repeated it 23 or 24 times.

The good news is that it we were never at risk of violence. I am a quitter, not a fighter. We met in Atlanta, fell in love, got married, and had our first child (daughter) just prior to our fourth anniversary. Our son followed two years later.

We had a normal life until our daughter reached eighteen and, suddenly, there was conflict and anger around every corner. Our son was caught in the middle and with his sister's encouragement leaned towards being on my wife's side. At that time, I strongly suspected she was cheating but had little evidence to enable us to dissolve our marriage. Sure, I could have, but that would be a coward's way out. My job was not what I wanted to do but it was what I was very good doing it and was well compensated. The economy was rocking and rolling when I took my severance agreement and jumped into retirement. That was just three years ago.

As of the day of my retirement, I physically saw my wife two days a week. Since our kids were out of the house and now on their own, who cared? Me? At this point, I enjoy my solitude and looked forward to planning a life separate from my wife.

When she realized how withdrawn I was, she panicked that her good life might slowly slip away. She self-diagnosed diseases that could only be treated in $1000 a day spas or Caribbean beaches to undergo experimental treatments including clitoral stimulation, insertion of hard objects in the rectum or dilation using cocks, preferably black or a deep shade of brown. Call me a cuck or any other name and I was still happy -- my money was still my money until it would eventually be divided if a divorce. I was making sure that I slowly drained the joint accounts with sound documentation of the movement of money.

Somehow, we arrived at the state of our relationship that we avoid each other. Was it hatred? No, we sped through hatred into a rush to get to apathy. I have read the stories that say 'apathy' is worse than hate and, if true, we have reached the end stage of our marriage. It easy to see the slow, gradual descent over a period of years but it is amplified now because I have a terminal disease and am very easy to ignore. I do have a caretaker come in for two hours each day to take care of cleaning (me included), fixing a proper meal once a day and fill in with Cheerios for breakfast and dinner. I am bed ridden but still get out of bed when I save my energy. There is nothing better than to poop in your own potty rather than in your Depends.

So, when you are in a bed every day, you tend to fall asleep at different times of the day. I learned to like the pain and sleep medications because I dream every time my eyes close. My doctor (Dr. Jim Duncan) said at my last visit my prognosis was at best 3 to 6 months. If there is a miracle, I might survive a bit longer.

While waiting in that office, I remembered a song -- something about "to all the girls I've loved before." It was a Willie Nelson song and began to think about his lyrics and the women I experienced over those years. I then softly began to sing (not well, I am a monotone)

To all the girls I once caressed

And may I say, I've held the best

For helping me to grow, I owe a lot, I know

To all the girls I've loved before

I got very sad because I realized that I don't think I ever truly loved any of them -- my wife included. Her "my way or the highway" grew old after the first two years. In my past, I had girlfriends who crapped all over me and I crapped on a few as well. You cannot love someone if that is what you do. I remember the one I dated just before my wife. She was pushing for an exclusive relationship, and I agreed. I felt a real love growing between us. That is, until I tried to set up a weekend date and she said she could not because she had other commitments. I waited to hear the "what that commitment was" but she said she had to go. That was my cue, and she was gone! Final, no excuses. She called me later and all I said was I had to go -- I had other commitments.

Back to the present, as we passed the spring equinox and I could feel my disease spreading, mobility was very limited, but I started having dreams about women I'd had sex within my life. Many of them were one-night stands or short-term relationships. Some of the dream became nightmares that did not occur in real life. Like the dream that started "You knocked me up you fucking bastard! You'll owe me big time." I remember I dated that girl long before DNA and a simple blood test proved it was not mine. Another dream was the "I just tested positive for syphilis and gonorrhea -- better go get yourself tested". She did not say anything about herpes and that was all my doctor found but the dream it ended with her feeling a bit airtight. That dream struck me as funny since that girl was very anxious about sex! Did she do that in real life? I would pay to see that as a porn video.

Other dreams had the usual single person scares of pregnancy and a date with a divorced woman who was not divorced. Again, it was a dream, but I wet the bed that night. He was a full bird colonel in the Army and a mean motherfucker.

But it was the dream last night that I needed to think about! I had a very weird dream -- Judy Rosenthal. I do not know how I remembered her name. We never really dated but six random dates over the course of 18 months. Six months after we saw each other for the last time, I could not have told anyone her last name and a year later not even her first name. But the dream intrigued me -- especially when I used her name in the dream.

It was not a bad dream, it was a very nice, pleasant dream. You know, like the ones you had after you started puberty! She was my first 'one-night' stand and as I think about it, she was my last one-night stand as well. The first time, it was a friend's party and one with more women than men. It was a typical "drunk" party where weed seemed to be everywhere but in the seventies every party was like that party. Judy lived with a friend from New York, and they moved to Atlanta together. Judy was tall -- about five foot, ten inches tall and taxed my almost 6-foot frame. I have a long neck, so her shoulders were above mine. Mandy, her roommate, was cute and petite -- five foot three inches and thin compared to Judy.

There were about ten guys hitting on Mandy, but Judy was just circulating. As I mentioned, Judy was solid, I thought 10 to 20 pounds overweight. With a face that Howard Stern (the shock jock) would have called 'butterface.' Yes, everything about her was appealing 'but her face.' I feel a need for honesty here, I was at best a five on a ten-point scale, slightly overweight. I jumped up to an eight on the weighted Atlanta-singles scale because I had a decent, well-paying job, money in the bank, and my own apartment. I gave up two or three positions on the scale for having the worst taste in clothes of any unattached man in the city. I had other things to do with my money other than buy nice looking clothes.

Where did my healthy income go? I wasted it dating self-absorbed women hoping to get laid. My friends all claimed that they got laid 95% of the time if they went "out looking". My success was one in ten... well, closer to one in fifteen, or twenty! I was not a loser, but close to the cut off for an extended thumb and index finger. One of the reasons for my poor "score" was that I would never knowingly pick up a married woman. Yes, I was fooled a few times as women lied about their marital status causing a challenge to my core values. To be precise, there were four times I had sex with a married woman including one who chased me out after midnight because her husband would be home any minute. I started being more careful -- I never came close to adding a fifth married woman as a conquest.

But back to the party, the way everyone winked at me, I figured I had a 60% chance of success that night. It went to 99.99% quickly and I thought I was out of my league. I was not a virgin, but I did not have to look back too far in my Day-Timer to see my entry the night I became "experienced." So yes, I was inexperienced and certainly no match for Judy judging by her actions. But that night, Judy chose me, and I went from a high school equivalency diploma in sex to a master's degree in pleasing women in one night. She was amazing -- nothing was off-limits but while my fingers found 'fudge,' we did not try anal. What surprised me the most about Miss Butterface was her body. One or two extra pounds but all in good places. Naked, this woman had no peers and not an ounce of fat on her body. Her breasts were spectacular -- a 34 D and she loved getting her breasts kissed. I worshipped those mounds all night long and she responded with bed shaking orgasms. By the end of the night, I thought she was gorgeous.

I should mention my final lessons of the night were how to worship at the "Y." I had performed oral on dates before but now I had to admit that my performance was not up to par and that may have been the reason many dates were 'one-time' events. Coach Judy walked me through female anatomy and two hours later she was screaming my name from her bed. Was she putting on a show for me? Nope! I was very sure I learned my lesson well.

The sex overwhelmed me, and I was still high before heading home in the morning. When I finally sobered up again, I realized I did not get her phone number. OK, another Boomer lesson you cell phone crazed folks -- we had hard wired rotary phones, a telephone book, and match book name and phone numbers to be able to call your previous night's conquest. Pencil and match book cover were not in Judy's bedroom.

Luckily, Judy's roommate dated a friend of my friend's brother and Judy called me about another party at her place a two weeks later. It was a weeknight and I got delayed at the office and arrived about 90 minutes late. It was another hook up party with more men than women and my Judy was already making out with two other guys. That kind of shook me but I realized it was no big deal. We had no commitments to each other. I turned my attention to others. That was the night it was my turn with Mandy!

Our presumed 'one-night-only' experience turned into a five weeklong love-festival. I should mention that we had sex that first night walking into Mandy's bedroom as Judy was settling in with her two friends for the night.

It was my love feast but to her it was just a longer "party." Yes, she was beautiful, but she liked variety in her diet. Her preferences were white/black, Christian/Jewish, Carnivore/Vegetarian if the vegetarian was a good pussy eater.

After five weeks, I could not even get Mandy to the phone. My allocated time had come and gone. "BEEP, YOUR TIME IS UP!" and my friends were busting my chops that I thought Mandy was committed to me.

One of my friends commented, "Better getting dumped by Mandy than being stuck with 'butterface' Judy! Damn, my friends were nasty. I started to tell them how beautiful she is naked and the amazing sex we had together, but these guys were all successful horndogs

Judy called one night. It was 3 months later and asked me to come over to play trivial pursuit with a couple of her friends. After almost 5 weeks without reaching Mandy or a single returned call, I suspected I would watch her pair up with one of the guys as there were a surplus of them, but that number fell quickly when two of them starting making out. I figured my chances were improved. Then one couple grabbed another guy for a threesome and Judy, and I would soon be a couple again! We were the 'leftovers' that night. Just the bowl of Funyuns -- that onion flavored snack. You would pick through those, but you preferred to partake of a selection of Frito-Lays chips.

Life the previous time, the sex was amazing! Yes, she rocked my world! Even better, we even enjoyed talking with each other! And then, it was over, and three months went by -- another hook-up, another one night only. I was physically exhausted after this one -- the woman has no limits.

We had our sixth and last hookup to attend a concert. It was just shy of 18 months from our first hook-up, and she had an extra ticket, no one else could go so would I go with her! I realized I was her last choice, but it was the rock band Traffic -- the John Barleycorn tour! I was a huge Steve Winwood fan and loved the concert. I never actually smoked pot but there was enough pot being passed around it was impossible not to get a contact high.

The show was amazing -- 9.5 on a scale of ten but could not hold a candle to the four hour long fuckfest in Judy's new apartment -- a loft with windows on all four walls. I heard the seismograph at Georgia State University recorded an earthquake in North Atlanta that night.

Her friend and ex-roommate Mandy had joined a rock group and no longer lived in the Atlanta area. Judy's career was taking off and she invested wisely in this new apartment. We were fucking on the bed, on the floor, bent over the footboard with massive candlepower of the loft illuminating our activity. We even had sex in the kitchen. Wow -- could this last? Something could change but not unless I said something, and I did not. Nope, it was the last time I saw Judy.

Married Life -- Can Live with Her, Wished I had Lived Without Her

It was about two years later when I got married to Brenda, relocated for my job twice, changed careers, hit a fast-track, became successful but then a victim of downsizing, until my next job took off like a rocket. We had enough money to get my kids through college and until I became a married man with responsibilities married to a shrew. The kids were even more self-absorbed than my wife. I am sure they do not love me but did not seem to love my wife either. They are both married with one child each and when you see them with their spouses, they seem miserable. They do not love their spouses either. As our relationships hit the bottom, I was offered a chance to leave the workforce with one of those golden parachute things!

So, forty plus years of marriage and the only thing to really show for it is a house that really is not a home, a family that really is not a family like Father Knows Best. No, we mutually used each other for what we wanted and their "wants" were far greater than mine. I was just the cashier or ATM machine enabling the whole process to continue -- "lather, rinse, repeat".

Remember that scene in Kindergarten Cop! Arnold Schwarzenegger is a cop playing a kindergarten teacher and tells a kid he does not feel well. The kid says, "Maybe you have a tumor." Smart kid, but Arhhnold (not a typo -- you know his accent) says "I don't have a touma!." That is my story -- not a very good one but by mid-year 2018 my wife insisted I go to this special doctor because of my lethargy and moodiness. He insisted on running a bunch of tests I was sure were not necessary and he came back with a diagnosis of advanced cancer -- colon and abdomen.

I clearly did not like this doctor from the start. He kept eyeing my wife and I noticed unspoken messages they passed with their eyes. It may have been my paranoia; I do not know where my wife found him most likely to have his picture on the post office wall - Wanted for Attempted Practice Medicine.

Seems I have a disease and my doctor advised me to change my occupation to 'preparing for death.' Yep, that is about how gently he gave me the prognosis. Too bad that he was an average white doctor. If his name were one of those 'impossible to pronounce' I really could curse him out. No, for the next few months I just kept getting sicker and would wait to die.

If I was going to be approaching the pearly gates, I better get ready. I had too much money in my investment accounts and had no desire to leave my wife and kids wealthy after my death. This disease had zapped my physical strength, but I was smart enough to move money around. My plan ensured that my redrafted would leave money for my wife ($50K), kids ($25K each), and two grandkids ($300K). My wife would just get her house. You will notice I did not say mine because it was never mine. I paid for it, but she claimed ownership of every board, roof shingle, shrub, electric outlet, blade of grass or paving stone. It was worth about $750K but still had a $250K first mortgage and another $300K debt for a line of credit. She thinks that account was closed five years ago. She does not know about the new balance because I drew on that in the past three weeks.

I invested that withdrawal investing in bitcoin. Well, it crashed last week much to my happiness. That is what the transaction shows but I hope Brenda doesn't take the document in for analysis. I am talented with photoshop, but not good enough for experts. I believe she will need to sell the house after I die and enter the happy hunting grounds. She will not be poor, she will be able to collect my social security but making ends meet means no more $75K cars and live in 1500 square feet instead of 4800.