SASG

"I lost my eye and my wife on the same day. I miss her more than I miss the eye."

That's what I overhead at McDonalds. Slowly I turned around to see from whence came the voice. A man with a patch over one eye was walking away from a table with a young mother and two preschool aged kids. My guess is that one of the kids asked the man about the eye patch.

He moved away from that table, and walked in my direction. I watched him. Old? Yes, I think so. His hair and beard were a mixture of black and gray. It covered his ears and flowed past his collar of his un-tucked flannel shirt. He wore bib overalls with rolled up cuffs – something I haven't seen for years. Yikes! His shoes don't match! One shoe is dark gray with white laces; the other is black with black laces.

Except for the shoes I think he fits in with my perception of this farmer-hick community. He should be wearing farmer work boots instead of mismatched sneakers.

What is this community? Where I come from we would call it a village or, at best, a small town. Out here in the endless nothingness of South Dakota prairie it's considered to be a city. Someone told me it's the fourth, fifth, or sixth largest city in South Dakota. It doesn't take much to be one of the largest in this state of barely 800,000 people. Nevertheless, it is large enough to have a Wal-Mart and a McDonald's.

I came to South Dakota to get away from so-called loving wife Michelle (pronounced 'me-shell' the way the Beatles did in the song.) This wasn't my destination of choice, but I was just about out of money. Maybe I could get a temporary job to refill my wallet before resuming my escape.

In my mind I called him Patch. Patch walked past my booth carrying his tray to the trash receptacle. After disposing of his cup and wrapper he left. His backside showed how his overalls sagged on him. Those pants are too big for that man.

I didn't find a job that day. I counted my dollars, dimes, and nickels. I had more than enough to hike to Wal-Mart to buy some peanut butter and a box of saltines. I went back to my car – which was in the Wal-Mart lot – for supper. Later I curled up in the backseat with a home-made quilt. Michelle made that quilt for me when she still loved me. I would trash it, but I needed something to keep me warm at night.

In the morning I returned to McDonald's. I wasn't so broke that I couldn't afford a sausage McMuffin.

'Patch' was there. This time he was wearing a solid color instead of a plaid flannel shirt. Yes, the shoes still didn't match. I wasn't sure, but I think it was the same bib overalls that he wore yesterday.

Today 'Patch' wasn't alone. At the booth with him was a middle aged man wearing jeans and a chambray shirt. Two pens (or maybe pencils) were in the left pocket. That and the thickness of his glasses made me think 'nerd.' The two of them got up to leave at the same time. I think 'Patch' looked over at me before disposing of his trash. He walked away. Again it looked like is pants were too big for him. The guy in the chambray shirt limped and used a cane.

I did manage to get a job washing dishes at a wannabe-snobby restaurant that was half way between Wal-Mart and McDonald's. I still ate peanut butter crackers for supper. I did add a bag of apples to the menu. I still slept in my car in the Wal-Mart lot. And, most importantly, I still had breakfast at McDonald's.

'Patch' was there every morning. Sometimes the chambray shirt guy was with him. Sometimes one or two others were there, too. Mostly, though, he was alone. He usually left shortly after I arrived.

On the sixth or seventh morning, 'Patch' wore the same outfit that I saw the first time. -- baggy, too large, bib overalls. This time, however, instead of leaving he stopped at my booth.

"Good morning," he said as he slid into the seat across from me.

"I see you are now a regular here. I see that you have a white line where your wedding ring used to be."

"So?" I curtly replied.

"So, if you can get here a bit earlier each day you could join our group."

"What group would that be?"

"We call ourselves the SASG. That stands for Single Again Support Group."

I wasn't exactly single again, but I might as well be. I was probably still officially married to Michelle; the woman I thought was my loving wife, who turned out to be a cheating slut. I did not file for divorce before leaving Boston, and I don't know if she has either. Nevertheless, it's been five months since I left. By now she and Asshole probably have moved into my house where they can fuck themselves silly every day without worrying about me discovering the deceit. If Michelle has filed for divorce I wouldn't know because I did not provide any way to contact me. Besides that, does the postal system deliver to Xavier Jones c/o Wal-Mart parking in lot Some Small Town, South Dakota?

***

Yes, Xavier Jones is my name. My parents wanted a distinctive name to go along with the common Jones. Family and friends called me X. When I was a kid a playground bully tried to tease me about my name. He tried pushing me when I ignored his taunts. I didn't take kindly to that. My reaction was quick and decisive. The other kids saw how quickly I chopped down that bully. My nickname quickly changed from X to Axe.

My physical attributes were well respected by the time I entered high school. As a freshman I stood nearly six foot and weighed just a bit over two hundred pounds. You know, of course, that guys are still growing until about age 18. I grew some more. Axe Jones became a feared defensive lineman during the football season. The line couldn't stop me and I was frequently on the quarterback before he could even think about sending off a pass. In my junior year I set a state record for the number of quarterback sacks. I broke the record the next year.

Michelle was a cheerleader. Sure, that seems like a cliché – football jock and the cheerleader, but that's the way it was.

Prom night was very special for Michelle and me. That's the night we went all the way for the first time. It was my first time, and unless she lied to me it was her first time, too. To tell the truth, it was an awkward and clumsy activity for the two of us. We knew we wanted to, but neither really knew how to. My cock just poked around and brushed up against her brush, not finding its way.

"Let me help," she murmured. She took hold of my member and guided it to her juicy pussy. With a push on my backside she caused my cock to slide into her. I pushed against some obstacle, but after a minute I broke through.

I was a dumb eighteen-year-old and had no clue how to satisfy a woman. I got my satisfaction quickly. My wad was shot into her, and then pulled out.

Michelle said, "I need more, Axe."

She grabbed my hand and guided my fingers to her pussy. "Take care of me now, Axe." I finger fucked her to what I think was an orgasm.

***

"Well, what do you think? Will you join us?" Patch's voice brought me out of my reverie.

"What do you do in this support group?" I queried.

"Mostly we talk. Sometimes we share stories about how our marriages ended. Sometimes we share ideas on how to get on with our lives. Sometimes we just talk about the weather."

I was interested. Actually, I was really curious about his statement last week about missing his wife more than missing his eye. I sure don't feel that way about my wife.

"By the way, my name's Paul," said the one-eyed man.

"Xavier," I replied.

"Nice to meet you, Xavier. We try to meet at a quarter to six each morning," he continued.

"I can make it."

***
Michelle and I continued dating, but she wouldn't let me fuck her again.

She said, "Prom night is special. We're almost expected to have sex then, but there's nothing special about a Friday night movie date."

It takes only one time. Michelle was pregnant. That one time on prom night did it.

Michelle chose an unusual way to announce her pregnancy to me. Well, it was her parents who did the announcement.

Six weeks after prom I was greeted by Michelle's dad at the door when I arrived to pick her up.

"Come in, Xavier."

I was shocked to find my parents there!

"Sit down." Michelle's dad commanded.

"We have a wedding to plan. My daughter is not going to have a child out of wedlock. She says you are the father."

Needless to say, I was dumbfounded and couldn't speak.

The two sets of parents pretty much ignored me and Michelle as they planned our marriage and our life.

After awhile my father said, "Folks, me and my boy are going for a walk. I need to talk to him alone."

"Well, Xavier, gettin' married has its advantages," he told me after a few minutes of silence on our walk. "You and Michelle can make whoopee whenever you want instead of sneakin' around on your Friday night dates."

"But, Dad, we haven't been sneaking any whoopee. The only time we did it was prom night. She won't do it anymore. She says sex is for special occasions."

"In that case, son, you must not have properly satisfied her."

"Huh?"

"I am going to pass on some advice that I got from my father.'

"What's that, Dad?"

"Well, seems he overhead me and the guys talking sex and how we wanted to jump one of the pretty gals at school. He busted into the room, told the guys to scram, and said 'Alfred Jones, we need to talk.'"

Dad stared at a flock of pigeons overhead for a few minutes, then, he continued. "Well, X, my father took me aside and told me how girls and women are not just meat, not just sex objects, and so on."

I nodded.

"My father used much more polite language, but at the end of his lecture he smiled told me that if I ever wanted to fuck a woman a second time I better make sure that she is happy and totally satisfied the first time – even if it means not getting satisfied myself."

My father just said "fuck!" Wow, I never heard him ever use any but super clean language in my whole life!

Dad got me to admit that when Michelle and I screwed it was pretty much just a self-serving quickie.

"No wonder she doesn't want to do it with you again," he chuckled.

Dad went on to explain how sex – love making – for a woman is a whole body and whole mind experience. Women don't have dicks, and thus unlike men, they don't think with their dicks.

"I don't know about all women because Mom is the only one I've ever been with, but some of the things she enjoys are...."

I was embarrassed to hear some of the details of Dad and Mom's love life, but the end of our nearly two hour walk I was filled with tidbits on how to make love and how to love.

His final advice that evening: "Your wedding night will be a special occasion. Michelle and you will probably make whoopee. If you want to do it again the next day make sure she is happy and totally satisfied the first time."

***

It was raining Friday morning so I decided to drive to McDonald's. It's probably time to change locations for my overnight parking anyway. I noted that it still had a half tank of gas. The car, a 2001 Olds Alero, does get pretty good mileage. I filled up only a half dozen times on my trip away from Michelle. If ever you have to sleep in your car, an Alero is a decent choice. The back seats fold down. I had the passenger side seat folded down. I could stretch out with my feet in the trunk. During my travels west I did use some of my monetary resources to buy one of those pads that people use for exercises. It made a semi-comfortable mattress.

Patch, I mean Paul, was at his booth with two other men. I decided to join them.

"Good morning, Xavier," he greeted, "Welcome to Sass-gee. Sit down and meet a couple of our SASG members."

"This here," pointing at the man next to him, "Is Sam, but he sometimes is snooty and wants to be called Samuel. He's a handy man guy to know. He's an assistant manager at Ace Hardware down the road. Sam, meet Xavier."

"Good morning, Samuel."

"And the guy with the Coke bottle glasses is Mark. He's a cheesehead, but we put up with him because he doesn't know any better seeing how he's from the other Dakota." Mark was the chambray shirt guy that I had seen here on other days.

"Cheesehead?" I queried.

"Yea," blurted out Samuel, "He's one of those guys wears a chunk of cheese on his head while cheering for that loser bunch known as the Green Bay Packers. It has something to do with Wisconsin being famous for cheese, I guess."

"At least Green Bay has Brett Favre, a real quarterback, not some limp armed Dante Culpepper!" inserted Mark into the conversation.

"OK, OK, maybe Favre can throw that football a long ways, but he needs someone to catch it. You ain't got nobody like Randy Moss. Dante and Randy are gonna take the Vikings to the Superbowl for sure!" Sam insisted.

"Boys, boys, let's be tolerant of each other's religious beliefs. Xavier, are you a football fan?"

"I played some in high school. Defensive lineman. I don't have a favorite pro team, but last year's Super Bowl champs the New England Patriots would be the natural choice out where I once lived."

***

Oh yes, where I once lived. I had many happy memories, one sad memory, and one very bitter memory of where I once lived.

Even though it was a shotgun wedding, my wedding day was a happy one.

That night Michelle and I made love. I worked on seducing her and took my time.

I started by massaging her bare toes and feet. She purred like she enjoyed that. I massaged and massaged for a long time, eventually moving onto her calves. She enjoyed that, too. Thighs came next. My fingers kneaded and massaged until they were starting to ache. They stayed away from Michelle's pussy until her legs opened up to a V. There before my eyes and near my fingers was a virginal white satin pair of panties that covered her womanhood. Gently, but firmly, I rubbed a hand upon those briefs, paying close attention to the sensitive spot at the top of the pussy crevice.

Again Michelle purred. I could feel moisture through the panties.

She hooked her thumbs into the waist band, pulled the panties down. "I am ready." She said.

Without any guidance my cock found its way into Michelle's hot and juicy love opening.

In the morning Michelle looked me into the eyes. "Last night was special. You were special. You made me feel special. Can you do it again?"

Michelle's idea of saving sex for special occasions changed. Every time we made love it was a special occasion!

For the first few months those special occasions happened every day – often twice a day.

Things changed with the miscarriage. I was actually excited about being a daddy, and suddenly I wasn't going to be one.

Michelle, I think, was less upset about the miscarriage than I was. In fact, I think she was even relieved. She insisted on going on birth control. "I am not really ready to have to be a mother," she said.

Michelle's father probably never really liked me and was unhappy that I made her little girl pregnant. He came to when Michelle was still in the hospital.

"Xavier, let's go get some coffee while Michelle rests," he said.

"OK." I do like coffee.

"Xavier, I know I forced to you marry Michelle, but now the reason for the marriage doesn't exist. I will pay for the divorce."

"What divorce?" I was dumbfounded by his suggestion that I would divorce Michelle just because she had a miscarriage.

"You got married because you did the right thing, but she's not pregnant anymore. You don't need to stay married."

"But, sir, I want to stay married. I married Michelle because I was in love with her. The pregnancy just made the marriage date sooner rather than later." I held the belief that Michelle loved me as much as I loved her. I was positive that she would have refused to get married if she didn't love me.

"I always dreamed that my daughter would go to college," Michelle's dad continued. "Marriage gets in the way of that."

I really couldn't see how being single would make it easier for Michelle to go to college. Nor could I imagine that she would divorce me in order to further her education. Time-wise, however, she could take college classes since the no longer expected baby would not consume our time and attention.

A few minutes later we were back in Michelle's hospital room.

"Daddy! How could you suggest such a thing?" That was her reaction to her father's offer to pay for a divorce. "I am not going to divorce him!"

She looked at me. I guess I didn't look as pleased as I should have looked. "Oh, Axe, don't tell me you agreed to Dad's offer."

"No way, José, I did not agree!"

The long and the short of it is that Michelle's dad could not dispute Michelle's logic. She asked how being single would get her through college. He replied, "Then you could live at home again, and I will pay for your schooling."

He definitely could afford it. He's a senior partner in a Boston law firm. Michelle certainly had her dad wrapped around her little finger. He finally agreed that he would pay for Michelle's college, and I would continue to support her in other matters.

Michelle enrolled in the marketing program in the school of business and management of Newbury College in Brookline, MA. Newbury was a fairly quick commute from the "mother-in-law" apartment of my folk's place where we lived for no rent.

My income from my job at ABC Plumbing and HVAC provided enough for groceries, gas for the car, and a few extras.

***

"The air conditioning at my place isn't working right. It's running, but there's no cool air coming out. I looked. There's a hose that is covered with ice." That's what George, one of the guys at SASC, said one morning.

I said, "I left my HVAC tools in Massachusetts, or I could probably take a look. Sounds like it just needs some R-22 refrigerant."
"Tools? I can get tools," interjected Samuel, "I do work at a hardware store, you know."

"What's HVAC," asked George.

I replied "Heating, ventilation, air conditioning. I am a certified HVAC technician. I got a job at an HVAC business right after high school. At first I was a 'gofer,' but I learned a few things on the job and took night classes to learn more. I can work on most equipment, but my specialty is home air conditioners. If Samuel can get some tools for me to use, I would be happy to help out."

"George," said Samuel, "I know you have to get to work soon, but how 'bout if Xavier and I meet at your place tonight? I will bring tools, and Xavier will bring know-how."

"Guys, you can call me X, if you want."

My noon rush dishwashing duties were done at two o'clock, so I hiked over to Ace Hardware where I met up with Samuel. He and I walked around the store while I picked out a few tools that we might need for the project.

"We are just borrowing these tools. I have to sign them out and promise to bring them back in good condition," Samuel said. "My boss has some connections and he has arranged for a tank of that refrigerant to be delivered to George's place. George will have to pay for however much is used."

George met us at his door. Behind him was a knock-out beauty of a woman. Five foot two, eyes of blue. Her snug shorts and tight tee-shirt certainly accented her assets. 'Down boy' I silently said to the thing in my pants.

"Hi guys, this is my wife, Martha," George introduced. "Yes, people tease us about being the being the father and mother of our nation."

Hmm. I thought he was 'single again.' He does often meet with the Single Again Support Group.

"Xavier, you looked puzzled."

"Yes, I just assumed you were not married."

"Martha is my second wife. If you want, I will tell you my sad story with the happy ending while you work." George said.