PFK1 (24 page)

boyfriend. For me, that was the last straw.

If she had said "axe murderer" or "psychopath" I wouldn’t have

batted any eye. But "financially stable" really pissed me off. Not for

another instant could I endure her company.

My sudden departure must have really wigged her out. Tearfully,

Jeanette begged me to stay but I absolutely refused. She kept trying to

get me to say what was wrong. I refused. Then I practically sprinted

out the door.

She stood there staring at me from the porch as I fired up the bus

and roared away. I suppose she was hurt but I don’t give a fucking

goddamn. Getting away from her gave me such a feeling of relief.

It’s too bad because Jeanette really is quite pretty and has a

dynamite body. All I had to do was kiss her and I’m sure I had a

comfy place to spend the night.

But when she started talking exactly like Polly Ellsworth, my skin

fucking crawled.

I had to get away.

Goddamn it. I can’t fucking believe that I am back in these

miserable straits relationship-wise.

Is there no one for me? Is there no woman in this whole wide

world that I can connect with? From the outside, many women seem

superficially attractive but the second they begin to talk the abscess

bursts and all the pus starts running out.

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Jeanette, I’m afraid, is a typical example of the emptiness that

afflicts so many women of my generation. Perhaps she is even a

classic case. I get the feeling she has never read Vance Packard’s

book
The Status Seekers
or she wouldn’t throw around that horrid

phrase "upwardly mobile" as a description of herself or anyone else.

Call me stupid, call me out of touch, but I happen to consider an

endless focus on material things a mark of low character. Women are

always thinking about the things they want, not who they are or

person they want to be. I fucking hate them.

The worst part is that women want it both ways. As a man, you are

supposed to shoulder the monetary burden even when they earn the

same money as you do.

Normally, I wouldn’t care but they judge men by how much money

they make and get pissed off if you judge them by their looks and how

good they fuck. In other words, they can judge you by the crudest

possible yardstick but woe unto you if you do the same to them!

It’s a fucking double standard.

Don’t get me wrong. I think deliberate poverty is just as bad as

money grubbing, especially when coupled with a failure to pursue

serious work.

But once you are comfortable, what is the point of constant

accumulation?

Me, I work 60-70 hours per week. At least 40 on the job, and

another 20-30 on my writing. Nights, weekends, days off – there I

am, madly typing away. I’m a goddamned fanatic.

I have some money in the bank and I am nearly out of debt. What I

want more than anything now is to write a successful book. By that I

mean getting one commercially published. That accomplishment so

far eludes me.

Practically the only woman I feel close to right now or have respect

for is my co-worker Megan. Naturally, she is married to somebody

else and is therefore out of bounds.

We split a cheese omelet yesterday at the Main Street Cafe on our

break. I told her about my date with Jeanette and also about my letter

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from Polly Ellsworth. Megan merely shrugged and didn’t say much,

just sort of looked at me. Sometimes she’s very difficult to read.

I told Megan that everything I do, I do alone. I eat alone. I sleep

alone. I live alone. I think alone. I dream alone. As time passes, I

have come to understand that the professions of love Ms. Ellsworth

gave me when we were together were a lie, a manipulation of my

feelings.

Polly was the San Diego Chargers of love, always on offense. I am

pretty sure that whatever man she eventually selects will be

"parsimonious" like her boyfriend with the vacuum cleaner. What I

read between her lines is that he is selfish and shallow.

If you ask me, a parsimonious man is a selfish man is a hollow man

is an empty man is a dried up withered shell of a man.

Yeah, I know her. At some point or other she will become bored to

death. The universe is a grinding wheel, a leveler, a great destroyer.

It will pound her little dreams to dust. She will get exactly what she

deserves.

We all do.

I’ll find someone else to take her place. What I hope to find is

another really intelligent woman, but one who is more honest and

trustworthy. At this point, I know I won’t be satisfied with anything

less. Somebody just as smart as Polly Ellsworth, or smarter, but also a

nicer human being.

I hope.

* * * *

August 13, 1978

Received two more rejections. I’m in the process of making a few

final corrections and additions before handing it over to the typist.

Ed Barnhart and Michael D. came down for a couple days. Friday

night we had a big party at the Beachcomber tavern.

Ramblin’ Rex was the band that played. A giant crowd. Lots of

people dancing, me included. I danced with Sandy, Myrtis, Clarice,

Connie, and Pam. They all asked me. I didn’t ask them.

But I danced because they asked.

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Most of the other guys refused. I’m accommodating, light on my

feet, and very relaxed with a couple of drinks in me.

Both Ed and Michael seemed to have a good time and were

impressed with all the available women. There are tons of them here

in town and in Eugene.

None that I’m interested in, however.

Except one.

Afterwards I went home with Myrtis and had sex with her. She’s

15 years older than me. The oldest woman I have ever had sex with,

come to think of it. She was pretty good though, very eager and hot.

Actually, doing it with Myrtis is as inexplicable as most of the

things I do. A sudden impulse that expanded into an all night

encounter.

The basic point here is that I probably wouldn’t have had sex with

Myrtis if I thought she was going to remain in town.

But she isn’t. She has already accepted a new job in Eugene which

pays a lot more and comes with more benefits than the job she is

leaving does. There is absolutely zero chance, I am sure, that she will

change her mind.

But what was I going to do? After bump dancing and drinking with

her during the latter part of the evening, she practically begged me to

come to her place. I said I was willing, but added that I didn’t want to

leave my bus parked outside the tavern all night.

"Then drive it to my place," Myrtis said. "I’m in the woods by

Siltcoos Lake. You can follow me."

"Okay."

On the way out, I found Ed Barnhart and told him that I was

splitting.

"The cabin is unlocked," I said. "Don’t wait up for me."

"Where are you going?"

"Out for a drink."

"With that Myrtis woman? My God Pat, she must be at least

forty!" Ed sputtered.

"She’s forty-two to be exact."

"Are you going to have sex with her?"

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"As I said, don’t wait up for me."

At the edge of the parking lot, Myrtis was waiting in her own

wheels, a late model Chevy sedan. The engine was running, lights on.

I pulled up alongside and slid the window open.

"I’m ready," I said.

Myrtis flashed a big smile, saying, "Okay, follow me."

She put her car in gear and I followed her out of the parking lot,

through town, across the bridge, and south on the highway leading to

Siltcoos Lake.

Once we pulled off the highway, we took a long, winding paved

road into the woods, made a couple of incomprehensible turns, and

then rolled down a gravel road for another half mile.

At the end of the gravel road was Myrtis’s soon-to-be vacated

cabin. She parked her vehicle in the carport and indicated that I

should pull in behind her.

"I think it’ll enjoy being parked here," Myrtis said. "It’s going to

be a nice fit, eh?"

"I wouldn’t care to park it anywhere else," I answered. "Not

tonight, anyway."

Myrtis took me inside. There were boxes and packing crates all

over the place. She was definitely leaving.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Maybe some wine."

"Good, because that’s all I have."

Myrtis filled a pair of stemmed glasses with some kind of blush

wine and ushered me out on the deck. It was a gorgeous, starlit night.

I stood near her by the deck rail, looking out at the lake. For a

middle-aged school librarian, Myrtis remained in remarkably good

form. Not beautiful, but not hard to look at, either. Brown eyes and a

beaked nose that seemed large on her, small, oval face.

Myrtis came to America as an eight year old, her parents refugees

from some eastern European country, and she still retains a trace of

accent. I don’t much like her short, curled hair, and I’m sure the red-

auburn color is too intense to be real.

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But Myrtis does have a nice, shapely body, with an especially good

butt, and big boobs.

Nick told me at the Beachcomber that Myrtis had been divorced for

ten years and that she has a twenty-two year old son. Nick also said

that she has a thing for young, pretty guys.

We talked for a while about her impending move and her new job

in Eugene. Myrtis said she was glad to be leaving.

"My ex still lives here. I can’t stand him. He’s fat and old and he

drinks too much."

I nodded. The moon was bright in the sky.

I suddenly recognized where I was. Two houses down, right there

on the same side of the lake, was where Mark and Megan lived. I

wondered what they were doing right now. Probably fucking. At

least I would be if I were Mark.

I took a long drink of wine, finishing it.

"Would you like some more?"

"I’d rather not."

"Is there anything else you’d like?"

"Yes, Myrtis. I think I’d like to kiss you."

"Ooooohh."

I took Myrtis’s hand, thus giving her the option of accepting or

declining my pass. Because I had my vehicle with me, I figured that

if she wasn’t interested, I could split.

But she was interested. Very interested. The next thing I knew, her

mouth engulfed mine, and she was kissing me with real passion.

Breaking the kiss briefly, Myrtis said, "Patrick, you’re so pretty,

and you’re soooo sweet too. A real gentleman."

We resumed kissing, and her right hand reached between my legs,

feeling for my cock. I let her explore while I slipped my right hand

under her sweater. Her breasts were very full, but seemed very soft,

like they’d droop without the bra.

It took me minute before I located her nipple, lightly pinching it.

Again, Myrtis broke our kiss.

"My bed is still set up," she said. "Would you care to join me in

it?"

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"An excellent idea."

On the way to the bedroom, Myrtis undid my belt buckle, which I

took as a suggestion to remove my trousers and briefs. I kicked off

my shoes, pulled off my socks, and then removed my pants and briefs,

leaving a trail as I went. By the time we entered the bedroom, I was

naked from the waist down.

Myrtis couldn’t keep her hands off my cock. She switched off the

overhead light, which left only a table lamp illuminating the room.

The lamp was on the floor in the corner.

Reluctantly letting go, Myrtis removed her own clothes, until all

she had on were her bra and panties.

We started kissing again, with Myrtis fondling my cock and my

right middle finger digging at the crotch of her panties.

We got on the bed, side by side, facing each other. I still had on my

long-sleeved t-shirt. Myrtis tugged on the shirttail and I wiggled out

of it. Now I was entirely naked and she still wore her lingerie.

We continued kissing, and I began working Myrtis’s panties down.

When I had them to her ankles, she kicked them off. I tried to unhook

her bra, but Myrtis stopped me, saying, "Leave my bra on, if you

please."

"Okay."

I never argued. I just kept going. My middle finger now met no

resistance as I caressed Myrtis’s pussy. To my surprise, it was

shaved, with nary a hair to be found. She also had a big clit, and it

was already hard. As my finger dipped into her, I realized that she

had a really big vagina, not like most of the women I am used to. She

was wet, too, and my finger went in and out with exceptional ease.