Like Father, Like Son
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Cheating, Cuckold,
Desc: Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1 - First his mother cheats and now his wife. Will he take the same action his father took?
A story of two men, father and son, who made a choice. Their wives had been unfaithful but how did they react? The father is Howard Chase and the son is Ben Chase. This is their story.
Thanks to April Love for her editing skills.
I've been sitting at this bar for about 3 hours now and I still have no idea of what I was going to do. I hoped that a couple of stiff drinks would give me some wisdom but all it had done was give me a headache, and when I closed my eyes I could still see the scene that sent me from the house: her on her knees with him pumping his cock into her from behind. I had run from the house, got into my car and drove like a madman for two days, stopping and sleeping in my car when I was tired, eating crap from the gas stations where I stopped for gas, then driving some more until I finally ran out of steam, slowing when I came to this place, wherever in the hell it was.
It was early in the morning but I needed a place to crash so I just drove through town until I saw this bar with it's flashing neon lights telling me it was a 'traveler's oasis'. I decided that if I could get seriously drunk the pain would go away, but I was a shitty drinker: always had been. I think that was my grandmother's fault. She used to take a switch to me when she caught me drinking beer with the other kids. But shit, that was almost 20 years ago.
I was deliberating on whether to order another shot with a chaser or find a quiet room where I could end it all when an older gentleman slipped onto the stool next to me and quietly asked if he could buy me a drink. Well, the first thing I did was give him the eagle eye to be sure he knew I wasn't one of those fancy boys. He saw the look and just smiled.
As was usual for me, I had my first beer at just past 10:00 in the morning. I had been keeping to this routine three times a week for the past year, ever since Mary, my wife, died. I don't know why I come here. I never get drunk. Matter of fact, I've never been drunk in my life. I just like it here and I can watch some of the most interesting people this way. I don't have to be responsible for them now so I can just watch and imagine their problems and their lives without having to think of how to help them.
For example, there was only one other man in the bar that time of morning and he was sitting at the bar drinking straight whiskey with beer chasers, a sure sign of a man with a big time problem. I had been watching him since he came in. He truly looked lost and in some kind of pain. Probably a woman, most likely. That was the most common affliction that hit most men of his age. But for some reason, this particular man touched something in me and I felt the vague stirring of interest. That in itself was interesting since I had stopped giving a damn about much of anything since Mary went away. On a whim, I moved to the stool next to him and offered to buy him a drink. I wanted to hear his voice and maybe get him talking.
I guess I was staring since the man noticed my gaze and took it wrong. It appeared he thought I was gay. Damn! That was a real hoot! I thought I had better set him straight.
"Rest easy boy. I've been sittin right over there in that booth and noticed you seem to be a man with a big problem. I've got nothing but time on my hands now that I'm retired and widowed. Just wanted to buy you a drink and ask if you wanted a friendly ear."
I gave him the once over and relaxed. He seemed to be just what he said he was. At least, I was willing to take a free drink and trust that he was old enough that I could flatten him if he made a pass. And anyway, I did want to talk.
"Wouldn't mind a drink and a friendly ear. Sure you want to hear my sad tale of woe?"
"I've got nothing better to do and I hate drinking alone. Let's go to my booth where it's quieter. I hate to shout."
Well, since we were the only two people in the bar at that particular time, I didn't plan on doing much shouting since it was so quiet you could hear the clock behind the bar ticking. But what the hell, I'd humor the old shit.
We went back to his booth and I sat across from him with a double shot and a Bud chaser. I put both in front of me and looked at the old dude.
"My name's Ben Chase. I'm from Chester, Pa, a couple of days from here. And by the way, where in hell am I?"
He just laughed and told me.
"Well Ben, you happen to find yourself in a nice place called Dayton, Indiana. Seems like you just followed I-70 right here. Glad to meet you Ben. I'm Bill Austin and I live just a block from here. Lived there all my life. My wife Alice died about a year ago and left me with a broken heart and a lot of wonderful memories. But, enough about me. What's your story?"
Fair enough. I wanted to talk and Bill seemed to be more than willing to let me tell him chapter and verse if I so wanted. Well, I did. I had to tell someone.
"First Bill, I have to give you some background on why I'm here. If I just told you I found out that my wife cheated on me, that wouldn't be such a big deal and you'd think I was some kind of wimp, running away like I did but there's more to it than that. I'll just start and you just sort of jump in if I say something you don't understand. OK?"
"Sounds good to me. You just tell it in your own way and with your own words. I'll just try to let you tell it without interruptin."
So, a took the double and downed it in one quick gulp and followed it with a swallow of Bud and began my story.
I was raised in a loving home by my father and mother. We lived in Weirton, West Virginia and my daddy, Howard Chase worked in the steel mill there. He worked in the rolling mill and he was on shift work as a shift supervisor. Made good money for the time and was always dependable and did a job for his pay. He had learned self discipline in the county system, growing up as an orphan. He didn't know how he got there and no one seemed to have any information for him about his natural parents. But since he went into the system late, being almost 7 at the time, he was never adopted. He stayed in the system till he was 18 and then they let him out with $20 and a cardboard suitcase with everything he owned.
He found a job in the steel mills around there and he worked as many shifts as he could. Once he had been there for 90 days, he joined the union and became a full fledged mill worker. He made good money for the times and got himself a car and found an apartment that he could rent. He continued to work and bid on all the jobs that were a higher level than he had at the time. Shift work didn't bother him so he often got a good job because no one else wanted it on the off shifts. Things seemed to be good.
My daddy met my mother, Pauline, on the job and they dated for two years before he finally proposed to her. They were married and daddy used some of his savings to buy them a small two bedroom home away from the smoke of the mill and sort of out a ways. Mom loved the place and always seemed to be content with what they had. I remember her telling me as I was growing up that it was a home that I could be proud of. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Mom and dad waited for a couple of years before having me. I was born three years after they were married and mom was able to take off work when she was about 6 months along. She spent the time getting the second bedroom cleared out and fixed up for my arrival. She was happy and so was daddy. At least that's what grandma told me later. I just remember the ceiling of that room when I was old enough to see things. It was sky blue with little while clouds painted on. There was a light covered by a globe that made it look like the sun. I remember that ceiling all the time. I loved that ceiling. It made me feel safe and secure. Still does when I think about it.
Anyway, I was raised in that house. Mom stayed home with me for the first 5 years of my life. I remember her pretty well. She had pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. She was small, I remember that. She carried me on her hip most of the time and she was always taking me places: the grocery store, shopping, church, and sometimes to the park where they had swings and sea-saws and sand boxes. I loved the sliding board when she would wait at the bottom for me to slide down to her waiting arms.
When I started school, mom decided to go back to work. I think daddy asked her to stay home but she wanted to get out of the house and do something. She finally took a part time job in a doctor's office nearby. She walked to work so it had to be close. But even with her working, she was home every day when I got out of school and she was always part of our dinner in the evenings. We made it a point to get together at dinner, one of her rules. Even as I grew older and became involved in sports, activities with other kids and things that all kids do, I knew that I had to be home for dinner.
When I was 8, I came home one evening for dinner and found mom and dad just sitting at the kitchen table. I looked around but didn't see dinner ready. When I asked mom what was wrong, she just looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me that she hadn't been able to fix dinner that night. She got up and fixed dad and me something to eat but she didn't sit down with us. Instead, she went off to bed and didn't come back that evening. When I asked dad what was wrong, he wouldn't tell me anything. He just said that it was grownup things, but I remember he was crying too.
"Say, could we get some coffee over here? Telling this story is hard enough. I don't need to be drunk to tell it any better."
"Go ahead with your story. I'll get the waiter over here with some of that swill they call coffee. Go ahead. This is a damn good story."
All that week, things were different around the house. Mom and dad hardly spoke to each other and our dinners were quiet and strained affairs. I remember now that it was clear that dad was angry at mom and mom was trying very hard to talk to dad but he refused to answer her most of the time. I hated it but I was too young to understand what was happening. I never did know until much later when grandma Pearl told me. All I knew at the time was that mom was always crying and dad was working more and more at the mill. After a few weeks, dad stopped coming home for dinner and it was just mom and me. She was so quiet that I was afraid she was getting sick but when I asked her, she just said that she was sad. She tried to be strong for me but she wasn't able to fool me. Nothing much changed for us for the next few weeks but I saw my dad get more and more quiet and mom got more and more sad. I didn't understand but I knew it was bad. I knew something was seriously wrong when dad began sleeping in the little room we had just off the entryway. It wasn't much bigger than a closet but mom always referred to it as our parlor. We never used it and dad always intended to open it up and make the living room bigger. Now, he set up a cot in there and began sleeping there.
I came home from school one afternoon to find some policemen at the house. I ran inside to see what was wrong but grandma was there and she grabbed me as I tried to get past her to find my mom. She held me tight and wouldn't let me go. I started to cry and twist to get loose but she finally made me stop and face her. I stopped struggling and asked her what was wrong.
"Grandma, what's wrong? Where's mommy and daddy? Is something wrong with mommy?"
"No boy. Your mother's fine. It's your daddy. He's had a terrible accident. He's gone boy. He's gone and he's not coming back."
"No! No, that's not true. My dad wouldn't go away without me. It's not true."
Grandma held me tight against her bosom and rocked me over and over till I calmed down. She finally let me loose and took me in to see my mother. She was sitting in the living room, her arms clamped around her knees and her head down so that I could only see the top of her head. She was very still and just swaying forward and back, forward and back. I ran to her and tried to put my arms around her but she hardly recognized me. I called her but she didn't answer. The policemen were walking through the house and poking into everything but mom didn't say anything to stop them. I was getting scared but grandma came and got me and pulled me away. She took me back to the kitchen and made me sit down. I wanted to get up and run to the parlor where dad was sleeping but the police had the hallway blocked and anyway, grandma wouldn't let me go.
It must have been hours that the police were there and mom was in the living room talking to them. I couldn't hear them but I didn't care. All I wanted was for them to leave our house and have her tell me about dad. What happened and why did he have to go away? What kind of accident did he have? What happened? I was panicked and afraid and my heart was broken. I wanted to cry but I couldn't, since I didn't know what I was crying for.
It was three days later when mom came to grandma's house to pick me up. I had gone home with grandma that day and she kept me with her. I didn't even go to school for those three days and I knew then that something serious had happened. I never got to stay home from school. But when mom came to the house, she seemed to be better and she even smiled at me when I ran to her. She held me in her arms and pressed her cheek against my hair and just held me. I clung to her as well. She took me in to see grandma and told her that it was time I came home. Grandma just shook her head in agreement and we went back to our house.
The first thing I noticed was that dad wasn't there. His jacket was not on the hook and his lunchbox was gone. His work shoes were not in the entranceway where he kept them and there was no change of clothes on the hook for when he came home. I walked down to the parlor and looked for his cot and stuff but nothing was there. I knew then that dad was gone. I asked mom about it but all she said was that dad had gone to a better place and that I should keep him in my prayers. She wouldn't say more then. But it was clear after that dad was gone for good.
Remember I was 8 at the time and I had no idea of what happened but I found out less than a year later when one of my friends at school spilled the beans. He told me that my dad had killed himself one night at home. He said that dad had taken his shotgun and blown his head clean off right in the bathroom of our house. He said that my mother had found him and called the police. That was the day I came home from school to find all the cops there. That's what happened then.
When I asked my mom that night, she didn't say anything for a while but finally took both my hands in hers and told me the truth. It was true that dad had killed himself. She told me as little about it as possible but she said that it was true and that she had come home to find him there. She was sorry that it took her so long to tell me but she wanted to be sure she had the right words for me. She wanted me to know that he was a very good man but that things had become too much for him to handle and he thought that this was the only way he could deal with it. I told her that the minister at church always told us it was a sin to kill yourself but mom got angry and said that dad would be forgiven. He was a good man and he had done what he thought was the only way for him.
From that day on, mom was always at home with me. She didn't go back to work and she stayed in the house almost all the time. I never saw her go out except to get groceries or to take me to places I needed to go. She quit the church and her job and she never invited people over to the house anymore. She was quiet and withdrawn but she was never cross with me. She made sure that I did my school work and that I was always prepared for my tests and such. But I noticed that she was becoming more and more sad as the days went by. It had been almost a year since dad died when she told me she wanted me to stay with grandma for a while. She said that she had something to take care of and that I would be OK with her. I didn't want to go but I finally had no choice. Grandma picked me up on a Friday night and I stayed with her that weekend.
Monday I expected mom to pick me up for school but she never came. When I asked grandma, she said she would take me home instead and we would see what mom was up to. We finished breakfast and I helped her clean the table so that we could go. We drove home and grandma pulled into the drive. I jumped out before she could get the car stopped and ran into the house. I smelled something funny as soon as I opened the door but I didn't recognize the smell. I called for mom but I got no answer. I ran down the hall to her room and looked in. She was on the bed, I thought asleep. But when I tried to wake her, she didn't stir. I reached over to grab her arm and jerked my hand back when I felt how cold she was. I moved closer to her face and saw immediately that she was very pale and cold. She was dead! I then saw the blood on the floor and on the bed. She had slit her wrists and bled to death. I remember screaming for grandma and then nothing else.
It was almost a week before I was well enough to go home with grandma. The doctors said that I suffered a traumatic episode whatever that was. I was a kid and I found my mother dead. What the hell do you call that and why was everyone surprised that I zoned out for awhile? Well, I did. But afterwards, I went home with grandma and thought about my parents as little as I could until I had pretty much put them in the back of my mind. I was on my own. They both left me and didn't care about me. They just went away. Anyway, grandma was a real pusher and she made sure I had little free time to brood or mope around. She raised me from then on and I pretty much turned out OK.
On my 18th birthday, grandma bought me an old car that she told me I could fix up and drive around. I told her it was the best present in the whole world. She let me fuss with it until late that night before calling me in. After I had washed up and come down to watch TV until bed time, grandma told me she had something else for me. I perked up right away, expecting another gift, but instead, she handed me a letter.
"That is a letter from your mother, boy. She left it when she did away with herself. It's addressed to you. Said to give it to you on your 18th birthday. That's today. I wasn't sure whether to give it to you or not, but it was her wish so I'm giving it to you."
I remember thinking that I didn't want this stupid letter. I had my new car and my grandma had given it to me. Mom didn't. She wasn't even there so why would I care. It made me a little mad.
"You've had this all these years? Why'd you wait? She's dead and she didn't care enough about me to stay and try to raise me. She left that to you so why the hell did you care what she wanted?"
"Have respect for your dead mother boy. She was my daughter and I knew her best. You don't know nothing. She and your dad did what they did for their own reasons. It's not up to you or me to judge them. God will do that. Now, do you want this letter or not? It's up to you."
Well of course I took it. It was from her and I wanted to know what she had to tell me. She couldn't tell me then so I guess she figured time would make it easier on me? I didn't know. Anyway, I took it and put it in my room in a drawer under my socks. I didn't open it right away. It took me the better part of a week before I got up the nerve. Grandma never asked me about it and I didn't mention it again. Well, anyway I opened it and read it. But rather than telling you what it said, I'll let you read it for yourself.
With that, I got out my folded copy of the letter and smoothed it out onto the table top. I was careful not to tear it as it was pretty dog-eared and wrinkled. But it was readable and I pushed it over to Mr. Austin to read for himself. This is what it said.
My dearest son,
If your grandma did as I asked, when you read this, you will be a man grown. I know that you believe I left you alone and that I didn't care about you. I swear to you that's not true and I can only hope that you will understand after reading what I have to tell you. You were too young to understand at the time.
I loved your father with all my heart but I did something that hurt him very much. You know that I worked at a doctor's office where I met many people. There was one sweet gentleman that was very sick and had only a short time to live. I became friends with him when he came to see the doctor and we talked about our lives and our families while he waited. I told him about my wonderful family, you and your father, but he had no one. His wife had died and he was alone. I felt sorry for him.
One day he asked me to have lunch with him and I agreed, thinking that as a friend it would be all right. We went to lunch but things became complicated and I ended up going to his home and sleeping with him. That was a terrible thing to do but at the time I was only thinking of it as a way to make his last days more pleasant. Your father and I loved each other and I thought that this would not affect my life with him. The man was grateful but wanted to continue to see me. At first I refused, thinking of the guilt I felt having been unfaithful to your father. But eventually, seeing the pain he was in, and the small pleasure I gave him, I agreed and we continued to see and sleep with each other. I swear to you that I was only trying to make his last days more bearable and more pleasant. I had no feelings for him other than friendship. I never saw what I was doing as being unfaithful to your father, but I felt so bad about what I had done that I finally told your father the truth. That was the day our lives changed forever.
I pleaded with Howard to forgive me and tried to explain why I had done this thing but he wouldn't listen. We fought and he became distant and pushed me away. I knew that trust was something very important to your father but I never saw what I did as being a matter of trust. That's why I finally told him. I couldn't live with keeping secrets from him. Your father however saw it as much more. I was devastated but I never truly understood the depth of his pain. I had hurt him terribly but I didn't see it at the time. I was too concerned with my own guilt and my fear of losing him and my wonderful family. I worried only about myself. I let him down in so many ways. But we were still together and he never asked me to leave so I hoped that things would get better if I just waited and dedicated myself to making him happy.
The day that I went to find the latest on my friend was the day your father shot himself. I found out later that he knew where I was going even though I never told him. I was only trying to find out if my friend was still alive but your father didn't understand. He saw that as the final betrayal and he took his own life.
He left a note to me but I destroyed it before the police came. It was so cruel and accusing and I deserved everything he said but I couldn't stand to see those hateful words so I destroyed it. He died never having forgiven me. I tried to live with the guilt of what I did to him and what it forced him to do but I couldn't go on any longer. The pain that he felt was now mine and I can't live with the burden of it. Just as with your father, it continues to grow inside me until I fear it will devour me.
I have tried to live in spite of the pain and be a good mother for you but the pain won't let me alone. It has grown on its own until it is all I can feel. I plan to take my own life now. I hope that I will be given the opportunity in that next life to apologize to Howard and I pray that God will forgive me.
I am sorry not to see you grow and prosper but I know that I can't be a good mother to you any longer. The pain is too intense and I fear it will destroy you as well if I continue to live with it. Your grandmother will provide for you and give you a good solid home. This is all I have left to give you.
Please try to forgive me,
Your Loving Mother, Pauline
Bill finished the letter with a tear in his eye. I knew the feeling. I had cried many times when I read that letter. I don't know to this day whether I forgave her but I didn't hate her any longer. Actually, I didn't hate either of them. They deserted me because of their own pain, forgetting the pain that I would be left with. But, they were my parents and I loved them in spite of their failings.
But on with the story.
Well, after I read the letter, I finally understood what had happened to my mother and father. It was tragic but it at least made sense to me now. At the time, mom was right: I wouldn't have understood. Now as I read the letter again I understood why they had done what they did but I still couldn't forgive them for leaving me behind. Those feelings might fade but not yet. But now, I was 18 and on my own and I used the trust fund mom and dad had set up for me years ago to go to college. I finally graduated with a degree in Chemical Engineering and I went to work for a big oil company and got to see a whole lot of the world. It was a great experience but I wanted to settle down in the states and make my way in this big world.
"You know Bill, I want to tell you the rest of this story but right now, I feel like hell and I need to lie down and sleep. I am really beat and I haven't eaten or slept now for two days and I need to just crash. I'll go out in the car and try to sleep for a few hours and then if you're still here, I'll finish. That work for you?"
"Sure, but I think you need to come home with me and sleep in a bed instead of your car. I have a spare bedroom and no one's used it for years. My kids don't visit much any more since my wife died so it's just me. Come on now. Let's get some food in you and then some sleep."
With that, Bill helped me up and we walked out of the bar and down the quiet street toward his house. I don't remember much about the trip except that it didn't take much time and before I knew it I was sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a sandwich of ham and cheese. I did put the sandwich away and the coffee too but I was almost out on my feet so Bill helped me down to a neat little room with a double bed with a calico cover. It looked like heaven to me and I flopped down on it and was asleep before I stopped bouncing. I never felt Bill slip off my shoes and jacket. I was dead to the world.
After eating the sandwich I prepared for him, Ben was almost dead on his feet. He was wobbling in his chair so I pulled him up. I just barely got him to bed before he passed out. He was truly dead to the world. I looked at him sleeping there and realized that this man was really hurting. He had told me part of his story and I believed that I knew what was coming. And if what I suspected was true, Ben was in for a rough time.
I happened to know this because I had been a practicing psychologist for the past 30 years. I knew people and I had a God given gift of empathy allowing me to help hundreds of them during my time. I hadn't practiced now for over two years, since Mary, my wife, got sick. I couldn't help others when I was hurting so badly myself. But Mary was dead and I had little to interest me anymore. Ben interested me however. He sounded like a decent man who had been hurt terribly and was struggling with the emotions that were tearing at him. His past was directing him toward seriously hurting himself or someone else but his innate decency seemed to be pushing him the other direction. He was emotionally tearing himself apart.
I slipped off his shoes and his jacket and pulled a blanket out of the closet. I was ready to put it over him and let him sleep when I made a decision. I reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. I quickly opened it to find one of those contact cards in case of emergency. It had his wife's name and phone number on it and I copied it down on a note card. I replaced his wallet and covered him with the blanket. I left quietly and shut the blinds. It was just past dinnertime here and it was still light but the blinds made it very dark so he would probably sleep for several hours.
I went down the hall to the little office I still kept in our small home and sat down at my desk. It had been several months since I last came in here. I switched on the library lamp that Mary gave me one Christmas. When it's yellow light played on the desk top, the memories came flooding back and I hesitated for a moment but decided to follow through on my original intent. I used the desk phone that I kept only for my practice which had a blocked call number so no one could use caller ID to get my number. Sometimes a psychiatrist can make some very strange people angry. I called the home number hoping for his wife and heard the phone ring just once when she answered.
"Ben? Ben is that you? Ben talk to me, please!"
"Is this Mrs. Chase? Mrs. Annabeth Chase? Are you Ben Chases' wife?"
"Yes, this is Beth Chase. Who are you and is something wrong with Ben? Has Ben been hurt? Oh, please tell me he is OK."
"My name is Bill and Ben is fine. He's with me right now and he's sleeping. He's had a rough time of it and he needs to sleep now and calm down. He's an emotional wreck."
"No, I have to talk to him. I need to talk to him right now. Please, put him on so that I can talk to him."
"I'm afraid I'm not going to do that. He shouldn't talk to you right now in the mood he's in. He's a very angry and disturbed man and I believe you are the cause of that anger. It would not be good for you to talk to him just now."
"Oh, God. What did he tell you? What did he say? Oh, I need to talk to him and explain to him what he saw. Please, whoever you are, let me talk to him."
"What do you know about his parents? What has he told you? This is very important Mrs. Chase, so I need you to answer me honestly."
I was very concerned about her answer. If she knew of his history and what his parents did and why they did it, then she was guilty of stupidity at the very least and absolute cruelty at the worst. I needed to understand her part in this first before going any further.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Ben's parents died when he was very young and his grandmother raised him. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Did he tell you how they died?"
"No, he just said they died accidentally and he didn't like talking about it. So I never pushed him. So now can I talk to him?"
"Mrs. Chase, I am a professional psychiatrist and I'm going to talk to your husband some more and then I'll decide what to do about you. For now, you have no choice but to trust me. And I would be very sure you think carefully about what you have done to him and what you intend to say to him. He is in a very dangerous mood right now and it is best if he not be anywhere close to you. It is also important that he be watched very carefully especially now."
"I don't understand any of this. I insist that you let me talk to him right now!"
"Goodbye Mrs. Chase. Remember what I said."
With that, I hung up before she could say any more. It seemed that she didn't know of his past and therefore ignorance and infidelity was her only crime. At least to me. In Ben's eyes, she was just like his mother and she had done to him what his mother did to his father. Ben was spinning into the same cycle his father had fallen into and it was a very dangerous time for him.
I went back into the kitchen, fixed myself some dinner and began to work out a plan to deal with Mr. Ben Chase. While I didn't practice anymore, I was not going to let a man so obviously in pain walk away. Not while I had the knowledge and the willingness to help him. Mary would understand.
The phone call had been the final straw. I hung up the dead phone and fell to my knees there in the kitchen and sobbed. I felt like my whole world had come apart. I had been waiting for two days to hear from my Ben and now he wouldn't talk to me, or at least the man named Bill wouldn't let me talk to him. I had made a very bad mistake when I let George Jenkins seduce me at home with his slick talk and his smooth manner. It had been just the one time after he had been after me for all those weeks but it was the one time that Ben came home when he should have been working. He saw me and George together and had run out the door before I could even say his name. That was two days ago and now, Ben was gone and I had no idea where he could be.
The man I spoke to was very mean to me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was the cause of Ben's running away. While I knew that was probably true, he had no right to keep me from talking to him and trying to explain. He warned me that it could be dangerous for me to be around Ben? No! Ben would never hurt me. He loved me, I was positive of that and he would forgive me if I could just talk to him.
I picked myself off the floor and sat down at the kitchen table. I wiped my face where the tears had flowed and made myself settle down. Crying was getting me nowhere. I tried to think of what had gone wrong. I met George at the Manna House where I worked three days a week as a volunteer, helping to man the serving lines at lunch and dinner. He had shown up about 5 weeks ago and introduced himself to me as George Jenkins, a financial advisor for Walter Johnson Investments downtown. He told me that he wanted to give some of his time to helping others, just like me. He was very sincere and I liked him immediately. I also admit that I found him to be handsome and very sexy. I was attracted to him right from the start and I knew I had flirted with him outrageously. I was a married woman and had no right to be doing it but I convinced myself that it was just harmless fun. George seemed to enjoy the game as well and I began to anticipate the days I worked with him.
My life at home was fine but there were times when Ben spent entirely too much time on the job. Lately, he had been spending most of the week at the site of a new refinery his company was building and Ben had the responsibility of overseeing the installation of the new cracking towers in the petroleum distillation section. This was his design and he was not going to let some other yoyo handle it for him. I understood that but it left me alone an awfully lot. That was no excuse but it was certainly a contributing factor. Ben would understand that if I could only talk to him. I knew that he would since he was one of the most understanding and kind men I had ever met. I had to depend on his kindness now and hope for his understanding.
I thought back to the day I met Ben for the first time. I was working as a Realtor for a commercial real estate agency in Mount Lebanon in western Pennsylvania when I received a call from him requesting an agent to show him a site that was zoned industrial. I knew the parcel and told him I would meet him there in half an hour. I thought no more about it until I met him at the site.
My first impression of him was of a man about my age, but so handsome with curly black hair, a well disciplined body and brown eyes that seemed to see right through me. He shook my hand with a firm grip and treated me as an equal right off the bat. I felt my face become flushed as I returned his handshake and looked into those eyes. He didn't seem to notice and simply walked away toward the site. I followed slowly trying to recover my professionalism. I finally caught up to him and the next two hours were spent in a very businesslike manner as we discussed the size and access to the site as well as the zoning requirements and the utility arrangements offered by the city. It was time well spent as he signed an intent to buy letter that afternoon. Since the parcel would sell for well over 4.5 million dollars, I stood to make a very nice piece of change.
When he called my office two weeks later, I answered his questions and made arrangements to have the necessary paperwork done by the following Monday. He was very pleased with everything and just before concluding our business, he asked if I would have dinner with him when he came to sign the papers. Without thinking I agreed. We spoke for a few more minutes but I didn't remember any of the following conversation. My head was still buzzing over the dinner invitation. What had gotten into me? I hardly knew this man and I was going to dinner with him Monday night. But, try as I might, I was more pleased than anything.