It was late summer in 1995. My personal life was a mess. My then-husband had filed for divorce and was having an affair with a woman who had been one of my best friends. Or so I had thought. Our housemate, Alan, and I had taken a car trip out to St. Louis from the San Francisco Bay Area to hang out with a friend for a few weeks and help out in her small jewelry making shop while we were there. I needed to get away from the stress of my marriage. I needed to pull my head together. My husband, Jake, had promised me that he would not move out while I was gone. I believed him. Foolish me.
It was the day before we were due to head back to California. During the time we were visiting with our friend, Suzie, she and Alan had gotten pretty hot and heavy in the kissing department. I saw something brewing there. That was the good side. The bad side was that my then husband broke his word (not surprising) and had moved in with his lover girl while I had been out of town. I knew damned good and well that as soon as I got back I would need to see what affairs needed getting in order and to figure out how in the hell house payments would be made with one source of income gone. I was feeling hurt and betrayed, and I was in a lot of emotional pain.
Alan had taken the little truck out to get gas. When he came back, he announced, in a shocked voice, that he'd just heard on the radio that Jerry Garcia had died. He was a huge Dead Head, and it really affected him. That is how I remember when this all happened.
After Alan returned, Suzie got a phone call. She came down the stairs and told me, "You are about to meet the most sensual man I have ever met." Hm. That sounded interesting to me on a somewhat intellectual level. I was so hurting I didn't know what to think. After awhile, this guy pulled up in an older white pick-up truck. It had a ton of Pagan bumper stickers on the back of this tall camper that was on the truck. The one I remember most was the one that said, "Freedom of religion means freedom of ALL religions." The truck was his home. It reminded me a bit of how a snail carries its home on its back. He stood about 6 foot tall. He was older than me. He had long dark hair and a goatee, and he was in pretty good physical shape. He spoke with a bit of a southeastern accent and had a deep, pleasant voice. He would go from Faire to Faire through the course of the year. He did games there, and he had a circuit he travelled. The Faire would be in the area soon, so he was in town. His name was Jasper.
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