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The Courtship Road

By: chilleywilley



The Courtship Road, is a little rough

I borrowed a plot device in this story from DanielQSteel's A Moment of Clarity, but as he is a better writer than me, I'm sure he won't mind. I read his stuff some years ago, am rereading them now, and find they are as good or better in the re-reading. I recommend his work to you all. Pandybear311 did a fine job editing this, but did not see the revisions to the weak spots she found, so all errors are mine.

This is copyrighted material, and may not be reposted or published without permission

*

I am John Desmond, a 27 year old man who has not found the right woman for me. It's not as though I haven't been looking. I think I'm a decent catch; normal body, good sense of humor, employed, and a good cook. What more could a woman want? 

I became a chef in a round about way. My high school grades were good enough to go to college. So I gave it a try, but soon knew that it wasn't for me. Between working and studying, I had little time for girls and realized college wasn't fun for me. I hated it. Fortunately I quit before I ran up big debts. 

I am a mechanically talented guy. I can do anything with my hands. I started out working on cars when I was 14. By the time I was 21, I had graduated to working on really big, complicated machinery. I got my first, and perhaps my last, really good job as a millwright. In the old days a millwright was someone who built or repaired mills. Nowadays it is someone who works on industrial machinery. 

As the manufacturing base in the USA declined, the old timers who use to do this work grew old and retired, making room for me. I learned my trade from them, made good money, bought a small house and had both a truck for work and a nice car when the plant closed. 

I was out of work for months and looking everywhere. Nothing! Not even as an automobile mechanic. I had too little experience with the new computer driven cars and too much for Kmart and the chain shops. 

I had one enemy in town, the father of a girl I use to date. I don't know what story she told him about me, but I was shocked when he interviewed me for a job at the hospital. He probably thought it was a shit job way below my ability. It was justifiable on the dubious strength of me having worked in a diner for several summers starting back in high school. I had kept the job during my ill-fated year and a half at college. It was a lousy job then and only a little better now. 

At the hospital, I went from doing the dishes to

"Hey Dizzey, do the fucking carrots and onions..." and eventually began doing a fair share of the cooking. Inside of six months the chef quit followed a couple of months later by first one and then the other assistant Chef. *this paragraph is a bit confusing with the way it's arranged. The dialogue in the middle of a sentence just makes it a bit choppy. Consider rearranging it or introduce a character to give him a bit of grief in the kitchen for a moment*

I was on a fast track to nowhere; getting promoted every couple of months until I reached the top of this little food chain, head chef. I went from working ten hours a day to twelve; six days a week because HR was slow in hiring people. I had no life, but I was paying off my credit cards pretty good.

At the hospital, the job of Head Chef paid a decent wage. The administrative work kept me out of the kitchen a lot which was a plus. I was responsible for the kitchen which served two cafeterias, meals to the rooms, and the snack bar off of the lobby as well as all of the staff involved in food handling. 

I had a lot of people working for me, but I was having a hell of a time hiring kitchen help. Frankly we weren't competitive in money, so the people answering the ads were poor quality, especially as the hospital uses e-verify to weed out undocumented workers. I started out hiring two people a week and would end up losing one, so retention became an issue too.

I did my best to make the kitchen culture friendlier. I made a point to know everybody by name. And set up a bulletin board in the cafeteria posting names and pictures of the food service staff. It was good for the staff to know everybody and enabled me to memorize names and faces. I tried to talk with everybody who worked for me at least twice a week and asked for suggestions on doing stuff better. 

If a suggestion worked out, I gave the person a small bonus and bragged to one and all about the great idea so and so came up with. I respected them and they me. We began getting along as a team. While that raised my retention rate, I was still behind in filling positions. That's when the hospital director asked me if I needed help. No shit, of course I did.

"Do you have any problem with mentally challenged people?"

"I had a lot of them working for me when I took over here, but attrition and firing rid me of the worst ones. I don't suffer fools so well. But if they can do their job, I don't care about their politics, so I get along."

"Politics?"

"Sure, look at the politics of this country. Split about even 'tween 'crats and 'publicans. Listen to them. Not a brain in their heads. Crazy as can be, all of them."

"So, which are you? Republican or Democrat?"

"Soon's I figure out which one is the most crazy, I'll join the other." 

He laughed at that. 

"Good answer, John. Keeps them guessing! Here's the deal, I can get developmentally challenged people...well, actually, they have an assortment of mental problems. Most are just slow, but a few are indeed crazy. They're in, like, a sheltered workshop were people judged to be harmless to others volunteer to get out into the world and work. The one's that aren't too bad off, we pay. Others the state reimburses us for helping them. You'd get two of them for every normal person who's replaced, because they need more supervision, you know?"

"Well, it sounds like asking for trouble. I'll tell you, there are a lot of so called normal people out there who turn out to be about worthless when I get them. Now you want to hire people who aren't right to begin with? I don't know! So will somebody tell me what they can do? Can't have them emptying a mop pail into the soup, or have 'em cut up carrots and find their finger in the chilly pot."

"Actually, they'll send somebody around to evaluate the jobs you have, and then send some people they've prequalified for you and your staff to interview for the work. The interview is part of their training, so you need to seriously interview them. We hire only those we want. You and your assistants'll need to get some training so as to understand how to work with them."

I knew marching orders when I heard them. It was agree or be put in the brig.

"Well, let's give it a try. I need help. I'm killing myself and you're paying me a lot of overtime. The other day I got an offer from one of the nurse's for a quick screw and turned her down! I was too damn tired."

Actually, I was thinking shit, as if I didn't have problems enough now! But you know, as I got to know some of these folks, I realized how wrong I was in my earlier assumptions. Some of them didn't work out, of course, but most did okay. Their supervisor or myself had to check some of them when they came in the door, to see that they were fit to work based on whatever 'normal' was for them. 

Hopefully they were on meds. They had taken them, gotten a good night's sleep and took a shower recently. Skipping medication would make them nutty, as could upsetting episodes in their life. You had to talk to them to figure out if they were themselves that day, which of course you should do anyway, talk with your staff, I mean. I did my best to treat them like everybody else, greet them by name, remember their cat's name, and the like.

They called me various names; Mr. Desmond, Boss, Sir, Mister John. One Quaker woman called me John Desmond. Whatever! I'd listen with attention for a reasonable amount of time to hear whatever they had to say responded as seemed appropriate. I had to fire a couple of my people who couldn't get with the program. Frankly those two weren't much even on their best day. 

I found the public generally accepting of them, And why not? They were making coffee, not drawing blood. They were much like everybody else. Give them a job they were capable of doing, some attention and respect for doing that job, and they did a good job. You learned some weren't good at the first thing you had them doing but you or they could often find another job better suited to their capabilities. And on a personal note, I enjoyed talking with some of them. They had a sense of humor. When they found out about my limited love life, they began to suggest suitable women and occasionally making introductions. 

It was cute. I don't think there was an unmarried woman within ten years of my age who hadn't heard from the handicapped staff that Mr. John, the nice kitchen boss, was unmarried and looking to meet a nice woman! Sometimes it was followed by innocent personal questions as to some woman's shoe size, place of birth and god knows what. 

So things were looking up. I had a job that paid enough, had benefits, less overtime, and to make my life complete, my love life picked up. I met (on my own) a nice woman named Jane, a barista at the local coffee shop with a degree in European history. Her education made for interesting conversation, but not worth much on the job market. 

We started out flirting for a while, and one time we were chatting during her break, discovered we both liked junk shops and flea markets. The first time I asked her out was for a predawn flea market two hours away with the promise of a brunch at a rural diner. I guessed if she was willing to get up at 4 AM on a Saturday to go out with me, it would prove she was interested in me. Neither of us bought much, but we both had a good time. 

Our second date was a week later. Friday night I took her to a nice restaurant in town. The business district has under gone quite a renaissance with the state pouring in a pot of money, so now it's quite the destination for miles around. In the fifties the vogue of ripping out the old Victorian buildings to make parking lots and modern stores skipped our town. Most of the place looks much like it did 100 years ago, all preserved and restored to better than new. Part of the fun is looking at the ornate architecture and shops. We were arm in arm looking in a shop window when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder.

It was Milton Hartzel, who wanted to be called Igor. 

He did dishes and general cleaning for me. Not because he couldn't do something else, but because he liked to clean things. He wasn't a giant but since he was closer to seven feet than six, he had to look down at most of us. He wasn't crazy either, just simple.

"Mr. Desmond! Hello Mr...and Mrs...Desmond. It is a nice even...ning now!"

"Igor! Good to see you too. Hon, this is Igor Hartzel." I turned to where Jane was a moment ago, but found she slid behind me, maybe not cowering, but certainly huddling and keeping me between her and Igor. I stepped to one side and drug her forward.

"Igor, this is my friend Jane Dostal. Jane, this is Igor." 

She was clearly upset, so I added. "Igor is a very nice, very gentle person." 

My endorsement wasn't much assurance to her, but she managed a soft hello and plastered a smile on her face. Igor and I chitchatted politely until I felt okay telling him that we had to go. Jane and I continued our stroll, not thinking any more about it. Jane still had my arm, but wasn't leaning into me anymore, which I realized in retrospect.

The restaurant I had chosen was on a street converted to one way with no parking and the sidewalks wide enough to allow for street side café's. The restaurant was a linen tablecloth place with tables on the sidewalk sheltered by a wall of potted shrubs and grasses. Umbrellas, candles on the tables, you know the kind of place. 

So: lovely evening, lovely woman, nice romantic ambiance, and more important good food. I ordered a bottle of wine. We chatted. By the time our meals arrived, I knew things were again on track because I felt Jane's bare foot on top of mine as she slid her toes back and forth across my ankle. 

I reached for her hand looking into her eyes as they widened in excitement. I was really pleased because I usually don't have that effect on women. Her expression went from excitement to rigid mask as a raspy voice spoke loudly in my ear.

"Mr. Desmond, sir, you was talking about garbage. I'm thinking about garbage a lot now. You, you know, garbage. You know about the garbage, you do? I know garba..." The bloodshot eyes looked at Jane as Ernie Schmidt leaned in towards her with fetid breath caused by his stomach problems. "Miss DesmondSir...Mr. DesmondSir taught me 'bout garbage and I worked to get good at garbage, could you know that?" 

I chucked. "Jane, let me introduce you to Ernie Schmidt who works at the hospital with me. Yes, Ernie, garbage is very important, but not something to talk about on the street while we are eating."

"Oh, yes sir, that's right you are. Well...do you know about grease, Miss Desmondsir? We, me and Mr DesmondSir's got bad grease...grease is bad!"

The waiter was coming over and the people at the next table were glaring.

"Ernie, I can't talk to you about work things here. It's not polite. I will see you Monday. We can talk about grease then."

What I said didn't register with him. He rambled on, "Grease'nfalls hurts people it does.."

He needed to hear a clear order as he was good at doing what he was told to do. "Ernie, I need you to go over to the park right now, please. Would you do that for me?"

The order did the trick as Ernie replied as he shuffled off, "Yes sir, Mr. Desmondsir."

Ernie was well away when the waiter reached the table and suggested that in the future I let him handle the panhandlers. 

Jane piped up with a wave of her hand in Ernie's direction. "Mr. Schmidt is not a panhandler. He works for Mr. Desmondsir."

"Oh I'm sorry then, Mr. Desmondsir! My mistake!"

Fucking wise asses.

"Apology accepted, Mr. Jasonsir!" 

The foot did not return to my ankle and I struggled to recall what we had been talking about. Jane seemed more distant. The conversation died repeatedly. We had just ordered dessert when I noticed Janie Jazmin with cigarette smoke streaming out both nostrils nearly beside Jane. Jane hates cigarette smoke and after Igor and Ernie, this evening, and probably our relationship, was dead and buried! 

"Mister John, look at you here eating in a restrunt when yoz got one them you' self. Why arn't yu eatin there?" She swung around to see Jane. 

"What's yor nam then."

Jane was cringing and dumb stuck. "This is Miss Jane, same name as you.

Janie Jazman meet Miss Jane."

"Not same...the name, different." 

The waiter came over double time, and told Janie to go away and stop bothering his customers. Janie was mortified.

"Janie, I know he's being rude. It's not a big deal, but people on the sidewalk aren't suppose to talk to people in the restaurant. So you do need to wait until you see me at work to talk with me." 

"Yes, Mr. John, I be goin." And she turned away.

The waiter started to bark again."As I said..." 

"The problem's no more, Jason, shut up."

"We can't have these people bothering the customers!"

"It may be undesirable from your point of view, but the street is public. Anyway, that person is no longer bothering anyone here, so back off."

The owner came over at a quick stride. "I'm sorry, sir, I must ask you to leave. You are being disruptive!"

I stood up. I could feel my face flush with rage, opening and closing my fists. I got control of myself and said evenly, "It is difficult right now for me to...not be extraordinarily disruptive, but to do so would disturb the other customers far more than your boorish behavior has already done. Jane?" 

I offered my arm. We walked past him and I heard him following close behind us. I was approaching the door when the fool said, "Just a minute, you haven't settled the check!"

"Look, you idiot! You're throwing us out before we finished our supper and before the check came. The check has settled into your fucking pocket."

"Hey you! I insist!"

"Call a cop. I'm parked in the lot over on State Street and we'll be walking slowly."

I kept walking, Jane a few steps behind. Jane piled more shit on me a minute later when she started berating me. 

"I am so embarrassed by your behavior and your so called friends! I have never been asked to leave a restaurant, to say nothing of skipping out without paying for the meal."

I had to calm myself, sometimes I'm too confrontational.

"You're wrong on most of those statements. I was the one thrown out, not you. If you want, go on back, finish your dessert, and pay for the meal. I'll wait for you here. He was lucky I chose to leave quietly. I did not skip out. I was thrown out and I'll be damned if I'll pay him for it. 

"Those people are business friends, not personal friends. They are my employees and do a good job in spite of their handicaps. The distinction between business and personal friendship along with a lot of other subtle distinctions is not so clear to them as it would be to you or me."

She ignored the suggestion that she pay.

"Those people who keep coming up to you are awful. They don't belong around here. What hospital do you work in anyway? An insane asylum? They're disgusting and shouldn't be allowed on the streets!"

I took one deep breath. Tonight was good practice in anger management. I took another couple of deep breaths, but she wasn't done.

"Honestly, why do they come up to you and they all seem to know you?"

"Yes, they do know me. I run the food services at the Elm Street Hospital. I'm their boss. They work for me and they work hard to do a good job. Look! Not so long ago, I never gave a thought to disabled persons. I was frankly repulsed, maybe not quite as much as you are, or I maybe I hid it better. My boss told me he wanted to hire them and I was to supervise them. They gave me some schooling to learn how. 

"Jane, they look different than us and they think differently than us, but God made them just as he made you and I. All of us are just trying to do the best we can with what talents God gave us. All of us want love. All of us want respect. All of us want some comforts in life. It's a lot easier for you and I, that's the only difference between them and us."

"Those people are disgusting!"

"Perhaps to you. Not to me. Look, I was 14 when my grandmother had a stroke and came to live with us. She had trouble getting to the bathroom in time and needed help with personal care. My mom worked from noon to mid-evening and told me that when I came home from school, I was to sit and talk with my grandmother and see how she was doing. If she had soiled herself, I was to help her to the bathroom if she was up to it, or take care of her needs where she was. I had to remove her diaper and any soiled clothing, clean her up, sometimes bath her and then help her put a clean diaper on, dress her and get her settled.

Like a kid I protested. It was disgusting. It was shit. She was a woman and old baggy, wrinkly woman at that! My mom told me to grow up! Shit doesn't kill, but neglect does! My grandmother would not sit in her own waste for another three hours until my dad came home when I could help."

"So what did you do?"

"I did what I was told to do. Mom did it with me the first time which helped me a lot. So two or three days a week, I had to help Gran that way. I was shaking with shame and disgust the first time I did it alone. The shame went away real quick. After a week, I saw it as...as a task like mowing the lawn. Just one more thing I did because it had to be done. It got so we chatted away while I was cleaning her up just as if we were playing cards. 


The Courtship Road



It's the same thing at the hospital. Working, interacting, and being something of a friend to them is pretty much the same thing to me as with anyone else. You'll get over it too if you let yourself loosen up."

"I could never do that!"

"Wash your grandmother's crotch and ass or be civil to persons who are different from you?"

"Um...like being around those kind of people. Your grandmother...that would be hard too, but I guess I could do it."

"You agree God made them?"

"Of course, I do. I am a Christian. I've taken Jesus as my personal savior!"

"That's nice. So you try to follow his teachings?"

"Of course!"

"So how about the part where, and I may misstate it a bit, 'Whatsoever you did for one of my brothers or sisters, no matter how unimportant they seem, you did for me'? I expect 'those people' would qualify as seeming to be unimportant to you?"

Nothing much was said until we got in my car and I was driving her back to her apartment. She had two roommates so we both knew I wasn't offering sex to her. Or maybe I knew she wasn't offering me any. We were half way to her place when she broke the silence.

"I guess you're right. I was raised a Christian, but it's hard for me to accept them. I don't think I can't not be disgusted by them. God can't expect that of me."

"Acceptance starts with suppressing your negative reactions, which you did tonight. As to Christianity, you've picked a difficult religion if you truly wish to follow his teachings. It's not nearly as simple as most ministers make it out to be. 

"Everybody's natural reaction to people with severe problems is revulsion on some level, just because they are visibly different. I think that's why he said we must work to overcome that natural reaction. A Christian life is one of endless effort at self-improvement. We'll work at it all of our days. " 

She was silent. I thought our relationship was likely over before it began. 

I turned down her street, and she said, "Pull over here...right there under the tree."

I was wondering what was going on. We were half a block from her apartment. I'm so toxic that she doesn't want her roommates to see me? When the car stopped, she released her seat belt giving me a hug and a really hot kiss. I turned into her and she broke the kiss to lay her head on my shoulder. 

"John, you've taught me something about myself tonight. I don't say that lightly either. You rightly observed that I'm not comfortable around anybody that's really handicapped. I see somebody, like, you know, all paralyzed in a wheel chair, and want to stare at them to see how bad off they are, but then I can't even look at them. 

"But it's silly. I mean, I'm not going to catch something that will make me be like them. And they've got problems like I can't even imagine. But they're really people too. I guess I know that, of course, but I have to...to accept them for what they are, and you taught me that." 

"Well, I'm not that far ahead of you, so don't put me on a big pedestal."

Her hand slid into my lap as she said, "We can't go up to my place. My roommates are there, but I want to do this for you if you don't mind?" 

She fumbled a minute as she unzipped my fly and pulled out my cock. Soft, it isn't much at all, but put it somewhere warm and wet and it grows! Frankly I was speechless as she dropped her mouth onto the little thing beginning a lovely suck and massage with her tongue. She was good. Someone had done a fine job teaching her to give a great blowjob. She backed off as my dick swelled, achieving a nice bend of sucking and licking.

"How much longer does this monster get?"

"You can't go wrong praising a guy's cock. When the wrinkles are gone, that's about it. Pretty much what you have there. I'm not going to last too much longer though."

"Shoot away. I don't mind."

I tried to hold back because it felt so good, but I still came too quickly. It was a wonderful release, and she took it all without complaint.

"That was lovely, Jane. Let me reciprocate."

"I like that you're willing, but not here. I'll take you up on that the first time you get me near a bed."

I didn't want her to get away, so I asked her to dinner at my place Wednesday. That didn't work for her, so Friday night it would be. She opened the door to leave, and I jumped out of the car.

"Very sexist of you to not let me walk alone."

"Nonsense. Obviously you've walked on this block alone at night many times. If you must know my motive, that last kiss was so good that I wanted to get another one. "

I wrapped my arms around her, but she kept her lips closed. I pressed down on her chin until she got the hint and we had a good French kiss that went on and on. She broke the kiss.

"Stop! I'll take you on the street! Guys don't like to kiss me after..."

"They're fools. The tastes and smells of sex are wonderful." 

A week later we were screwing. Boy, did she have some talent at that too. Her sex drive was a match for mine, coming twice each evening, and she was GGG (good, giving and game). A few weeks later I suggested that if she agreed to serial monogamy, the rubbers could come off. 

"When I start having sex with someone, neither my partner nor I would date or especially have sex with anyone else during that period of time. Sort of like the old custom of going steady?"

She was thrilled as it was something of a commitment and meant we were a couple. We were back in town, this time for ice cream and coffee. Jane took the ice cream cones outside while I was paying for them and carrying the coffees. As I came out the door, I was alarmed as Igor was talking to her. 

As I came up to her, she said to Igor, "Ask him."

Igor was embarrassed, so I encouraged him, "Igor, you know you can ask me anything. I won't get mad."

"Well, Mr. Desmond...you know...know we are helping you?"

"Yes, and things are running very well at the hospital."

"In other ways, Mr. Desmond. Not me...people who go on the floors...up stairs...we look for a wife for you. But maybe you...you found one first?"

Jane was grinning at me.

"Why Igor, how thoughtful. Indeed I am looking for a wife, and I think I can say with all honesty that you need not look any longer on my behalf."

"You mean stop looking?"

"Yes, stop looking. Please. I better eat my ice cream. It's melting onto Jane's fingers."

"Of course, Mr. Desmond, Miss Jane! Good night...God bless...and thank you Mr. ...Desmond for what you do."

He shuffled into the evening. I turned to Jane.

"Not the first time you've had sticky fingers with me. I was worried about your reaction to Igor coming up to you, but you seemed good with it."

"Well, you said Igor is a nice man and he is, isn't he? So thoughtful. And his friends, pimping for you! What devoted employees won't do for their boss! Anything come of their efforts?' 

"Their screening process isn't so good. A few people called me and said it was flattering that somebody thought a man 15 years younger than them would be interested! The others thought it was cute. One woman asked me out. We had coffee and dessert, but it didn't work out. "

"Are you ready to settle down?"

"Well, let's say I'm tired of life alone, of casual friends and hookups. So I guess the answer is yes. I'm like a big fly buzzing all around the room. Everybody knows he'll land, but not where or when exactly. Well, maybe you could make a better guess where than others could." 

We had great sex that night, a BJ in the car followed by two rounds in bed.

I was therefore surprised when a few weeks later Ernie Schmidt, who works part time for his cousin at the Candle Pin Inn, said he saw Miss Desmond there one night, giving some guy an open mouth, hands roaming kiss before she got into a cab by herself. Jane and I were having dinner at my place, and I brought it up.

"Jane, I'm not dating anyone but you. Of course that doesn't mean we can't spend time with other people, just not romantically. Isn't that the deal we have?" 

"Sure. For my part, I'm only dating you."

"Maybe we need to clarify what a date is. Could we agree that it is not a date where we only do things with the other person that would be normal and unremarkable were we to do the same things with our mother."

"So I can dance, kiss, hug, and have dinner with a guy. Isn't that a date?"

"Well, of course it could be a date depending upon intent and the details. If you were to dance with your mother, you wouldn't rub bodies or kiss her with open mouth, would you? And you would mention to me amongst other small talk. Like 'Oh, by the way. Mike Stephens and I had dinner at the Philistine club Monday night, and John said the funniest thing.' 

"Is there such a place as the Philistine Club?"

"Not as far as I know. I made it up."

"Sure, I've got no trouble with that."

"Good. So, what was going on at the Candle Pin Inn this week."

"Oh! Well," her expression gave her away. She knew she had been caught. 

"Nothing much happened."

I sat expectantly, saying nothing.

"This is weird. I didn't cheat on you! I hope you know that."

"I don't know much of anything because you haven't told me, do I?"

"Yah, well, it was nothing much. It was Billy Kennedy. He had dinner with me at the Candle Pin. I did kiss him, but it was just for goodbye and old time's sake. I'm not interested in him. If I was, it would be too bad for me, 'cause he's gone to Afghanistan for another tour. Left last Thursday. I confess I've got a thing for warriors, but I'm not interested in Billy or anybody else, so don't worry. I'm sorry. I guess I was afraid you'd go orbital if I told you. But you're clearly not. I'll tell you if there is a next time. "

I had the feeling that her agreement was reluctant. I began to think our relationship was a bit unbalanced with me liking her more than she did me. 

A few months later, one of Jane's old friends from back home, Siobhan Sullivan was getting married and as Jane now had herself a man, the invitation to the wedding was extended to me. She was going to be a bridesmaid. I had met the couple once when we were back to Jane's old home, and I wasn't particularly impressed with either of them. She had dead white Irish skin covered with a lot of brightly colored tattoos and the Gus the groom looked like he could open beer bottles with his teeth. Now that's just the surface appearance, I know, but casting about for a topic of conversation, I couldn't find anything they knew about or cared about, me included. So I moved off and chatted with others. They seemed like nice enough people. 

The wedding was up in coal country, a three hour drive from where we lived. Most of the younger folks at the wedding were people that Jane had gone to school with. Most were local, and otherslwere staying at the motel next door to the pub where the reception would be held, so no one would be tempted to drive drunk. Good idea.

I rarely have more than one or two drinks, and I balked at staying in a motel where a bunch of drunks would be carousing at all hours of the night. I rented a room at a nice three star motel a couple of miles away. We'd have a bit of peace and privacy. 

There wasn't a lot of money in either the bride or groom's family so they came to a sensible solution. The wedding party dinner was pot luck with the local pub letting them use their back room. We bought ten pounds of ribs from the pub for our contribution. The money they saved on the meal and the venue was spent on beer and appetizers done by a very good caterer. Very good indeed! They had an open keg from local brewery, a first-rate lager for about an hour, with a DJ. After that, it was buy your own drinks at the bar up front. It was a happy party and I was having a good time! 

I suppose it was only to be expected that when keg was empty and the meal was done, the room got quite crowded. Half the people in town knew either Siobhan or Gus, so the distinction between the wedding group and the bar folks quickly evaporated. The only difference was the members of the wedding party were noticeably better dressed, which says more about the bar crowd than the wedding party 

Jane and I had been socializing and dancing sort of at random with whomever, but I noticed that one guy was spending a lot of time with her. One glance and anyone could see she was enjoying his company. When he bent down and gave her a long kiss, I could see trouble coming my way. 

I cut in, got a sour look from the guy, and as we danced, I suggested that she might not want to monopolize her time with him. 

"What are you trying to say, John? Say it straight out. I can't dance with Mike?"

"We've had this talk before. I saw the kiss and the rubbing crotches. It looks to me like you're leading him on and he might be a difficult chap to leave behind. That's all. Don't look for trouble and then hope it won't find you." 

"And what if I mean to lead him on? What are you going to do about it?" she said with a big smile.

"Well, you can have him or me, but not both, so it's up to you. I mean, if you don't want to be with me, why the hell would I want anything to do with you? You decide who you want to be with. We've discussed this before." 

"John, you're such a nice guy. Don't worry. I can handle Mike."

I've been around enough, so's I didn't think the nice guy remark was much of a compliment. In the space of an hour the old folks left and with them a couple of old timers from the bar that I was hanging out with. It was like the adults left, and the party degraded into a bacchanal. Saw the movie Dirty Dancing? Worse! 

Jane, Siobhan and two or three or other women were putting on an exhibition. One was bent over being dry humped in back, with a guy in front holding her tits and pushing his crotch into her face. Jane was rubbing her cunt on Mike's leg while he held her ass, fingers in the crack. Dumping fuel to the fire, a slow dance came up. Mike lifted Jane's dress above her ass, and we all saw she wasn't wearing the underwear that she had on when we left the hotel. 

That rolled my stomach and my heart sunk. The crowd saw entertainment and erupted into laughing cheers, I saw my life go to shit! Another guy exposed his partner's skinny ass to more crowd approval. 

A dark haired woman was dancing with her back to her partner. Well, not really dancing, they swayed back and forth. She lifted her dress to show her cunt, thinly veiled by red panties while her partner slid one hand inside over her mons. His other hand vigorously played with her tit. The crowd reacted with more cheers. Jane locked eyes with me and I made a sign with walking fingers signaling let's go. 

She ignored me as Mike bent down and he kissed her again. Seeing no resistance, he slid his hand between her legs. She responded by laughing, poking her elbow in his gut and struggling a bit to remove his hand. He laughed and released her as the song ended. This was getting out of hand, and I went out to get her out before things got any worse.

She couldn't see me coming over to them, but Mike did and he stared right at me as he visibly fondled her tit. When I came around to face Jane, she telling him something and removing his hand, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. 

I tapped Jane's shoulder and said, "I'm leaving now. You coming or staying?"

Mike snarled in a loud voice, "Piss off, asshole." 

My emotions were raging, and the noise was deafening, so I raised my voice to be heard. 

"I want to hear Jane tell me if she's coming with me now or staying. No call for you to get pissy."

One part of me was urging that as I wasn't trying to impress this bar full of strangers, I probably should just walk away and leave this riff raft to themselves, and I would have except I couldn't be sure what Jane intended here, and she wasn't going to be raped or assaulted on my watch. Well events quickly escalated out of my control. 

"I've had enough of your shit for one night! I'm gonna bust your wimpy ass." 

The asshole violently flung Jane aside to get at me. She stumbled and would have fallen if someone hadn't caught her. Mike pivoted around, swinging a fist at me. I stepped back, as it harmlessly sailed past me, although with lethal intent. 

If my brain contained the least sense of self preservation, I would have gotten the hell out of there as fast as my legs could carry me. No one I cared about or was likely to ever see again was in that room. I'd only be leaving my pride and dignity behind which I could painlessly retrieve at the door. Trouble was I was pissed off! 

I said evenly, "Jane, get the bartender. Tell him to bring a bat. Do it! Now!" 

I expected she'd scoot away immediately, but I couldn't afford to watch her. I wasn't taking my eyes off of Goofus who lashed out with a kick he probably learned from watching TV movies. I was able to turn to one side grabbing his foot with both hands, shoved and twisted it hard which dumped him with a crash on his ass. 

The crowd cheered! Sober, it wouldn't have worked. I would have thought it comical if it wasn't so fucking dangerous. Jane was still there watching. I looked for an opening, but didn't follow up for two reasons. One, there was too much of a chance he would pull me down and second, I had decided to bolt. I could take a punch, but not ten of them while I was on the ground. I spun around to go and faced a tight wall of cheering and jeering spectators. No way out, I turned back around to watch him warily get to his feet. 

As long as I was free to move, I was probably okay. I barked again:

"Jane, get the fucking bartender!"

The crowd booed at this threat to end the entertainment. His reflexes were impaired by drink, but Mike had a long reach and big muscles from doing real work. Three or four years ago I could have taken him, drunk as he was, but I had gotten soft. If he got a hold of me, it was all over. I could only hope he would tire and quit or the bartender would break it up. 

Fortunately, he had no training in fighting. Sadly, I was his equal in that regard.

The crowd recognized a blood sport as more interesting than sex and like I said had formed a ring, effectively cutting off any escape. They began calling out cheers for Mike, and jeers for me. I was not the home team here.

He settled into a pattern. He would rear back or otherwise telegraph his intent and then lunge forward with a kick or a punch. In response, I would duck, dodge, or occasionally block. I watched for the occasional opening and tagged him with a fist or a kick from time to time, but it had no great effect on him. 

The music had stopped and now all eyes were on us. It was clear that nobody was coming to stop the fight. In fact, they were laughing and egging us on. Big fucking joke! The crowd happily cheered, but as Mike failed to connect, both he and the crowd were getting frustrated. He wanted my blood, and they wanted anybody's blood. Everybody loves a fight! 

I was aware of the crowd on a superficial level as I was intently focused on the drunk who was attacking me for what seemed to be a long while, but was probably only a few minutes. Him rushing and me weaving and dodging was my world..

"You little fucker, I catch you, you're dead!"

That's exactly what I was afraid of. Would he know the difference between hurting someone and killing them? From the crowd came cries of coward, wimp, and pussy because there was no blood yet. I wasn't getting hurt nor hurting him. Of course, if one of his flails connected on me, they would merrily watch my blood fly while I got beat to shit. I was frantically looking for a way to end it and not seeing one.

He was tiring, face flushed with drink and the exertions, panting and dripping sweat. I was doing a little better, but had been giving ground slowly until I found myself backed into a big potted plant. I had no place to go. For a moment I was gratified to see him backing off. Good, he had had enough! No such luck.




The Courtship Road



"You little bastard! This is it for you, an' no more of your fucking fairy dancing." 

It looked like he was going to charge me like a bull. Well, I figured I might as well wave a red flag and end it now.

"Come on, dick lick. Everybody know you're the Fat Fairy Fucker in this town! I'm right here. Come on! Shove some butter between the cheeks of your lard ass so you can move! They tell me your ass takes more cock in a week than your mother's cunt in a year! Think you can hit this?" 

I leaned forward pointing to my chin. That ignited him! He roared leaned low for traction and ran full at me with arms and fists wind milling. Mustering my courage, I resolved to take the hits and go down. 

"Come on you Queer meat. I'm right..."

My courage failed me when he was upon me. I dropped to the ground instinctively tucking into a ball. 

As I collapsed, his fist literally parted my hair. My right shoulder took a hit as his shin slammed into me. A foot hit a glancing blow to my head sliding painfully across my ear. Asshole sailed right over me, his momentum barely checked, but now in a horizontal dive. Had he been less drunk, and not reaching down for me as he passed harmlessly overhead, he might have saved his head from the impact. 

The potted plant neither slowed nor cushioned him as he slammed into the steel column right behind it. The sound was that of a hollow gourd hitting a rock, followed by his ass and legs landing on top of me. 

Under him was my worst nightmare! As I frantically struggled to get to my feet, the local barroom warrior lay still. Seeing the wrong one emerge, the crowd let out a feeble cheer. They certainly could have been more enthusiastic, even if it was the home team that flopped. 

I viewed the crushed plastic plant, Mike's face resting in the dusty plastic moss around the pot. A few faded plastic leaves fluttering down on him. Blood trickled down his forehead into his eye as some more dribbled out of his nose. I hoped he was merely knocked out and not dead. 

Fortunately or not, he was neither. He stirred himself without moving much. Opening at least the eye I could see, he roared, "I'll fucking kill you!"

He should know better than to threaten someone when you're lying on your stomach with your back to the subject of your intent. I was circling to find a spot to deliver a couple of good kicks when he conveniently hoisted himself to his hands and knees giving me a clear shot. A place kick to his balls got a bellow out of him before he curled up and passed out. I gave him another hard kick to the ribs and heard something crack. 

He wasn't moving, at least for the moment. The crowd was silent. It was then that Jane stepped forward from the crowd.

"You're my hero! You're the winner, and to the winner go the spoils!"

Where the hell did she read that? She means she's the spoils, or she's spoiled, despoiled...the ruined...Shit, I'm thinking too much again.

"You're wrong, Jane. No winners here, just losers. You, me, him, we all have less now than we had a bit ago."

"No, no, no! John, you won. You're the warrior who fought for me and you won me!"

Fucking drivel, I thought. I spotted a couple of the grooms.

"Ahh, Brian, Jordan, You guys played football, didn't you?"

"Of course. What of it?"

"Then you probably got some training in head trauma. Mike needs some medical help. He very likely has a concussion and some broken ribs. You need to get him to the hospital!"

"Geez, John, we had a lot to drink" 

"Jane, you're sober enough to drive. You go with them. Brian, get Mike's keys out of his pocket."

"John, I go with you, the winner!"

"Yah, Hon, you said that before, but right now Mike needs your help more than I do. As your actions resulted in his current problems, your actions are gonna help fix the problems. I'll catch up with you later." 

I was thinking like maybe never. Never could work for me.

It took four men to carry him out. Frankly, I wanted nothing to do with her fuck her and the horse she rode in on. She headed off with Mike, Gus the groom and two others in the red ump sprung rolling wreck of a Dodge Neon. I said goodbye to Siobhan, expressed my regret for the finale, and headed back to the motel. Oddly Siobhan didn't say much, I shudder to think that this sort of thing was expected or acceptable at parties. I'm glad to leave all this behind my exhaust pipe. 

I showered and shaved, collected my stuff in the bag they leave for laundry, and packed her shit into the suitcase. I shut my phone off and closed out the bill. I told the clerk that Jane would come by later and for him to give her a key. I drove home to Wilmington, stranding her in her own home town. 

I've always liked driving at night. There's not much traffic, almost no cops, and you can really fly. But tonight I drove sort of legal, cruise control set at ten miles over the speed limit. Well, it was a fun relationship while it lasted. I never saw the blood lust side of her.

I was bone weary, starting to feel the aches and pain from the fight. I bolted the door and slept till noon. When I got up, I saw she had called twice, once at 2 AM and once at 9:45 AM. The wedding was from ten to eleven, followed by the reception at a church. I left the doors bolted from the inside and climbed out through the kitchen window, as she had a key to the front door. 

Jane and her cousin were on the porch when I got back at 7 PM. She was livid! 

"You son of a bitch! Why did you cut out on me? You left me back in that God forsak..."

She stopped realizing her cousin still lived up in Woodchuckville, where the definition of a 14 year old virgin was a girl that could run faster than her brothers. 

"...back home. You made me go the hospital with them, and if Mike hadn't been so drugged up, I'd have had to fight him off."

"Sorry about that, but why would you fight him off? You certainly welcomed his pawing earlier. He squeezed your tits and displayed your naked ass for everyone's entertainment. Weren't fighting him off then, were you? I didn't think it would be an onerous task for you to comfort him in his time of need as you so clearly enjoyed his attentions earlier. 

"So, no sex from Big Mike? Did you at least get your underpants back from him?"

"How could you think that? Of course, I didn't have sex with Mike."

"Well, you can get them back next time you see him. Ahh...do I remember correctly you said 'to the winner goes the spoils' meaning I was the winner, and you were the spoiled?"

"Sure, but spoils means like the treasure won by the winner."

"Oh, like the winner in war gets to take the loser's gold, land, women. That sort of thing?"

"Right. You get to take me!"

"Well, that means that by defeating him, I could take you from him. But only if you belonged to him to begin with, right? I thought you were mine to begin with, so how does that work?"

"John, just stop with the clever shit. It was a figure of speech. I didn't mean it so literally."

"You're probably right. You thought two men fought each other over you, and you naturally wanted to give yourself to the winner?"

"Well, sure, as long as you were the winner."

"And what if I was the loser? What then?"

"You weren't, were you?"

"No fucking thanks to you on that. You caused the fight, leading him on in a shameless, public exhibition of slut lust. I have some pictures of it on my phone to prove that. I'll send them to you if you like."

She winced when I called her actions slut lust, but I'm not sure she was following what else I was saying because she had a puzzled look on her face. 

"I lost all respect for you right then and there. He attacked me and tried his best to beat the shit out of me, and damn near did! , and I was desperately trying to avoid it. I liked my body to much to get it broken over some dumb shit like this. At that point, other than me asking, no, imploring you to get the bartender and his baseball bat, I hadn't a thought for you...or for that matter, as I now realize, you had no thought for me."

"That's not true, John I was horrified, but I couldn't move!" 

"As it happened, to the surprise of the audience, he went down and I was the one who walked away from the fight. And from you as well. So, okay, Jane, I won your affections and your sexual loyalty. They belong to me. You're mine. Have I got that right?" 

"Absolutely, John. I'm still really pissed at you leaving me back at home, but I can get by that. I'm yours."

"Good. Now hear this. While I am vicious, valiant and victorious in battle, I am merciful to my enemies." 

She started a happy smile thinking all was forgiven.

"And to the vanquished, I hereby, before this witness, cousin Regina, do give you, Jane, to Big Mike whom I bested in single combat." 

"What? What are you telling me? What's this valiant stuff?"

"Just being eloquent. In plain English, I am giving you to him. He can fuck you all he wants, whenever and wherever he wants, for all I give a shit. To paraphrase the polka lyrics, 'I don't want you! He can have you! You're a slut to me!' You and Regina can collect your shit and get it out tonight, or I'll bring it all up to your mom's house next weekend."

"You can't throw me out! I don't have anywhere to go! I have work tomorrow."

"Not my problem, I didn't know or care where or with whom you slept with last night. I don't care where you're going nor do I care who you're sleeping with tonight. I'll tell you again, it won't be with me."

"Open that door, John, and let me in. I live here. Now!"

I opened the door, slipped through, and closed it behind me, shouting through the door:

"Nope! I gave you to Mike. Tell you what. You're making a scene and disturbing the neighbors. Go away, I'll pack some boxes and leave them on the porch when I get home tomorrow. When you get settled some place, I'll deliver whatever's left."

"You son of a bitch! I didn't have sex with Mike, I don't even like that idiot. I love you! You love me! We're a couple!"

"Jane, that was before the wedding. I saw you in your element, and I'm telling you, I'm at the other end of the periodic chart. I didn't like what I saw, to say nothing of damn near getting killed as a result of your bad judgment. It's not going to happen to me again. Look, I'll compromise here. I'm out of here, going jogging, and it'll take me an hour. You go get what clothing you need for the week. Just be gone when I get back."

I started at a good lope listening to her fuming in the distance. You're wondering did she cry, beg and plead for me to take her back? No. She was at least smarter than that. She e-mailed me to arrange to pick up her stuff. I had carefully packed and boxed it before setting it just inside the front door. 

It was a long week. I missed her and was having second thoughts. Work was mostly uneventful. Well then Janie came to me all upset about something Kathy Kotab did. That was unusual as they got along quite well, I thought. Kathy's a long time employee and Janie's boss. 

Kathy had written her up for not doing what she was told, and apparently there had been a lot of drama. Kathy told Janie to run the dough mixer. Janie refused because she's not allowed to use power equipment like slicers, saws and the mixers. But Janie has speech troubles, especially when she's upset, and Kathy didn't understand what Janie was trying to say. 

It took a while, but finally Janie agreed that if Miss Keota were to apologize for getting upset and forgetting what Janie was allowed to do she would forgive her. Kathy had gone home at that point, and I didn't want Janie to carry this over night so I called her. When Kathy realized what the problem was, she was mortified.

"John, I am so sorry! Janie could have gotten hurt! Thank God, she had the good sense to refuse! It was my stupidity! Oh, I'm so sorry! Let me talk to her. Oh, the poor woman." 

I handed the phone over to Janie. They made up and forgave each other.

That evening I was sitting on the front steps, reading Fine Woodworking and looked up to see Jane standing in front of me. She did look lovely in a simple blouse and skirt, sandals. She had nice feet and legs. She was a good looking woman. Shit, more drama, just what I needed.

"John, I can't believe those photos you sent of me! I had no recollection of doing any of that."

"Well, I suppose I'll remember it well enough for both of us. I dumped my copy of the photos, just so you know. They're nothing I want to look at."

"John, I want you to give me and give us another chance. I really didn't appreciate what I was doing that night, but I do now. John, I am so sorry! You could have gotten badly hurt! Thank God, you weren't. It was my stupidity."

She was unknowingly echoed Kathy Kotab's words. And she was right. Neither woman listened when someone was alarmed. Both could have gotten someone injured. Neither one intended or imagined that their actions could lead to a really bad thing. And Janie, poor Janie found the strength to forgive. And I can't?

"You've got someone else to apologize to as well."

There was a puzzled look on her face, Oh! I already did to Siobhan and Gus. They were cool!

"I mean Mike?"

"Mike? Me call up Mike?"

"Sure, Yah, he shouldn't have done what he did, but then you had a share in what happened. You should have stopped him way earlier, you didn't, and as a result he got hurt. Can't you do that?"

"You don't mine me talking to Mike?"

I shook my head. What was she thinking. "

Look, you own him an apology, and you two should agree that you both made a mistake, and it's not going to happen again. If we stay together, we're going to go back to see your folks, and probably see Mike and his friends around, and I want everybody to be cool.

Look, I've not had my dinner yet. Gimme your hand. Let's walk over to the pub. You keep quiet just now and let me think."

We ignored the issues and chatted about small stuff as we waited for our food order while drinking our way through a pint of beer.

"John, you were right. There was no victor to that...incident and I'm including the whole evening. I thought at the time I was just having fun. My underpants were back at the motel and I thought you'd be really turned on by me being naked down there for you. It wasn't until I saw the pictures that I realized how Mike was exposing me. 

"It was childish of him. I'm truly mortified. I was just having a good time dancing with whoever. I didn't realize Mike thought I wanted him! I mean, we never dated or anything. I accept some responsibility for his actions too. As to the fight, it was lose/lose to him. I certainly wasn't having anything to do with him. 

"When it started, I was paralyzed. I should have gotten the bartender, or grabbed a bottle and attacked Mike, or something! But I was rooted to the spot, watching in horror. I lost...I lost the only person there that I loved. And you had a horrible experience, and were so let down by the one you loved. I failed you.

"What else is there to say? I made a mistake. Mike made a mistake. And you made a mistake."

"Me? What the hell! I didn't do anything? You were..."

"Exactly! I could say that you didn't do anything when you should have done something. You weren't with me on the dance floor, and you didn't step in when things went outside of your comfort level. You hung back until it was totally out of hand it wasn't like I was at a dance club without you or cheating. I was with you, and you sat there, saw what was happening, and let it happen, thinking the worst of me for it. 

"You lost too because you threw away a person who loved you truly. Later, after the shit storm, rather than face me and have it out like a man, you took the coward's way out and ran away. And when I came after you, you hide behind name calling and closed doors. So while I agree you weren't an instigator, you let things drift and your inaction was part of the problem too. As a guess, Mike was 40% of the problem, I was 50% and you were the remaining 15%.

"I was as horrified as you when Mike attacked you! I didn't mean anything by dancing with him. I was just hanging loose. For Christ's sake, you were right there! I didn't sneak way with anyone! "

I didn't insult her by pointing out her arithmetic was wrong or asking if she slept alone that night. No that was stupid. She slept alone. I thought about it a bit. 

"Well, I agree I was wrong to, as I thought at the time, cut my losses and run. There's no reason we shouldn't have had it out that night. My feelings were hurt, my pride wounded. I see that from your point of view, you were having a good time, and while perhaps skirting... No! That's not fair, while not having sex with anyone else. You need to know that my pain was real, that I felt that our relationship precluded you from dirty dancing or passionately kissing anyone else.

"Reminds me of a story of Patrick in confession: Not much to tell you this week, father, Well, me and Mary. O'Riley, but I expect Mary told you all about it, so we needn't bother with it, besides nothin happened.

"Patrick, I'm here to listen to your confession, not talking about Mary's. What happened, Pat"

"Well, the wife and I went down to the pub with the O'Rileys to have a pint or two, ya see Mary and I were the only smokers, so we went out side, and suddenly we were kissing on another and hands roaming all over. But we come to our senses; it was a dumb thing to do, and not to be repeated. But really, nothing happened."

"Pat, when the hands were roaming, did they rest on the nasty bits if only for a moment?"

"Aye, Father, I said all over, but the important part is nothin happening."

"Oh Pat, your wrong there, 'twas adultery that happened!"

"Nay, father, you mistake my meaning not having experience in this sort of thing. The hands were outside the cloths, ya hear what I'm saying, nothing went inside!"

"Adultery happened night, and here's you penitence..."

A few months later, Pat and his wife Bridget were leaving church, Bridget slipped pat a few coins for the poor box, and Pat reach out to the box, and palmed the coins. 

"Patrick" said the priest, "I saw that, and what's worse for you immortal soul, so did the Lord, and he's not pleased!"

"Surly that's where you're wrong, father, for haven't I heard it from your very own lips, putting your hand on somethin is the self same as puttin somethin init!"

We laughed we plowed that field about three more times, that night, and agreed to put it behind us. We were married a year later, two sons a couple of years after that. I stayed at the hospital for four years, until I was passed over for big job of Director of Food Services; I looked around and got lucky, getting the top job at a neighboring hospital. Add to that, we bought a house and I lost touch with my former employees. 

I was just asked back to jointly award six of that first group of 'special' for lack of a better word, employees who were eligible for their 5 year pin, Igor and Ernie, among them. I asked after Janie, and wished I hadn't. 

She became erratic in taking her medication, and lost her job. It sounded like the hospital tried, but really there is little that could be done. She also became really disruptive, and lost he place in the group home. Several months later found in an abandoned house, dead "from multiple causes." Nothing more was heard. So the story ends with a downer. I'm sorry, but...

Oh, that marriage we went to? Lasted six months and the Gus and Siobhan got divorced. Months later, the wife and I were at that same bar, when a sober Mike apologized for his behavior that night, and sat down for to visit. The lasting result of the fight was that he lost a nut, and realizing he didn't want to risk loosing the other one, so he cleaned up his act. 

"John, I'm 27 and not some fucking kid anymore. Plus I'm short order cook at Millie's Diner, and I'm working like hell during the hours when everybody's parting, so it'd be hard to get in trouble even if I wanted to."