Vision Quest

35. Life in a Song 2011-2022 Part 3 It Ain't Me Babe

POV: Roger (Definitely mature content) 

    It was a fifteen-hour straight through drive from the bay area to her home in Coeur d'Alene Idaho. She had a fairly new small three-bedroom house out in the country. She had chosen to settle there because her parents lived nearby.

I had a little trouble finding her place. By the time I did, it was after midnight, I was exhausted, and suffering from a cold I didn't realize I had had when I started the drive. I knocked softly on the door in case I was at the wrong house. I didn't want to risk waking a complete stranger. The last time I did that I was a teenager who had run out of gas out in the middle of nowhere and was met by the barrel of a farmer's shotgun.

This time I was met with much less threatening, but still surprising results. The pictures I had seen of Jeannie were basically glamour shots showing her in elegant attire, with meticulous makeup and perfect coiffure. She met me at the door in a bathrobe. She had given up on me showing up and had already gotten ready for bed. Her hair was rumpled like maybe she had already been in bed. Still, her frumpy housewife look was more attractive than many fashion models and it was certainly more welcoming than the aloof glamour look in her photos. Besides after a fifteen-hour drive I'm sure I didn't look my best.

When she saw how tired I was and that I was not feeling well, she had me put my suitcase in her bedroom. She said I should take her more comfortable bed and that she would sleep on the couch. I objected, telling her I had no problem sleeping on the couch. She insisted explaining that her kids were already asleep in their bedrooms on the other side of the house, and that she didn't want them to wake up and find someone they didn't know on the living room couch. I was in no condition to argue the point.

We talked briefly and then she decided I needed a good night sleep; so, she showed me where everything was in her ensuite bathroom told me to make myself at home and left for the living room closing the bedroom door behind her.

I scoped out her bedroom. It was nice, homey. She had a lounging chair by the window, sheer curtains, a queen size bed with a brass headboard. There was a picture of Jesse on her nightstand.

I got out of my clothes, took a quick shower, put on some clean underwear and got into the bed.

The bed was comfortable, but I was miserable. I was stopped up, achy, exhausted, in a strange house, and there was a picture of Jesse staring down at me from his girlfriend's nightstand. Could it get any worse? Oh, yeah let me assure you it was about to.

Right before I could fall asleep, she came back into the room. She had doffed her bathrobe and only had on a flimsy see through hip-length night gown with nothing on underneath. She got into the bed with me, and said, "Let's get this over with."

Yes, I kid you not. Those were her exact words. No sweet nothings whispered, no gentle caressing, no kissing, just straight to the action. She was clearly not very adept in the ways of romance as demonstrated by her opening remarks. The mechanics of sex, well that was something else entirely. She stripped off my underwear and then she proceeded to screw my brains out. We were not making love. We were just screwing. She certainly was well acquainted with the various positions, and approaches to sex as demonstrated by her enthusiastic and diverse techniques. In contrast, it was hardly my best performance or my most enjoyable one, but as they say, "Since the first I've had, the worst I've had was good."

In retrospect, I feel sorry for her. No matter how good the sex, sex without feelings, without emotional connection is little better than masturbation. Still, it was better and masturbation itself ain't that bad itself; so, I was not about to complain. Her approach to sex was no doubt her husband's fault. Hers had clearly been a loveless marriage and sex was simply an obligation.

I stayed for a week. Her kids did not like me. To be fair I don't think they would have liked anyone under the circumstances. They were both preteens. I tried very hard to bond with them which I thought would be easy since I've been told I often act that age myself. I thought I was making some progress, but Jeannie kind of kiboshed it. She wanted me to act like a dignified adult authority figure around them. Now what child wants to bond with that?

So, she sent them to stay with her mother while I was there. We mostly stayed in and screwed.

She took me to a neighborhood bar once. It was a typical western cowboy bar, dingy and wood paneled everything. Wagon wheels and antique cattle farming paraphernalia on the walls and in the rafters. The clientele were mostly cowboys and other rough types who didn't talk much and just sat there drinking beer and looking mean.

I did not fit in. We ran into an ex-boyfriend of hers from high school. I am a fairly tall dude, but this guy was a giant and was built like a pro wrestler. He definitely fit in with the bar's regulars. Jeannie insisted that we join him at the bar. I tried being friendly. He didn't. I suspected he might still be interested in her. I also suspected that before I showed up, she had done little to discourage him even though to me the dumb brute really didn't seem like her type. Nor did this bar seem like a place she belonged, but she told me she sang here frequently. As I said she is a very unique and interesting person. She was as at home in a cowboy bar as she was in an upscale New York city night club. She could converse just as comfortably with intellectuals as with roughnecks.

We had a drink with the giant and then I suggested we leave. "Nice meeting you," I lied as we left. He just nodded at me and continued to glare as we went out the door.

Back at her house, we had sex. My performance was somewhat improved. I was over my cold and possibly motivated by the encounter with her ex. Still, the lack of emotion from her did not encourage my best efforts.

As I said before, we spent most of our time screwing. All in all, not a bad way to spend a week. It just occurred to me that I don't remember us ever kissing lip to lip, at least not on our facial lips. I remember kissing other parts of her body and that was enjoyable, but I do enjoy deep romantic kisses on the mouth. I guess she was afraid she might catch my cold. She certainly wasn't afraid to use her mouth on other parts of my body. That I definitely remember.

We parted on good but uncertain terms. It eventually became clear that she had decided to look elsewhere. Can't say I was disappointed. She wrote me a few months later to tell me she was getting married to the giant. I honestly don't know if I felt sorry for the guy or not. I was happy for her. Maybe the guy could teach her a little bit about romance. Maybe this time she would find the love I think she would have had with Jesse. All I knew was the Bob Dylan song playing in my head, "It ain't me babe. It ain't me you're looking for, babe."