The drive home seemed interminable. My father, my uncle, and my cousin had maintained an inane chatter right from the time we departed Chambersburg. All I wanted was to get home as fast as possible. Probably because of that very desire, we stopped twice for something to eat, two separate times for drinks, and three times for bathroom breaks! A drive that should have been completed in four fours was taking seven.
I had eagerly agreed to the golf/fishing trip with my dad, Uncle Steve, and his son Jim, several months prior. At the time, it seemed like it would be a great trip that would not only be very enjoyable, but have the added bonus of bringing me closer to dad, his brother, and his nephew. Now it appeared it may have created the opportunity for the ruination of my family. How did it come to this? I mulled that over as I waited for the world's three smallest bladders to once again be voided at a service station in Hazleton.
Did it all start a few months ago at Jeff Burrows' funeral? I hadn't seen Jeff or his wife, Janice, more than a few times in the last several years. The Burrows had been my parents' best friends since long before I was born. When I was growing up, they seemed more like my family than most of my blood relatives. Then Debbie and I married and moved thirty miles to Damascus. We soon had two kids to raise, and it always seemed like there was never enough time to keep up with old friends and acquaintances.
There was another reason I didn't spend a lot of time with the Burrows ... I had pretty much stopped worrying about it many years ago, but the funeral brought all my fears rushing back. At the reception held after the funeral, off in a corner, Debbie was deep in conversation with my mother and Janice Burrows. Their voices were too low for me to hear what was being said, but it caused me more than slight concern.
Maybe my problem actually began the summer after I had turned 18 and graduated from high school. My mother had wrangled a brief job for me. It involved planting a bunch of pine trees for the Burrows, who lived a couple miles from my parents' home. Digging into the hard northern Pennsylvania ground was difficult work, but the job should have easily been completed in two days. It took me a full week. I had a very good reason for taking so long.
Jeff Burrows had to attend some sort of teacher's convention in Harrisburg that week. The three Burrows children were all grown and living in Pittsburgh, Harrisburg, and Dallas, Texas. Their nest was empty. Janice Burrows was completely alone for the week.
The first morning's work was going fairly well when I stopped digging to eat the lunch Janice Burrows had prepared for me. Incredibly, I spent that afternoon in bed with Janice! Somehow, I had managed to seduce an older woman, one that had been my parent's friend for longer than I had been alive? Janice was in her mid-forties and the sexiest woman I had ever seen up to that point.
My first time with her was actually my first with a woman, and I came just as soon as she began gently caressing my cock. I was ashamed and embarrassed. I wanted to grab my clothes and run home, but Janice soothed my ego and convinced me to stay and perhaps try again, when I was ready. At eighteen, I was reloaded almost before she finished the sentence.
I still remember how I had climbed between Janice's legs and pointed my harder than steel cock at her center. That was when she stopped me! She explained how happy she was that I found her so desirable, but there were a few things I should always consider before plunging my dick into a lady.
That was the beginning of a weeklong tutorial on the art of making love to a woman. She was a wonderful teacher, and I was a very eager student. Every morning I worked on planting the trees. Every afternoon, Janice taught me the many ways to please a woman, as well as the rewards of doing it properly. I learned about a woman's cycle, birth control and using condoms, female anatomy and pleasure points, as well as their fears, desires and needs. She even had me shave her pussy, and then spend hours learning the proper way to eat it. By the end of the week, I understood that I would never know exactly what a woman might be thinking, or why. I also learned that was okay, as long as I listened to them, always did my very best to respect them, and put their needs and desires before my own. Those lessons had served me very well in my marriage to Debbie, and I was eternally grateful to Janice.
That said, I had always been nervous when Janice and Debbie were at the same function. I never mentioned my tryst with Janice to my wife, out of respect for Janice, as well as fear of how Debbie would react. It had been a wonderful, almost magical, time in my life. I never even came close to repeating it. Janice explained to me that Friday afternoon so many years ago, that her husband, Jeff, was her love and her life. My final lesson that week was to end our brief affair and never speak of it with anyone. I had promised her, and I had kept that promise. I never thought to ask the same of Janice. Why would a young man just beginning his life's journey require secrecy from a paramour? It never crossed my mind; at least not until I fell totally and madly in love with Debbie.
Of course Janice and Debbie saw each other often when we were dating. I brought Janice to my parent's home quite frequently and it wasn't unusual for the Burrows to drop in. Janice never so much as even hinted anything to Debbie about our relationship, nor to anyone else as far as I knew. Gradually, my fear lessened. Looking back, I realize it never completely died.
From her first meeting with my parents, Debbie expressed tremendous respect for the obvious love and devotion my parents enjoyed, and she often said the same about the Burrows.
That caused me some shame. I knew the truth. I had seduced a married woman and placed her marriage at risk. I was not proud of that fact. I always went out of my way to be pleasant and respectful to Jeff Burrows. He obviously never suspected my illicit affair with his wife. He was kind and generous to me, and my respect for him steadily increased, even as the fear of discovery hung over my head.
Our fishing/golf group was about ten miles shy of my home when my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw the call was from my mother. Reluctantly, I answered. The conversation my father and uncle had been engaged in stopped abruptly. It couldn't have been any more obvious that they were intent on hearing what I said.
"Bill, your father says you have been very quiet the whole trip. Are you feeling okay, Son?" Mom asked solicitously.
"Not the time, Mom!" I quickly replied as I closed the phone and turned it off as the silence in the car droned on.
I pressed my remote to open my garage door as we pulled into my driveway. My dad and cousin quickly dug out my golf clubs and fishing equipment from the back of the Expedition. I grabbed my small suitcase. Everything was somewhat hastily placed on the garage floor. Then they hurried off. As I walked through the garage toward the kitchen door, I thought back to all the signs I had missed throughout my life. Would it have been better if I were still clueless?
I recalled how my mother had called me over to her side late in the afternoon of Jeff Burrows' funeral. At the same time she summoned a lanky kid I had seen earlier in the day, sitting with Janice at the service.
"Bill, this is Janice's grandson, Jeff Emerson. He's just finished high school and will be going to Penn State this fall. Jeff, this is my son, and Debbie's husband, Bill Mason."
We exchanged handshakes and soon I was chatting with the kid about his future plans and if the Nittany Lions would get to a bowl game this year. He was polite, if a bit shy. But then, so was I at that age. Our short conversation ended when my dad insisted I meet an old neighbor I hadn't seen in twenty years. At that point, I was still oblivious.
Now, as I reached out to open the kitchen door, I considered the unusual route my father had taken to get to Route 81 on our way to Chambersburg. For some unknown reason we went through the small village of Beach Lake. Gazing out the car window as we passed through the village, I saw a scene I had long ago forgotten. Towering pines lined a long drive winding up a hill to an old Victorian home. As we slowly drove by, I remembered the day I rode with my grandparents down the same country road.
"See those beautiful trees, Bill?" my grandmother had asked at the time. "Your Dad planted them for the Andersons back in 1962. It was the year he graduated from high school and was doing odd jobs before reporting for the Marines. He was a fine looking young man, much like you will be in another ten years."
Being a kid, I was amazed that something my dad had planted could have grown so tall. As my dad drove past the same trees earlier this week, I thought back to the trees I had planted for Janice Burrows twenty-some years prior. I smiled to myself. If Dad only knew just how rewarding planting trees could be! Again, no warning lights went off in my head!
I shook off my reverie, opened the door and stepped into our house. Debbie sat at the kitchen table, facing me. She wore the old Notre Dame shirt and sweats she so often donned in the evening. As my emotions began to climb above a simmer, I thought back to less than a week ago, the day my world completely crumbled.
.... There is more of this story ...