Typically, I see something in real life that triggers a story idea. This one came out of the blue and flowed quickly and easily. I’m sorry for switching perspectives, but I wanted to show both points of view as they are very different, and I think adds to the story.
Everyone having sex is at least 18. This story is a work of fiction. I made it all up. Check reality at the door and enjoy it for what it is, a fun story. Special thanks to rancher46 and RF-Fast for editing my story and making it better.
*****
Chapter 13 — Going Home
The next morning, I woke up all by myself. That surprises me. I leave at noon today, and nobody is here to see me go. My clothes, candy, booze, and a few extra things I never bought are all picked up and ready to go. Not even Amanda is here. Really? I am used for stud services and then sent on my way. I never did this to a woman. I feel cheap and used.
My body feels like crap. I’m stiff, and all movement hurts. I do feel better than I did last night. I have no new pains, and it feels good to stretch and move around. I give myself a towel bath as I can’t replace my bandages. I wear the last of my clothes home. I look like a schoolboy. I am sure pictures of me will get out, and Amanda will be laughing her ass off. I’m going to miss those two.
I go down to the dining room and eat by myself. The loneliness is already sinking in. I’m never going to see Amanda or Janet again. Breakfast was excellent, but the mood was terrible. An airport van picks me up. I’m flying home on British Airways, coach. Ouch, that’s harsh. Maybe I can upgrade.
While waiting at security, I keep looking to see if someone will come running to see me off. I watch the aisle for a familiar face by the plane waiting area. I see none. Before boarding the airplane, I look one last time. Nobody there. It’s as if I was never here. They got their use out of me for the media, and it’s time for them to move on.
I was lucky in that I was in the middle seat, and the other two people were small. The problem was they were brothers and had too much energy. It was a constant battle to keep from losing my patience. They eventually wore down watching a movie I rented. That’s when I got my sleep. In New York, I had a three-hour layover before heading to Chicago. I sat next to a little old lady who told me bits and pieces of four stories. I heard some parts several times. I’m ready to walk home by now.
The last leg to Missoula was OK. I had an empty seat on one side and a college girl on the other. She told me upfront to leave her alone and then talked at me the entire time. Fortunately, that was the shortest flight I had.
I arrived home at last. Both mom and dad were there to pick me up. I avoided the hugs, but we did cry a lot. Everyone sits around the conveyer at baggage claim, waiting for it to start and then watching for their bags.
Not me. A man in a cart is yelling my name. My luggage was wrapped in British Airlines bags, and a British Airlines employee made sure I got all my luggage. That was impressive.
I ask the man, “How many times have you done this?”
He smiles at me, “We have never done this before. Someone cares about you; my career depended on you getting every piece right now. Thanks for flying British Airlines, Sir.”
He even loaded the boxes into the back of dad’s truck. We have a three-hour ride home where I need to explain every detail of my life for the last four days to mom. Dad never asked a question. She was still asking questions as we arrived home.
I stop mom as I look at dad, “There is a box of English toffee and a bottle of Pimm’s for everyone that was at the Parker’s. I need to see that everyone gets their loot for helping me. It doesn’t make us even, not even close, but it’s the best I can do right now. I’m worn out, tired, and not feeling great. Let me sleep in tomorrow. When I wake up, I’m going out; I need some time.”
Neither mom nor dad said anything. They let me go. I went to bed.
*****
Mom is worried. As she’s getting ready for bed, she says to dad, “I’m worried about Matt. I’ve never seen him so sad. This isn’t combat stuff; it’s something else. What do we do?”
Dad shrugs his shoulders, “He’s a smart kid; he’ll work it out. Let’s leave him some space. It appears they broke his heart. I guess I didn’t realize how much he cared. I think that he’s here, and they aren’t telling us everything we need to know. Let’s pamper him a bit, but let’s not force him to talk about it. You know Matt, when he’s ready, he’ll talk.”
*****
I sat out on the back porch for three days and stared out into the mountains. I’m struggling with my combat experiences and the loss of my love, Princess Janet. Mom comes out onto the patio and sits down next to me in her chair with a big cup of coffee.
She sat there for thirty minutes before telling me that we were hosting a pig roast. Dad started it early this morning. We’re upwind, so I can’t smell it, but that should be good eating.
Mom says, “The whole family is invited. We figured that would be the best way to give away the candy and booze without having to make 100 trips.”
That makes good sense.
Mom asks, “How’s your back doing?”
My answer is, “I got scabs, but it’s long forgotten.”
Mom continues to try and talk to me, “If she was going to marry a guy, this is probably the best for you. Seeing or talking to her would be like picking at a scab. It’s something you can’t do to yourself. Let it go and let it heal. You must move on in your life. I won’t stand for you to waste away. Would you do me a favor, please?”
I turn to look at mom, yet don’t say anything. That makes her look sad.
Mom changes tactics on me, “We have many people coming over. I need the tables, chairs, ice chests, and all our yard games brought out. Then I could use some help slicing inside. You know your father sucks at that. Only you and I can cut an onion cleanly and straight. Don’t get me going on the last time he killed those tomatoes.”
Fond memories, but I just don’t feel like it right now. I have nothing better to do, so I stand up and start schlepping tables, chairs, and ice chests from the barn. I have a hose and rag to clean it all off. Too many spider webs and dirt for my taste. Ewww, I hate spiders. My body shudders at something so harmless. I laugh at myself. I spend four hours helping set up and slicing, dicing, and anything else I can do to help mom and the other women that have shown up.
The husbands and dad watch the pig roast but keep a closer eye on the beer keg. Yup, that’s hard work. Everyone checks up on me, but mom is my defenseman; nobody gets too close. I will be forever thankful for that. At about 5:00, they pull out the pig and start slicing it up. Few things are as good as fresh smoked pork that’s slow-roasted. Everything literally falls apart.