Kendra and Scott Nelson

"You get to move in and pay the bills for the foreseeable future," she said. He sighed.

"Okay, no problem. I can do that," he said.

"But, you will have to be picking up expenses right away when you do. Would that be all right?" she said. "You will be getting a lot more pussy than before though."

"Any chance of getting a little of that right now?" he said.

"Why I do think that I just might be able to accommodate you," she said. "Why don't you come over her and undress me."

He moved to her and let his hands wander down the length of her arms. He gently cupped her breasts and felt his interest grow exponentially in his pants. His eight-inch heat-seeking moisture missile was harder than steel.

He kissed her while at the same time unzipping her dress letting it fall to the floor. He unhooked her bra slipping it from her shoulder and letting it join her dress at her feet.

He left her panties alone for the moment while stripping himself naked with as little ceremony as possible. He knelt in front of her and sniffed her femaleness through her panties. God, she was a sexy woman, he thought. Her husband had to be nuts leaving her regardless of her playing around on him.

He peeled her panties down and off. Her bald and beautiful mound and its intoxicating slit at eye-level in front of him. He kissed it. He licked and sucked on it. She mooed her feelings as he worked her to her first orgasm, small though the first one was.

He pulled her down on the floor beside him. Pushing his knee between her legs he spread her wide enough to mount her. He slid into her easily. He began screwing her slowly. He wanted to enjoy the incredible feeling that this woman's body was capable of delivering.

"Get with it, big boy," she said. "I need to cum too. Okay!" she said. He began to speed up. Drilling her for all he was worth. It took him some minutes, but she finally began to buck and growl and blow bubbles from her mouth, sputtering and muttering and "cuuummmiiinnnggg!"

He stiffened as the death throes of his own orgasm gave way to indescribable relief. He rolled off of her and lay panting and gasping for breath.

"You made it," he said. It was not a question.

"Yes, finally," she said. "I needed that, especially after what my erstwhile hubby did to me the other night. I mean leaving me and Marylou high and dry like that"

"So, Marylou will be staying with us," he said, "not him, I mean if and when I do move in."

"Yes, he kinda dumped her when she wouldn't condemn me for having you on the side. The kid doesn't know what hit her, not yet at any rate," she said.

"She will," he said.

"Yes, and it won't be pretty, not for him and not for her either," she said. He nodded.

******

The Rockville Lodge was cheap, close to work, and had the added benefit of being next door to the Wild Horse Bar and Grill. The bar part was especially of interest to me under the circumstances. I needed to drink, I needed to drink a lot.

My daughter's siding with her mother, and more, expecting me at the least to deal with it by ignoring it, had hurt me bad, really bad. Now, I was alone. No family, no girlfriend, birth family a state ways geographically: yeah, I was alone all right. I went to work every day, claimed my seat at the Wild Horse every night, and slept. Except for eating that was pretty much my entire life at the moment. I wondered how Kendra was going to view me not divorcing her immediately as I had pretty much intimated that I would. Probably thought that I might be opting to follow her dictum, that I had to leave but just until I got my head on straight about her screwing mister Westmoreland. That she would have been wrong to so believe or think notwithstanding, I was going to be totally absent regardless and unreachable by her if indeed she even made the effort to try and contact me.

I was of the opinion, unexpressed it is true, that at some point she would be coming to me to pay the bills. That is, if she didn't go the divorce route herself and get the courts involved in that little ditty.

And Marylou, my daughter? I would speak to her if she came to me, but she would have to abandon her mother as she had essentially abandoned me if she expected a positive—for her—result. I would not be my wife's willing cuckold under any circumstances.

And then, it was six months after the split; and, I did get the visit. But that from neither Marylou nor her mother. No indeed, I got it from mister Westmoreland.

It was Saturday Morning. I did have to go to work. I was subbing for Grant Shuler my partner in crime at the shop. He'd gotten married the week before to one Carrie Snodgrass, and wanted to do the honeymoon thing if it was all right with me. It was.

The knock on the apartment door, as I got ready for work, caught me mid-bite into my toast and cream cheese. I got up to answer it, the knock.

"Yes?" I said, to the well-built, dark-haired, and tallish man staring down at me.

"Mister Nelson?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

"I'm Humphrey Westmoreland," he said. I slammed the door in his face.

He knocked again, paused, knocked again. I opened the door once more.

"Get away from here asshole. I have nothing to say to you," I said.

"Your daughter sent me, not your wife," he said. He'd stopped me with that one.

"My daughter?" I said. "Tell her to come her herself if she wants to talk."

"Look, give me a couple of minutes of your time, and I will be outta your hair. Please," he said.

It'd been months since my leaving, and I did have to admit to a degree curiosity if nothing else.

I didn't respond to his request, but I did head back inside leaving the front door open. He followed me in closing the door behind him. I took a seat at the little utility table the lodge afforded and nodded toward the seat across from me for him to sit. He did.

"I guess you hate me," he said.

"Yep," I said. He nodded.

"I understand," he said.

"No you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be fucking my wife," I said.

"Mister Nelson, Yes, your wife and I do have a thing going, but it's not love nor is it likely to ever be. I guess you could say we're friends with benefits who never do anything together but the deed. We never go out, in the sense of just having fun, like dancing or bowling or whatever; all we do is, well, fuck," he said. I'm just recreation," he said.

"Get to it, Westmoreland, what are you here for? You mentioned my daughter." I said.

"Mister Nelson, Marylou, misses you. She has cried every night since you left. Your wife and I are hoping you'd be willing to mend your fences with her. Kendra, your wife, wants you to come back to the house. I've been staying there these past three months paying the bills that you should be paying, I understand your anger and your reasons for doing what you're doing. But, frankly sir, you have no right to treat your daughter as if she didn't exist. She's still just a kid. And, she needs her daddy," he said.

"Hah," I said. "Your paramour, mister Westmoreland, told me that she didn't want me around unless I was okay with her doing you. Said she didn't want a wet blanket, like she was sure I would be, hanging around being a downer all of the time. And, she was right, I would have been one helluva wet blanket and that I can guarantee you, sir!"

"Yes, she told me that she said that to you. But, she's changed her mind. She told me to tell you that you should come home, wet blanket and all. I guess you could say she is trying to come to a compromise with you," said Humphrey.

"But, you and her will still be doing the dirty, right?" I said. "And that in my house, right?"

"Yes, to the first; no to the second. We would be doing it but not in your house. What I'm saying is that she is no longer insisting that you be okay with it," he said. "She realizes that that was asking too much of you. In fact I told her as much myself."

"Damn white of you," I said. "But, no, so long as she continues to cheat on me there is no hope of us getting by this mess. I require a one man woman who actually loves me boring in bed and all."

"No way to get you to reconsider?" he said. "And she does love you as I mentioned before. And, she is in point of fact a one man woman in the true meaning of the term. I'm just recreation like I said. We have fun. There is no commitment or psychological investment in our relationship, if it even is a relationship."

"No, I will not reconsider unless my conditions are met, and maybe not even then given what's gone on so far. But, you can tell Marylou that she can come live with me if she can bring herself to break away from you and the whore," I said.

"Okay, I tried," he said. "Just please think about some of the things that I said. You'd be well advised to do so, really." I closed the door behind him as he left and leaned back against it. And, then I had another visitor, two days after Westmoreland's.

******

I began to wonder if there might be some kind of conspiracy in the works to brainwash me and get me to accept my wife's terms. But, with Westmoreland's gambit history, I figured that all hope of any kind—on the part of my wife— of reconciliation between her and me was at an end. Boy was I wrong. And my next visitor, well, I was forced by nature to take a little more seriously.

"Hi dad," said Marylou.

I jumped. "Marylou! You startled me," I said. I had been working on a transmission when she made her appearance at mid-day.

"Got time for lunch, dad?" she said. She looked hopeful. I did not answer her right away. I scooped some hand goop out of the can and started cleaning the grime off my appendages. I stared at her as I wound my hands together in my at best but partially successful efforts.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. My tone was level, not negative, but merely level, noncommittal. She tendered me a wan smile. I dried off my hands and headed back inside to grab my coat. She waited for me. She knew what I was doing; she'd been to the shop many times in the past.

It'd been more than six months since the last time I'd seen her and during that lengthy period I'd heard not a word from her. Now I had. I had to believe that Westmoreland might have had a hand in that, but who knew.

I went over to Grant's bay, where he was doing a tune up on an old Chevy, and let him know I was going to lunch. He glanced in the direction that I did and saw with who; he gave me a thumbs up. Millie the shop secretary and Grant were the only ones still around when we left. The rest of the crew and Millie's assistant were already gone to the café down the street: the sometime lunch venue for our crew. I decided I didn't want a lot of questions from my fellow workers when I got back: I had her drive to the Denny's on Maple: we'd be anonymous there.

"Nice ride," I said. "Your momma buy it for you?" She tendered me a quizzical look.

"Huh?"

"New Corvettes don't come cheap. So?" I said.

"No, Humphrey bought it for me," she said. I think she was feeling a little embarrassed by her display of opulence.

"Hmm, nice of him," I said. My voice didn't quite sound accusatory. She didn't respond.

We pulled into the parking lot, got out and headed for the entrance. She walked slightly ahead of me. I noticed for the first time that she was dressed kind of nicely, expensively. She reminded me of the very model of the spoiled rich kid; a good looking rich kid by the way; well, she was my daughter. Whatever, all said and done, she sure as hell didn't look like the daughter of a workaday auto-mech.

The table we were escorted to was in the middle of the pack. The place was crowded; well, it was lunch hour.

I ordered a patty melt; she ordered a salad. I had to smile. The girl I used to know, or thought I knew, would have ordered a burger. I smiled at the thought.

Iced teas in front of us, she gave me the most condescending of looks I'd ever gotten from her.

"Dad, you have to go back and see mom. You just do," she said. "She talks about you almost every day. Frankly, Humphrey has told her to shut up more than once. Dad, she loves you, not him. He gets her off, but you make her day—or used to. Yes, she's selfish and she wants both things. Humphrey's easy and willing to agree to her plan. It's only you who is being so hard to get along with."

"Daughter dearest, are you actually so contemptuous of me to believe that you can come to me, after all that has gone down, and treat me like a little kid who doesn't know anything? Tell, me, I'd really like to know what your condescending attitude is based on," I said.

"Dad, I didn't mean . . ."

"Marylou, do you have any idea how ridiculous and odd and strange and frankly unrealistic you sound. Nobody, no husband is going to put up with being his wife's willing cuckold! None! But, she expects me to be just exactly that, and apparently, so do you!" I said.

She sighed. "Actually, I don't expect you to. It's clear to me that you are just too old fashioned to give in to her. Still, I had to give it the old college try. Oh, and you do know I started college this past quarter, right?"

"Didn't get the email. But, I knew you probably had," I said. She had the decency to look at least a little bit guilty.

"Yeah, I guess communication from our end has been kinda not forthcoming—oh—and neither has it been from your end," she said, looking more than satisfied with her retort.

"It's not me that wants to bring a cheating asshole into the family," I said. "Of course, he's apparently done a good job of buying you off."

"What the . . .!"

"That Vette out there for one thing," I said, more than logically.

"Huh? You think that . . ." she started.

"I think that the ten year old Mazda I would have given you, and kept in mechanically tight condition by the way, would have paled into insignificance compared to what mister rich man has your pretty pink ass riding in," I said.

"Mazda? What?" she said.

"It's at the shop. You know I keep it in primo shape all of the time in case you decide to come live with your dad. You know the one who isn't cheating on his spouse," I said.

She gave me a hard look. "I'm staying at the college dad, not with them. But, I'm there a lot mostly to help mom keep it together," she said.

"Keep it together?" I said.

"Yes, she can't get over you leaving her like that. She needs you dad. She wants Hump, but needs you. Hump's okay, but he's almost totally devoid of sensitivity. You on the other hand are 'mister' sensitive. Mom needs you. I need you," she said.

"Maybe, but not enough to shuck mister new guy," I said.

"Dad you are such a pain sometimes," she said.

"I plead guilty," I said. "But, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Daddy, please think about coming home. Please! Okay?" she said.

I looked at her and tried to gauge the sincerity of her request. "Maybe," I said.

"At least you didn't just blow me off," she said.

"Anyway, old Hump baby's moved in with her then? I mean full time?" I said.

"Yes," she said, "recently. He's paying the bills you should be paying."

"Should be? Not while he's getting into her pants," I said.

"Daddy! You are so darned old fashioned!" said my daughter.

"You got that right," I said. "Oh yeah."

The food having come, we talked a little longer, and I was able to get a pretty good picture of life at the other Nelson residence. It seemed as though, as Marylou described it, that good 'ole Humphrey and my wife were living in a business arrangement: polite interaction most of the time with occasional bouts of out of control passion. Marylou's position was analogous to a prized worker who made the company look good but was not necessarily indispensable.

******

The Wild Horse was more than a bar to me; it was place of refuge. For the first several months after the split I was more or less a solitary soul drinking, watching the dancers, occasionally talking to this or that bartender that deigned to notice my solitariness. But, then I met someone who kinda gave me a push: got me to get involved with other barflies, some of whom were women.

My inspiration was Jade Starling, and yes that was her working girl moniker: I'd learn later, much later, that her real name was Larissa Grey. Jade's day off was also Saturday, said it made her feel human to be out and about with the morally upright public. We talked a little as bar flies often do, but not about anything serious. I never asked her anything personal and she never asked me either. It worked for us. Hence, I didn't know she was a working girl, well, not right away. Then, I did.

It was late and I found her sitting on the ground, leaning back against her car, crying.

"Jade?" I said. "Can I help?"

"Huh?" she said.

"Can I help?" I said.

"My car is broken again. No one will talk to me let alone help me. Not out here on the parking lot," she said.

"Not out here? Your car is broken?" I said.

"No guy wants to be seen with a working girl out here: 'decent' people might get the wrong idea," she said, about as sardonically as I'd ever heard anyone say anything.

"Working girl? You're a . . ." I started.

"A whore for pay. Yes, I am," she said, almost fiercely.

"Well, I'll help you. Got a key?" I said.

"I don't work on Saturdays," she said. Her meaning was clear: I wasn't getting any tonight if that was what I was thinking.

"No-no, I wasn't looking for, well, you know. But, I do know something about cars," I said. "Your keys?"

She handed me her key ring. She'd been clutching it in her fist.

"You'll need to move, Jade, so I can get at the hood release inside," I said. She took on a sheepish look, but she rose, stood, and stepped aside.

I popped the hood and used my own key-ring flashlight to get a look under the hood. I saw the problem right away. I smiled.

"Your battery's dead," I said.

"Huh? It can't be. I've only had it a month, it's a new battery," she said.

"Yes, but your alternator belt is gone and you've been running on battery power alone, probably for the last day or two and not getting the recharge on it, the battery; and now it's dead. It's an easy fix and not expensive.

"Come on, I'll take you home and come back in the A.M. and fix it for you. How's that," I said. She gave me a look that spelled suspicion.

"No-no, Jade, I'm not on the make. Not tonight. But, it's late, and I don't want to be going back to the shop to get all of this done now. I'll do it tomorrow; I promise. Okay?" I said.

"Okay, but how do you know so much about cars?" she said.

"I'm a mechanic, Jade. But frankly, any teenage boy might have seen the same thing I found when I looked under your hood. It's really not a biggee, but I need to get a belt, a few tools and have the time and the light of day to do the job easy. I hate working on cars in the dark.

"A mechanic. You never told me that," she said.

"No, I don't wanna hear a ton of stuff about what went wrong with everyone's car when I'm out at night, so I never say anything about my job. You're a special case: a damsel in distress," I said.

"Hmm," she said.

I took her home and kept her ignition key: I'd need it in the morning to get her car. I'd let her know that I'd have her wheels back to her by noon the next day. Grant would be helping me out to deliver the car. She was tentatively grateful, I guess is the way I would have to have described her attitude when I left with her keys.

******

I was back the next day to fix and pick up Jade's car with Grant driving chase in his Silverado.

I charged her $26, my cost, for the fan belt and no labor. She was effusive in her gratitude. I guess I passed muster as a friend. And no, she didn't offer to screw me for the price of the fan belt, not that I would have turned down the offer; she was a looker for sure.

"Nice lookin' chick," said Grant as he drove us back to the shop.