Le Coeur du Jardin (Garden's Heart)

"Never made it to the majors; but spent two years in triple-A Iowa."

"Still that's pretty good."

Gwen and I talked until the end of the game. As she left with her friends, she gave me her number and told me to call. I did the next day, we went out that weekend and it was the start of our romance. It took me a couple months to finally get Gwen into my bed; and by that time I was thoroughly taken with her. Not only was she beautiful, she loved sports and was an extremely bright person (she ended up graduating Summa Cum Laude).

Our first night together was a revelation. Gwen agreed to come back to my apartment after dinner and a movie. We were on my sofa, kissing, when Gwen asked me to take her to bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I've only been with a couple of men before, but I'd like you to make love to me tonight."

"What about birth control?"

"You'll have to use a condom tonight. Do you have one?"

"There should be a couple in my nightstand; I haven't checked since we started dating." Gwen smiled at my confession of being celibate since we began seeing each other. We headed into the bedroom, I checked and there were a couple condoms there. Gwen wanted the lights off and I wanted them on; we compromised by leaving the hall light on and the door open, only then did we begin to undress each other. I was surprised by the sexy underwear she had on. She saw the look in my eyes.

"I wore these for you tonight."

"Well, now you've caught me in a dilemma; should I have you wear these sexy things for a while longer or do I take them off and see what's underneath?" Gwen answered my question by placing my hands on the bra snap - to reveal the most perfect set of breasts I've ever had the pleasure to view. Perfectly sized on her small frame and topped off by the cutest two nipples extending out a full inch, just begging to be sucked and tweaked.

I spent the next ten minutes playing with those beauties; then kissed my way down to her belly and removed her panties. As I made my way down to her sex, she stopped me by holding my head.

"No, don't go there."

This was another indication of how conservative Gwen was when it came to sex.

"You'll like it; I guarantee it."

"Don't, please. Just make love to me, please."

I decided not to argue with her tonight. There would be plenty of other opportunities to introduce Gwen to the pleasures of oral sex. I put a condom on my hard-on and placed the head of my cock on the lips of her pussy. She was wet, the time I spent on her tits must have got her flowing; I pushed in slowly, enjoying the feeling of her tight glove even with the thin membrane of latex between us.

Our first attempt at intercourse was something of a surprise. Gwen had the body of a goddess, but was the most inhibited sex partner I'd ever had. She seemed pleased to have me inside her and accepted my kisses; but was too shy to look straight at me. Not a word left her lips the entire time. Her hands gripped my arms and shoulders; but didn't stray anywhere near my back or ass.

Obviously, Gwen was inexperienced when it came to love-making. I eventually learned that Gwen did show signs of submissiveness. She would be reluctant at first when I either suggested or tried something new; but she would usually submit. I didn't suggest anything outrageous, mostly it was new positions, oral pleasures, things like that. Gwen balked when I suggested mutual masturbation.

That first night is a perfect example. After we made love, with her curled up in my arms, breathing quietly, almost ready to fall asleep, she asked if she could borrow a shirt to sleep in.

"No, we sleep in the nude."

"I've never done that."

"You'll like it." She fell asleep in my arms with her naked body next to mine.

The next morning, Gwen woke up and asked again. "Do you have something for me to wear?"

"No, I want you to stay nude." She got out of the bed, walked to the bathroom, came out and joined me in the kitchen as I was making a pot of coffee. The entire time she didn't say a word or look right at me - but I got to watch her five-foot-six, one-hundred-twenty-pound angelic work of godly art walk around my apartment.

A month later we were fucking doggy-style, this was two weeks after I introduced Gwen to the delights of love-making in positions other that missionary, and I was looking down on her pretty brown star. Time to turn it up a notch. I slapped her ass a couple times; with each slap, Gwen gave a gasp of pleasure. I kept bucking in and out of her pussy, wet my thumb and stuck it right in her ass. Gwen tried to escape, but I held her by one shoulder so she couldn't get away.

"Oh fuck, Les." It was the first time Gwen spoke words out loud during lovemaking. I could feel Gwen cream around my cock and the walls of her pussy squeeze and release, squeeze and release, over and over. Her sphincter was doing the same thing to my thumb. We had to change the sheets before we slept that night.

So, the sex started out nice but unremarkable and grew to be great. Outside the bedroom, we clicked on so many levels. We did have one issue that could become a make or break kind of thing - her friends, and especially her father, were very, and I mean very, competitive when it came to their sports teams.

My alma-mater, Purdue, was playing Bradley in men's basketball. We were all at a pub watching the game. Now, I enjoy it when Purdue wins, but it's not like I'm on the team and have any control whether they win or lose. But that night, every time Bradley scored a basket, one of Gwen's guy friends would be in my face, then high-fiving the other guys around the table.

Luckily, Bradley won. I was told I needed to buy the next round. I gritted my teeth, didn't tell the guys to go fuck off, but said the winner buys and stuck to my guns. Nothing came of it, but I'm certain I didn't gain any points that night with Gwen's friends. Gwen seemed cool with it all and never said a word.

If I dodged that bullet, it didn't prepare me for meeting her father. It was Thanksgiving, Gwen and I'd been seriously dating for four months and it was time for introductions to the parents. I walked into their house in Arlington Heights and was instantly greeted by Mom and Daddy. For all of Gwen's intelligence, she could mess up occasionally and this was one of those times. Right after introducing us, Gwen joked, "Watch out Dad, he's a Cardinals fan."

Was that just a grimace on the old man's face?

Now, this was 2011, five years before the Cubs finally went to the World Series and won it all; and in the previous ten years, the Cards had been there three times and won it twice. So, I'm fully aware how this could be a sore subject to a Cubs fan, especially a guy who played in their farm system. I needed points with the girlfriend's folks and played down my fanhood.

At least I tried to. There were now two strikes against me. STRIKE ONE - I'm certain he knew I was screwing his darling daughter (we stayed in separate bedrooms over that Thanksgiving weekend and avoided any overt displays of affection, but still, he must have known what went on in Peoria). And STRIKE TWO - I was a Cardinals fan. (Although, like I said, I'm a pretty piss-poor fan when it comes to my teams.)

For the next five years, up until that day at the airport, I felt like I was on probation, Daddy just waiting for the third strike. Can I just say it? Daddy was an asshole. I hope he's happy with the way things eventually worked out. (Of course - more on that later.)

Gwen and I returned to Peoria after Thanksgiving and things went back to normal. Gwen would be graduating soon and she already had a job lined up working for State Farm in Bloomington. I called Mr. Harper, asked for his daughter's hand in marriage and bought a ring. I introduced Gwen to my folks two days before Christmas - they loved her - and late Christmas Eve proposed. Gwen cried, said 'yes' and we started to make plans for a late July wedding, exactly one year after that day at Dozer Park.

We didn't move in together, Gwen kept her apartment with the two girls she shared it with, but Gwen stayed at my place four or five nights a week. It was kind of silly, but her folks didn't believe in pre-marital co-habitation. We found a small farmhouse to rent between Peoria (where I worked) and Bloomington (where Gwen worked); and moved in after the honeymoon.

We got married on July 30th and honeymooned on Miami Beach. Gwen wore a teensy-weensy bikini, but not a thong and never went topless - thank goodness, but she was still one of the hottest beauties on South Beach. We made love every day that first year and for the next three and a half years planned for a house and children before her thirtieth birthday.

That was up until four months ago when things went into the shitter and I ended up a few thousand miles from home, drinking Dominican beer by myself.

*********************

The bartender rang the bell for last call. I finished the second Presidente, thanked the man for giving me a nice place to think things through, tipped him well, and went back to my room.

Late Monday morning, after calling our bank and learning all three of our accounts were closed, I was at the Western Union office, picking up the money my brother sent. Took a cab to the airport and bought the ticket for Tuesday's flight after confirming nothing opened up any sooner. It was mid-day when I returned to the resort, extending the room until the next day. Now what?

I didn't want to start drinking, so I put on a pair of trunks and went for a run on the beach, finishing it off with a nice swim in the warm sea. Went back to my room right after that; nothing like seeing scores of couples in romantic embraces to fuck up a guy who has been dumped less than thirty hours ago. I ordered room service just to avoid having to see the same thing while I ate. For the next five hours, I read, and almost finished, the Vince Flynn paperback I bought in the hotel boutique.

Tuesday - another long run, a swim, checkout, then lunch in town, head out to the airport, spend seven hours reading another spy novel, get on the plane, tried and failed to sleep on the plane, drove two and a half hours to our house - and then I'm home, standing, looking at an empty bed. Most of Gwen's clothes and personal items were already gone.

It was Wednesday noon when I woke up after collapsing on the bed. I called a friend of mine at his office and got a name of an attorney. A call to Henry Abbot's office secured an appointment for Thursday afternoon.

Mr. Abbot, "call me Henry" was all business. He wasn't going to be my best buddy; but convinced me he'd do an excellent job representing me and protecting my interests. He listened to my story and told me he'd have the papers for my review Monday if I could provide all the information he needed by Friday noon. I left with a laundry list of needed information and tasks to perform before Friday noon.

Henry was very methodical; he had me write down all of the events from the moment Brad approached us at the airport to the moment I was served with the papers, emphasizing how I was left high and dry with no funds in a foreign country. Plus a detailed list of our assets, all the money I spent in D.R. and spent getting off the island, as well as any collectively owned possessions missing from our home when I returned.

It turned out that my rush to get this all done didn't matter. Monday morning, as I waited at work for Abbot's office to call to tell me the papers were ready for my signature, our Admin came into my office.

"Les, there's a gentleman out here to see you, he won't tell me what he wants."

"That's OK, Sara. I'll go out there."

I was warned by Henry that Gwen may serve me first; he convinced me it would be better this way. "That way, we know what they're thinking. It also puts you as the aggrieved party. She's ending the marriage, not you."

Well, that sounds like it makes sense from a legal point of view, but it still sucks to get served papers.

When I read the papers, I got really pissed off and almost made the mistake of calling Gwen to bitch her out. Luckily, my brains engaged and I avoided that trap. (One of my friends told me that his wife's attorney baited him that way; my friend called his estranged wife and started to scream at her; next thing he knew, he was served with a 'do-not-contact' court order which was brought up during the court hearing; further evidence of his 'abusive behavior'.)

I brought the papers to my attorney and as they say - let the games begin.

Two months after being served, my attorney and I were sitting in the courtroom, waiting for the judge. When the judge walked in, I nearly lost it; of course it had to be a woman judge. I'd heard horror stories about guys getting reamed by the 'justice' system in divorce court. I prepared for the worst.

Gwen's attorney presented their list of demands. Gwen couldn't even look at me while her attorney did all the talking. I noticed the asshole, Brad, was not in the courtroom, a smart move on their part.

My attorney gave our side of the story; none of this was news to the judge, everything had already been submitted and reviewed beforehand. There was an opportunity for her attorney to rebut, then our final rebuttal. The judge asked Gwen a question, addressing Gwen by her maiden name, the same way Gwen's attorney referred to her.

"Ms. Harper, you make no allegations of abuse by Mr. Lester. Did you merely fall in love with this Mr. Bradley Parker and decide to leave your husband because you were in love with another man?"

Gwen and her attorney conferred for a second, then she answered, "Yes your honor; there was no abuse."

"Thank you for your honest answer. If there's one thing I won't tolerate in my courtroom, it's people using false claims of abuse to seek an advantage."

The judge paused here for a moment, reviewing her notes. "This court grants the divorce, effective immediately. There will be no maintenance payments awarded. Each party will keep their own retirement funds and any personal possessions. The assets that were held together will be split fifty-fifty. From Ms. Harper's half, she will reimburse Mr. Lester for the nine-thousand-dollars spent for his half of the ruined vacation, all funds spent during his stay and airfare returning. Ms. Harper will pay all attorneys' costs for both parties. And three-thousand, two hundred dollars toward half the couple's rental for the seven months, the time from when she left the home until the current lease of their rental home expires."

The judge looked right at Gwen. "Young lady, you say here you loved your husband; if this is how you treat a loved one, Lord help the person you don't love."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Out of twenty-thousand, Gwen's half of our 'let's buy a house' savings, she would be giving me nearly sixteen-thousand.

As my attorney and I walked out, Gwen could be heard calling out, "Les" behind me. Exiting the courtroom, there was Brad sitting on a bench. He started to get up from the bench, but I was already in his face. "You know, she'll cheat on you, too." I walked away.

Outside the courthouse, I asked Henry if I could buy him lunch. We walked into the diner across the street.

"I almost crapped when I saw it was a woman judge; figured I'd get screwed for sure."

"There's where you're wrong for two reasons. It's always some grandpa judge who looks at the cute wife and gives her the farm. And we couldn't have picked a better judge than Judy Carter."

"You knew we were going to her courtroom, why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to build expectations or let you get cocky; just in case she questioned you."

Henry continued, "Judge Carter has been married to the same guy for forty years and loves him to pieces. She's a well-respected jurist, he's a machinist at one of the local machine shops supplying Caterpillar with parts. But it's a marriage of equals. Barry Carter is a great guy, unassuming down at the club even though he has a five handicap and wins every damn tournament."

Henry stopped talking long enough to take a sip of his coffee. "Let me tell you one last story, only because you got bit your first time down the wedding aisle; but you need to know there are some great gals out there. The judge and Barry are at a country-club dance, they're sharing a table with my wife and I and another couple. One of the local big-shots, he owns one of the auto dealers in town, comes up, ignores Barry and asks the Judge to dance. Barry's no push-over, but he's also man enough to let his wife handle this. Judy rips the guy a new asshole, "Did anybody ever teach you any manners?" she asks. "No gentleman would ever ask a lady to dance without respectfully asking her escort first. Now go away and pray you're never in my courtroom, if you do, better tell your lawyer you need a different judge because I can't promise you a fair hearing." The judge leaned over and gave her husband a kiss. She knows some people underestimate her husband just because he works with his hands."

I laughed at the story, just a half hour in Judge Carter's courtroom and I could visualize that happening.

"You're different from most lawyers. Sorry if this sounds like I'm knocking your profession, but..."

Now it was Henry's turn to laugh. "My father spent over thirty years working the assembly line at Cat, my mom stayed home and raised five kids. The day I was accepted to law school, Dad gave me a hug, congratulated me, and said, "Don't become an asshole." He's ninety, but I know he'll still climb up my butt if I need it, it keeps me in line."

We finished lunch, I thanked him again and we went our separate ways. Time to start a new life.

*********************

Co-workers and other well-meaning acquaintances fixed me up or made recommendations regarding women they thought I should meet to get over my heart-break. The trouble with all these set-ups was this - I didn't need a new relationship just yet, everything was still too raw - I needed to get laid. And I couldn't see going out with a sister, cousin, or whatever of one of my co-workers if I was only interested in a quick fuck with no intent of taking it to the next level. Call me Mr. Sensitive.

I did get laid from time to time; mostly by hanging out at the local bars with reputations for hook-ups. I had enough free time to take some dance lessons. It's hard to believe how many women are out there willing to drop their panties after you've shown them a decent time on the dance floor and bought them a couple drinks.

But there are always hazards when it comes to being a Lothario. One night I spent an hour having a great time with an especially well-built young lady. We were headed out the door when her left hand caught the light, there was the unmistakable lightness around her fourth finger, the tell-tale sign of a recently removed ring.

"Are you married?"

She gave me the 'deer in the headlights' look and stammered. "Yes, but my husband's away."

"Where is he?"

"Afghanistan, he's in the Army."

I swear, I've never been so close to hitting a woman, not even Gwen with all the shit she pulled on me.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your husband is out risking his life and you're looking to cheat on him?"

She started crying before collapsing on the pavement. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm such a whore!"

I picked her up from the pavement; she looked into my eyes and started to ramble. "He's been gone five months and I worry every day. I got lonely and there have been a couple guys hitting on me at work. I didn't want to cheat with a guy I'd ever have to see again. So tonight I went out, it was the first time, I swear. I needed to feel like a woman. I didn't even know if I could have sex, but I wanted to feel a man's arms around me and at least feel a kiss. I'm such a whore!"