Home Again

The linebacker was one huge kid.
“It’s funny how you grow closer to your parents as you get older and appreciate them so much more,” Emma said to Mitchell right before they went to bed during their first night together under the roof of Emma’s parent’s home.

“Not for the children who hate their parents and vice-versa,” a somber Mitchell replied.

“Always the psychiatrist,” Emma said.

“Always,” he replied sternly, always.”

“Sometimes you sound more like a great politician than a great psychiatrist,” Emma pointed out.


“And your point is?” answered Mitchell.

The only item that turned out to be a problem, albeit a small one was the actual marriage ceremony of Dr. Mitchell Hancock and that of Dr. to be –- Emma Everly.

Emma’s parents wanted a big wedding and ceremony. After all, they had thrown a lavish wedding and reception for Nomi and in the world according to good parenting –Emma deserved just what Nomi got.

My parents, Emma wrote in her diary, were very fair.

“For the time being, we have to fly under the radar screen,” Dr. Hancock told Emma’s parents, then quickly added “God, I hate that cliché.”

“Mom, Dad, we both appreciate what you are doing for us. But, if the school gets wind of our marriage — we are both in serious trouble,” Emma said.

“You have explained that to me a thousand times,” Emma’s mom said. “But can’t you two become legal without anyone knowing until the coast is clear?”

“I’m with your Mom,” Emma’s dad said.

A shotgun marriage without the shotgun, Dr. Hancock mused.

“What if we have a simple ceremony in the house with just Nomi and her family present?” Emma’s mom asked.

Emma’s dad nodded in agreement.

Emma looked at Mitchell, who nodded his approval and thought why don’t we just rent a boat, take it out, and have the captain marry us? So is the thought process of a man who has been a failure at four previous marriages.

The Everly’s couldn’t find anyone in authority who would agree to marry Emma and Mitchell and then not ‘report’ it.  Every denomination turned them down.

“Politely,” Emma’s mother always added while Emma’s father nodded in agreement.

“Have you tried a rabbi?” Nomi asked all four of them when they were sitting around the living room bellyaching about the marriage ceremony that wasn’t going anywhere but nowhere.

All four of them looked at her like she had called each of them a second-rate word.

“A rabbi?!” the Everly parents cried out in unison. “Aren’t they Jewish?!” they added again at the same time.


“Why not try the Mormons?” Mitchell added sarcastically.

My parents, Emma wrote in her diary, didn’t meet many Jews.

“No, Nomi is right. We have tried every church in Kettering,” Emma pointed out.

“Forget the Mormons, let’s try Hare Krishna, or even Buddhist,” Mitchell said, and was about to start throwing out more religions when Emma shot him a look that said ‘no more’.

He got used to that look as the years went by and our marriage soured, she jotted in her diary.

“Everyone in this room wants a quiet marriage that no one knows about. We have exhausted all reasonable ends, except for trying a rabbi,” Nomi said in a very practical manner.

“So, let’s find a rabbi,” the Everly parents said together.

My parents, Emma wrote in her diary would have killed each other if they played the game of jinx.  The game of jinx involves two people uttering the same sound or comment at the same time. The first one to realize that it is a tie wins, and punches the other person in their upper arm.

“How about someone getting a phone book, so we can see if there are any rabbis in this town,” Dr. Hoffman suggested.

“Good idea,” the Everly parents said at the same time.

Will Emma and I be doing that? Mitchell thought. Good God, I hope not.

Can one imagine what Mitchell and I will say at the same time with our psychiatrist’s backgrounds; Emma mused, and smiled broadly as she went into the kitchen to fetch a phone book.

Emma opened up the phone book and to her surprise couldn’t locate one synagogue. She passed it to her parents, who looked and shook their heads (of course at the same time and same angle) and watched them pass it to Nomi who also couldn’t believe that there wasn’t one synagogue in the phone book. Mitchell broke the silence.

“I can tell from everyone’s body language that there are no rabbis in this town or, at least, not located in the phone book,” Mitchell said.

“Now what?” Nomi asked.



“To Springfield,” Emma said with a relish.

The rest of them looked at her very oddly. They all knew of Springfield, Ohio because of Wittenberg University, where Emma had attended undergraduate school. But they were all thinking the same thing that Emma was not thinking. The others were thinking that Wittenberg was a Lutheran school, and it was highly doubtful that any rabbi had set foot on the campus let alone even known about Wittenberg.

But Emma knew something that they didn’t and was mad at herself for not remembering earlier.

Emma had been very active at Wittenberg. Wittenberg’s administration had created a lot of synergy with the surrounding community of Springfield and many students took advantage of the opportunity to branch out into the city for either credits towards one course load or even financial aid. Emma was looking for credit hours, because her course load was extra heavy. She found her call in helping out at a retirement home on West McCreight Avenue; which was across the street from the famed Alpha Gamma house of the Beta Theta Pi Fraternity.

Emma found out about the retirement home after being invited to the Beta House for a game of beer traffic.

Beer traffic was a game that actives played at the Beta House when the weather was warm. The actives would pull out a few couches and chairs that weren’t in tatters and placed them on their front lawn which was adjacent to the busiest main drag named West McCreight Avenue. Actives (and their invited guests –- mostly the best looking girls on campus and young men they were trying to get to pledge Beta) would pick the make of a vehicle. When your car, truck or van drove by you had to chug a beer. It was a fun pastime for men (and women) of college age.

But for Emma, it offered up an opportunity. In between chugs of cheap beer, she spied the retirement home and made herself a mental note to visit it and get extra course credits there.

The next day she slept in due to a hangover and made a promise to herself to go the following day.

She did, and met the rabbi of Temple Ein Gev.

The rabbi helped Emma get started at the retirement home by ‘taking her under his yarmulke,’ as he put it. The rabbi and Emma hit it off right away.

Opposites attract, as they say, Emma wrote in her diary.



But in reality, it was because they both cared.

It was easy for us to learn from each other, she wrote in her diary. We were the only volunteers in the place.

They developed a friendship that was all mutual respect for the special ways that each one of them helped with the older men and women who lived in the retirement home.

Eventually, both the rabbi and Emma viewed the people they helped in their spare time from the temple and college as prisoners serving out a lifetime sentence for not committing any crime but growing old without any money.

After four years of volunteering her services at the retirement home, Emma vowed never to be put into a nursing or retirement or whatever they would call it when she was older and then would drill this command into her children’s heads from the time they were old enough to think on their own.

“Mitchell, if anything ever happens to me, do not put me in an old age home,” Emma blurted out as they drove from Kettering to Springfield to meet with the new rabbi of Temple Ein Gev.

“What made you say that?” a perplexed Mitchell asked.

And Emma explained what she had experienced.

Surprisingly, Dr. Mitchell Hancock was clueless about old age homes in any way, shape or form. He made the promise and then made Emma promise him.

They also both agreed to do some volunteering at the closest old age place near them wherever and whenever they moved from Kettering. It was a good promise –- made them both feel better for the moment, but they never did keep that promise.

They arrived at Temple Ein Gev and both were astonished at how run down it looked compared to the houses of worship that they had seen in Columbus, and of course, Kettering.

“You sure this is the place?” Mitchell asked Emma.

“I think so,” a surprised Emma answered.

“Didn’t you see it back in the day?” Dr. Hancock asked.

“Nope. Too busy with the old folks home and college. Besides, why would I go to temple?”



“Good point.”

Mitchell parked the car and they both slowly walked to the front door of the building. Upon a closer look, they both noticed that the front door was made of some gorgeous wood and was clearly the nicest part of the building from the outside.

Emma was about to rap her knuckles on the door when Mitchell stopped her by grabbing her forearm.

“Don’t you just enter a house of worship? Why knock?” he asked her.

“I am being polite. After all, I don’t know Jewish customs,” she said as he released his light grip and she knocked on the magnificent front door.

The door opened and they were greeted by a handsome man who looked to be around Emma’s age. He wore a dark grey suit with a white shirt and solid grey tie. He wore glasses and they were of the ‘Harry Potter’ style that had become somewhat stylish. On his head was a Yarmulke.

“Excuse me, we have an appointment with the rabbi,” Emma said.

“Yes, I know,” replied the man.

“Could you take us to him?” Mitchell asked.

“So, how does one take people to see himself?” the man said with a big smile as he reached with both his hands to shake one hand of Emma and one of Mitchell.

“You’re the rabbi?” They both asked together and then started laughing at knowing they had once again mimicked Emma’s parents.

“I didn’t think that was funny. Now, if you want funny, funny I can give you,” the rabbi said. “You are Emma and you are obviously Mitchell. That was some phone call you placed to me. I am only sorry that Rabbi Schwartz wasn’t alive to help you.”

“What happened to that great man?” Emma asked.

“He wouldn’t let us put him in a retirement home, and he died peacefully in his sleep.”

Good for him, Emma wrote in her diary.

“Please, let me show you around my humble abode. My name is Bruce, but you can call me ‘Rabbi’ or ‘Rabbi Bruce’.” The rabbi motioned for the two to follow him.

Both Emma and Mitchell were amazed at the grandeur and beauty of Temple Ein Gev’s interior.


“Excuse me, Rabbi Bruce,” interrupted Mitchell “how come the outside of this building is in bad shape, but the inside so splendid?”

“Are you religious?” the rabbi asked Mitchell.

Mitchell froze, because it was one question that he hadn’t been asked for a long time, and in that ‘long time’ he had considered himself an agnostic. Now, he thought that if he answered this question wrong, his chance of appeasing Emma’s parents might be shot, so he said nothing and stared blankly ahead — hoping the rabbi would skip him and go to Emma.

Talk about a student not wanting the professor to call on them moment, he thought.

“Rabbi Bruce, I don’t believe it, you shut him up,” Emma pointed out then started laughing. She knew he was an agnostic and was going to bring that up right now. Truth should be spoken in any house of worship, she reasoned. “He’s agnostic.”

“Oh one of those,” the rabbi said with a chuckle.

“How do you mean?” asked Dr. Hancock.

“You wanted me to be funny. I can do that and prove my point. Listen, an agnostic dies and finds himself in heaven. He is greeted by Moses and asks Moses how did I get here? After all, I don’t believe.  Moses answers as all Jews believe, it’s not what you believe, but how you lived that gets people up here or you know where. The agnostic says nothing and Moses motions the agnostic to follow him. They walk a ways when all of a sudden the agnostic taps Moses on the shoulder and starts to ask another question. Shhh. See that wall over there? Moses asks. The agnostic nods yes. ‘There are Christians on the other side. They think they are the only people up here.”

Both Emma and Mitchell howled with laughter. Their laughter was contagious and Rabbi Bruce soon found himself enjoying his own joke and the laughter and good cheer it provided all.

“So, why don’t you believe, Mitchell?” the rabbi asked.

“That’s the easiest thing I have been asked since I walked through that gorgeous front door,” Mitchell stated. “I can’t be convinced that anyone can prove to me that God really exists. That’s the education I have had pounded into my head since I can remember.”

“Your parents didn’t believe in God, either?” asked the rabbi.

“They were both lawyers,” Mitchell began.

The rabbi held up his hand and said “So, that explains everything!”


“But it can’t be proven,” protested Mitchell.

“You being here from what Emma told me should be proof enough. Come, let us go into my office and figure out the particulars.”

Emma and Mitchell were totally awestruck by the rabbi’s office.

“Puts mine to shame,” Mitchell remarked to Emma when they drove back to Kettering.

“I liked what he said,” Emma pointed out.

“He said a lot.”

“I know. But saying that ‘it isn’t the ugliness of the outside nor the beauty of the inside that makes this temple. It is the Torah and the people who need its guidance’, that was inspiring,” said Emma.

“He is eloquent and witty. Maybe we should convert,” Mitchell said sarcastically.

“Someone caught a sense of humor from Rabbi Bruce. In a way we are converting.”


Well in a way, they were ‘converting’. It was going to be a Jewish rabbi performing a ‘civil’ ceremony at the home of the Everly’s to appease Emma’s parents, and to make it all legal.

“And the people we want to hide it from will never know,” Mitchell giggled after the ceremony was completed, and they were officially husband and wife.

“I wish we could have added one thing,” the rabbi said after he had signed the marriage certificate and completed some other paperwork that would become public record in (Springfield, Ohio). The rabbi had connections and promised them both that no one, who shouldn’t know, would ever know.

“What’s that?” Mitchell asked.

“A canopy would have been nice,” the rabbi said.

Surprisingly, everything went very smooth with Emma studying for her PhD, her pregnancy, living back home with her parents, and Dr. Mitchell Hancock’s increasing anxiety about the birth of his first child.

Luckily there was college football — Ohio State Buckeye football at the tail end of Emma’s pregnancy to help Mitchell make it through the week.


The Buckeye’s kept everyone sane and actually bonded my dad with my husband, Emma wrote in her diary.

“I never knew college professors liked football?!” Emma’s dad said to Mitchell, as they watched the Buckeyes dismantle the Youngstown State Penguins — the doormat of an in-state school that Ohio State played at home to open every season in order to win brownie points all across the state (Mitchell had given his tickets to the rabbi. Mitchell hated the cupcake games that opened up every college football season).

“I don’t like Ohio State football, I love it!” Mitchell yelled out.

And just looking at the TV room, everyone who just happened in would agree.

Even though it wasn’t his house, the Everlys allowed Mitchell to decorate the TV room every Saturday, so that he could feel like he was at the stadium. Mitchell had foregone going to the games this year, because he thought it was his husband-like duty to be with Emma while she was pregnant; although, he secretly hoped the baby would be born before the annual Ohio State vs. Michigan game –which was to be played in Columbus this year.

Potentially missing this home game was giving him minor anxieties, even though the game was a good 11 weeks away.

But for now, he was content. Emma’s mother prepared all sorts of his favorite appetizers and snacks for the games, and she refilled the bowls before they became empty! She had a twelve-pack of his favorite beer: Coors Lite and she served it up in a frosted mug!

There were Ohio State football pennants from years past that Mitchell collected that were attached to a clothesline that hung east to west from the ceiling. Emma’s dad used the step-ladder to hang it up and said it reminded him of the day after Thanksgiving, when he put up the holiday lights outside their house.

Then there was the throw rug in front of the TV. It was modeled after the football field (The Horseshoe). It was colored scarlet and grey –the colors of the Ohio State football team.

I hope our child doesn’t crap in those colors? Emma thought when she would watch her husband plop down on the throw rug with his beer to watch the game.

No wonder he wore glasses from how close he sat in front of the TV to watch those games, she wrote in her diary.




Emma was not sold on the positives of being a rabid Ohio State football fan.

As a matter of fact, the longer her marriage went on, the easier it was for her to downright loathe Ohio State football; because it was her main competition for her husband’s affection.

But Doctor Mitchell Hancock had some help in turning Emma Hancock into a college football widow — a lot of help.

After the birth of their first child, (a daughter they named Wendy, who Mitchell insisted on giving the nickname “Woody’, because Woody Hayes was a famous ex-head coach of the Ohio State Buckeyes whose philosophy of the game was something like ‘three yards and a cloud of dust’.), things started to go downhill, as they say.

I hated that nickname, and I hated that philosophy of a cloud of dust after three yards. What man gives a female a nickname of ‘Woody?’ Furthermore, who likes dust? Emma wrote in her diary.

“Isn’t football more fun when they pass the ball?” she had asked her husband when he had told Emma the secret behind Wendy’s nickname.

“That is why our second child’s nickname will be ‘AS’,” Mitchell announced.

Emma responded with a very serious and quizzical look.

“Art Schlicter was the greatest passing quarterback in Ohio State’s history. A lousy bettor though,” Mitchell said.

Emma shot him a carbon copy expression of before.

“This guy had a rocket for an arm, but he was addicted to gambling. I really wish I could have worked with him. I would have cured him,” Mitchell said dejectedly.

“Why didn’t you try?” she asked her husband.

“I was set up with an appointment with him by a court that had jurisdiction over one of his many betting scams, and he bet others that he wouldn’t show to a mandatory meeting with me. Can you believe that?!”

“An arm that can pass is a terrible thing to waste,” Emma said very sarcastically.

But their second child, also a daughter, would not be born for five more years and she, too, would suffer through a lousy nickname for a girl. One of the reasons that the great Dr. Mitchell Hancock took five years to help conceive another baby was that the good doctor developed a phobia after witnessing the birth of his first daughter Wendy.


The phobia that Mitchell developed isn’t one that is listed in any medical journals for the mind, body or soul. But Emma had a name for it.

She called it ‘pushitis’, because while the doctors and the nurses were yelling encouragement at Emma to help her give birth to Wendy by screaming ‘push’ or ‘come on Emma-push!’, Mitchell who was present at Emma’s feet watching the little head appear, fainted after the chorus of ‘push’ was all used up, and there was no need to hear it anymore, because baby Wendy had been welcomed into the world.

Emma decided right there and then that she would never have another child by natural means, and for a while it looked like she would get her wish, because Mitchell’s phobia of ‘pushitis’ had set in.

The real problem wasn’t that of the difficult natural labor delivery (has there ever been an easy one?). The real problem was for over a period of one year, Dr. Hancock refused to have intercourse with Emma. He wouldn’t touch her vagina with his fingers, or tongue, let alone his penis. Hell, he couldn’t even bear to look at it when he spied her coming out of the bathroom or getting into bed (sometimes, but not often, Emma slept in the nude).

My husband suffers from ‘pushitis’, Emma wrote in her diary. But at least my nipples are getting a reprieve, she added with a smiley face next to that notation. That symbol was a big deal for a woman who was not a big fan of using emblems.

“Watching me give birth to his daughter from the front row did something to him,” Emma told her sister Nomi one night after way too many glasses of Chardonnay.

“Makes no sense to me,” Nomi said. “Pour me another glass, please.”

“I think he was just grossed out by the sight of Wendy coming out my pussy,” Emma said as she got up to pour her sister and herself another glass of white wine. She stumbled a bit, caught herself in the doorway and then suddenly turned to her older sister and dropped her shorts and panties. “Is it gross?” she asked with a laugh.

“Looks okay to me, but remember, I am very biased. One, I’m your sister and two, I have one, too!”

“What man in his right mind thinks a woman’s pussy is gross?!” Emma yelled out as she wiggled back into her shorts and panties and then poured two very large glasses of Chardonnay.

“Don’t forget the ice!” her sister reminded her.


Emma drunkenly struggled to get the ice cubes out of the tray and into the two glasses. She managed, but at a cost of many ice cubes landing on the kitchen linoleum floor.

“I’d never make it as a bartender, but owning a bar would be a blast,” she said as she sidestepped the fast melting ice cubes and walked back to her sister.

“So, you must be doing a lot of masturbation,” Nomi guessed.

“It’s why God gave us five fingers,” Emma said laughing. “How come you didn’t answer my question?”

“If I answer it honestly, I will be breaking a cardinal sin of our family’s heritage,” Nomi slurred.

“Okay, I’ll answer my own question. After all, I am trying to become a shrink,” Emma said in an unclear way.

“This I have to hear,” Nomi said, sitting up and putting her wine glass down on the table.

“I’ve strayed twice.” Emma stated matter-of-fact like.

“Only twice! What’s it been, like seven months?” Nomi said. “I couldn’t dream of not having intercourse over a seven month period during my marriage. By the way, I am not shocked. Being a great older sister, your secret starts and ends with me.”

“Eight, but who is counting,” Emma said with a laugh.

Enough with the mathematics lesson, onward with the sordid details,” Nomi said as she took a large sip from her wine glass.

Emma did likewise, and then told Nomi all about the two affairs that had happened on the same night that she had since she realized that Mitchell was suffering from ‘pushitis’.

They both originated at a bar (where else other than a workplace).

The bar was named Bills Place Two and was started by a young man who was from California and went to the University of Dayton’s law school. His parents owned the original Bills Place which was located on the beach with a great view of the ocean in a small town on the central California coast. The young man who started the bar fell in love with the greater Dayton area and out of love with law school.



Masturbation wasn’t getting the job done. Emma was as horny as she imagined teenage boys got. She wanted physical comfort from a man. She went to Bills Place Two hoping she would find it. She also went there, because the bar wasn’t that far of a drive from her home, but just far enough.

She didn’t have to beg Mitchell to babysit, because there was a documentary on TV about Ohio State football. He was all up for doing the babysitting, and Emma rationalized that if Wendy got too fussy, her mother was there to assist. Mitchell didn’t ask her where she was going, and she didn’t volunteer any information. She told her mom she was going to the library and then to Nomi’s house.

Emma was a good looking woman, but she was totally clueless on how to make herself look sexy, because she thought that if she didn’t look sexy enough, she would have an awful time trying to attract a member of the opposite sex.

“Do you know what has never been defeated in the history of mankind?” the guy who she went home with, told her while they shot some pool, asked her.

Oh boy, another sports fanatic, she thought as she cringed.

“Pussy,” the man replied.

And right away, Emma learned what the law professor had taught her husband.

In her diary, she later wrote undefeated, but at a price. And then she added (Sometimes).

Emma knew she couldn’t dress too outlandishly. After all, she was just going to the library and her sister’s house. But being smart, she put together an outfit that she thought would do the trick.

She wore a pair of faded blue jeans, brand new white sneakers and put on a pink golf shirt that was tight and just happened to have a small Ohio State football insignia over the left breast.  She put a light coat on that happened to have deep pockets.

As she drove to Bills Place two, she questioned her own sanity and worse — her own motives. Then, she started doing something worse than questioning her own sanity and motives; she started a debate with herself.

Should I turn back? But she kept on driving to the bar.

What if I get into trouble? But she kept on driving to the bar.

What if I get caught? But she kept on driving to the bar.



Will I feel guilty? Then she stopped the car (she had come to a red light).

Am I being selfish? The light turned green, and she turned left onto the street that Bills Place Two was located.

What if nothing happens? She parked her car between two other cars in the back area of the parking lot. She thought this would prevent anyone who knew her car from spotting it and thus her. Of course, it didn’t cross her mind that anyone (including her husband) that knew her might walk into the bar and spot her by herself. Later, when Emma did some research into the thinking of both sexes when they have affairs it appears that she wasn’t doing or thinking anything different than the subjects she read about did.

One has to drive somewhere to find action. It wasn’t like I could hop on a plane to Paris, she wrote in her diary.

While she sat in the car and moved the review mirror up and down to take a look at how she looked, she laughed at herself for worrying more about her car being spotted than what she was there for. For some odd reason, this helped her relax.

Honesty? She thought as she put the rearview mirror back in its right location and got out of the car and walked slowly to the front door of the bar.

As soon as she walked in, she felt like all eyes of the people in the place as patrons (but not the workers) were on her.

And they were.

Because at a bar like Bills Place Two, everyone stares at the doors when they open to see if  it is one of the regulars coming in or someone new to view with suspicion or awe. Someone new, especially a good looking woman or man might have to prove themselves in the hearts and souls of the regulars at a place like Bills Place Two. All eyes, except for a few of the men quickly reverted back to whatever they were doing.

Sensing just that, Emma took a deep breath and walked to a booth that was near the pool tables. She had thought playing pool would be a great way to get things started after she had a few glasses of Chardonnay (to loosen her up).

A few glasses turned into four glasses, and still not one man came up to her. She was getting a little, too buzzed for what she wanted to do and ordered some food and a small pitcher of water. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that she had been there for well over an hour and if something didn’t happen soon; time was going to defeat her tonight, not her wants or desires.


She ate the Bills Place Two sampler, and was amazed at how good deep fried food could taste. She was going to nurse her last glass of wine for a half hour more. If nothing happened, she was going to leave for her sisters and then home.

Maybe it’s a sign from the Almighty, she thought as she watched the waitress clean the tables next to her. She was taking a small sip from her water when she spied someone walking over to the jukebox.  This someone who was not only a man, but very pleasant to her eyes.

He stopped in front of the jukebox and inserted a dollar bill. The music started playing and then the man walked over to the pool table and inserted another dollar bill into the slot. The billiard balls fell and he quickly racked them in the triangle.

Emma thought this was her chance and even thought she came up with a great pick-up line as she later told her sister.

“Here’s another dollar. I like the music you picked.”

“Yuck,” replied Nomi obnoxiously.

“Boy, you know how to ruin a good fantasy,” Emma sighed.

“From what you have told me about your fling, no way,” Nomi said with a laugh.



The man snatched the buck out of Emma’s hand and told her to grab a pool stick from the rack on the wall while he went to feed the jukebox.

He started back to the pool table, and when the song started that he had just played, he did a little shuffle over to Emma. Emma was finishing picking out a stick to her liking. Emma then went to inspect the job he had done racking the balls. She knew she was leaning way too forward to announce to the man that she had nice breasts.

“A nice rack if I do say so myself,” he commented.

“I’m not finished inspecting it yet,” she said gullibly.

“I wasn’t talking about the balls,” he said sarcastically.

“Are you always so direct?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he replied as he lifted the triangle rack off the balls and continued his soft shoe to the other end of the table.


“You have nice moves,” Emma found herself saying.

“Are you the straight person for a comic?” he said, again very sarcastically. “You toss out more softballs than Larry King.” He reached to a table near him and produced a quiver that kept his pool stick warm and cozy.

“What’s that?”

“My rod is in here,” he pointed out.

“Now who is playing word games?” she asked as she walked over to a counter and started to chalk up her pool stick tip.

The man put his stick together and motioned Emma over to his side.

She imitated his soft shoe shuffle and he clapped.

“If I beat you, I fuck you at my place. If you beat me, we fuck at my place, because with the ring on your left hand I can see that you are married. You on the pill, or do I need a rubber?” he said with a big smile.

I can’t believe in all my preparations, I forgot to take my ring off and put it in my purse, Emma wrote in her diary.

“I am on the pill. When I lose, we will go back and fuck at your place. I stink at pool,” she said as she watched him place the white que ball on the table and break.

Emma soon found herself following Willie home. They formally introduced themselves after Emma lost the few games of pool they had played. He drove (what else) a pick-up truck.

I can’t believe I didn’t give a false first name either, Emma wrote in her diary.

She wondered if she would continue with what she was doing or veer away from the pick-up and drive home.

But her car kept following right behind the pick-up, but not too close.

It reminded her of the earlier experience she had when she was driving to Bills Place Two and eventually entered the premises and found herself meeting Willie and now following his pick-up to his place. She could have stopped that from happening, but she did not. She could stop this from going further, but instead, kept a safe distance between her vehicle and his.



She realized as she tailed him (but not that close) that it was his directness, rather than his striking good looks that turned her on.

Of course his good looks helped, she thought as she clicked the right turn signal and followed behind.

“I wonder what he will be like when we arrive at his place?” she asked the darkness in her car. Then she imagined what he would be like.

“Take your clothes off –NOW!” he would bark out.

And she would do just that.

“Take off my clothes!” he would command.

And she would obey.

She followed the pick-up to the right.

“Sit on the edge of my bed!” he would demand.

And she would sit.

“Suck my cock!” he would direct.

And she would put his manhood in her mouth.

He pulled into his driveway, and as they discussed at the bar before they left, Emma parked her car across the street from Willie’s house.

“Hey beautiful, I’ll open up the front door for you. It won’t take long,” he hollered out as he went into the side entrance to the house.

She waved at him and decided to leave her purse in the car. Just for the heck of it, she took her wedding ring off and dropped it into her purse. She took off the ignition and car locking key from her key ring and stuck that in her front pants pocket. The rest of the keys she put inside of her purse. Why she had all of a sudden become cautious was knawing at her like a hungry dog thrown a good T-bone steak bone.  She reached into her purse and slipped her wedding ring back on hoping this would answer her own question about being overly cautious.

Because if Willie was some sort of a monster it really didn’t matter about the keys, her purse or her wedding ring, she thought.



“Let’s just hope he is a monster in bed,” she said quietly as she saw the light over the front door turn on. Like Pavlov’s dog experiment, she walked quickly to the front door.

As soon as she put one foot in the door, her right arm was yanked and she fell into the foyer. The front door was slammed shut. He was naked and soon had her out of her clothes and on the cold floor. He was kissing her all over and she was reciprocating.

While Willie was kissing her, she heard a loud squeaking sound. She opened her eyes and saw him fumbling with his right arm for a drawer that was in a piece of furniture that housed coats and umbrellas. She noticed his other arm was doing all the heavy petting and light touching and when she reached down to grab his penis — it was hard as a rock, as they say.

“The ultimate multi-tasker,” Nomi said later with a grin.

“It got worse or in this case worst was better,” Emma said with a smile.

Willie opened the drawer and rammed his cock into her at the same time. Emma met him with full force and couldn’t believe how wet she was and was even more surprised when she felt a gooey substance being squeezed on her from above.

A monster in the front hall, that’s for sure, she mused as she pushed him off her and looked at the blob of goo on her belly. “What the hell is this?!”

“My gels,” he answered. “It will make it that much more fun.”

“How am I going to go home with all this crap all over me?” she asked as she found herself trying to get the stuff off with her hands, but she only made matters worse by smearing it over more of her torso.

“You have to go home? Why? Are you married or something?”

Guess he forgot about my ring or didn’t care that he did, she thought. “Or something,” she said. “Look, I want to get laid, not eaten. I mean I do want to be eaten. What’s the use? Can I shower here?”

“Don’t you carry toiletries to clean up with after a one night stand?” he asked her.

“This is my first in a very long time,” she lied. “Can I take a shower if I let you do your thing?”

He went down on her with his mouth.

She was finding out rather quickly that she would wait for his answer.



After they were finished, she felt dirty.

And it wasn’t the goo from neither Willie’s sex tubes nor their own bodily fluids. It was the hairballs, the dust, the pebbles and other items that one associates with a semi-clean foyer floor.

“I need to shower,” she said as she bolted upright clutching her clothes.

“Me, too. You go upstairs. The bathroom is to your left. There are towels and all that jazz in there.”

“I thought you would be the type to want to shower together,” Emma commented.

“Nahhh. I like getting dirty with women, not clean. I’ll use the shower in the basement. See you later,” he said as he grabbed his clothes and went to the basement.

Emma shrugged and made sure she had all her clothes. She patted her front pocket of her pants and smiled at the feel of the key and then thought I got my wish, he was a monster when it came to sex and I needed that.

She took the first step up the stairs and then backed right down. She decided that she wanted to see what type of man she had just had dirty and sleazy sex with. She made a decision to take a quick look around the first floor of the quaint home, because she wasn’t going to invade the bedroom of someone who liked fucking on the foyer floor and she figured that the main rooms of a home would tell her what type of art he liked, the books he read, and show other telltale signs of his personality. After all, she thought herself to be a damn fine psychiatrist!

She put her clothes and shoes on the third step and turned around to start her tour. She went to the left to where she had been making love on the floor and heard Willie singing in the basement. She took a few steps and then suddenly realized that she was naked and walking around in a strange house!

I don’t do this at my house! Luckily, I am a psychiatrist; but a very naked one she mused as she squinted in the dark room to look at the pictures on the walls.

All she saw on the walls were way too many mirrors for such a small room, which she realized was the dining room, when she bumped into the dining room table.

“I hope that doesn’t cause a bruise,” she said as she stared at her reflection in one of the mirrors. Then she found herself checking herself out far more intensely than she did in her own home in front of her own mirrors.




I look pretty damn good, and I don’t feel guilty – – but do I need a shower! Enough with the snooping in this room, she thought as her eyes fixed on the one big book case that was up against the wall without any mirrors hanging on it.

Well, he’s obviously into looking at himself, which makes sense, because he is very attractive, she thought as she got right up close to look at what type of books her “on the floor” lover read.

Not many books, at all, were on the shelves. At first, she thought it was the lack of light, but when she knew her eyes had adjusted, she started prying. She ran her fingers along the spines of what books were there and was surprised at how thick they were. She had to see what the titles were. Her curiosity was getting the best of her.

“I just wanted to know what his level of intellect was,” she later told Nomi. “After all, I knew about his sexual prowess.”

Fighting off the urge to turn on a light, her fingers in falling off the spine of one of the thick books, found a half-full book of matches.

“Tada,” she said as she lit one match.

As the sulpher smell went right up her nostrils, she thought about the quarterback in the therapy session. This made her think of Mitchell. This made her feel guilty. She quickly trained her eyes on what the match had illuminated to get her mind off this.

Text books? Nothing but text books and they all looked like they were very old, she thought as she blew out the match and watched the little puff of smoke disappear into the big thick books.

“Time to shower,” she said to the room as she tiptoed to the stairs, retrieved her clothes, and made for the bathroom. She told herself to make it a quick one, because she was guessing she only had about an hour and a half before she had to be at her house. She didn’t hear Willie singing as she went into the bathroom.

She continued her curiosity walk in the bathroom. She was amazed to find that the bathroom wasn’t lacking in items of interest like the dining room.

But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t that there were pictures on the wall and both fiction and non-fiction books scattered around the toilet. There was something wrong with the scene right in front of her.

“It was one of those moments that are right on top of you, and still, you can’t grasp it.” She later told her sister Nomi.



It hit her like a ton of bricks after she turned on the shower, ran the water and climbed into the shower.

“There are no men’s toiletries in here,” she said out loud. This discovery didn’t stop her from dunking her head under the hot water and soaping off her foyer dirtied body. She looked for the shampoo and was impressed with the brand name. She started to think that either Willie was married and had lied to her about this or that he was into female toiletries, or possibly had so many one-night stands — he wanted his conquests to feel right at home if they took a shower.

She was rinsing her hair when she felt the shower curtain being pulled back. She expected it to be Willie.

“I’m almost done,” Emma blurted out between the hot water rinsing off the lather while she kept her eyes closed.

“Yeah, but I’m not even started,” said the voice.

Emma turned and screamed.

It wasn’t Willie yielding an axe with a crazed grin on his face.

It wasn’t Willie’s pissed off wife, because the woman looked way, too much like Willie.

Willie in a wig, she was thinking before he swings the axe, she thought as she continued screaming.

The women put her right index finger to Emma’s lips and Emma stopped screaming, because Emma could see that the woman was using her left hand to unbutton her blouse.

“Who are you?” Emma asked the suddenly naked girl.

“I’m Billie, Willie’s identical twin sister, and you are about to get very dirty in a very clean way,” she said as she started washing Emma’s hair.

Emma had only experienced sex with another woman one time before.

It was when she was at college and she and her roommate of exactly a half of a term during her freshman year had way, too much to drink at a sorority rush party and they stumbled back to their room and into each other’s arms. They only kissed and touched each other’s breasts, but it was an experience that always lingered in her subconscious.



She later asked herself in her diary — Would I have enjoyed it if I was sober? Should I have pursued her or any other woman that found me friendly and attractive? Am I sexually attractive to other women? Am I attracted to other women?

She didn’t get a second chance with her roommate, who couldn’t handle all the various freedoms that college life offered. The one freedom Emma’s roommate was a total failure in, was the freedom to go to class and to study. The girl (Emma could never recall her name) was not a failure in the other freedoms that college life offered.

Now in Willie’s or was it Billie’s bathroom (both?), she was going to get some questions answered.

And she enjoyed every minute of Billie teaching her about how gentle a woman’s touch and kiss could be. The orgasm she experienced was unlike anything she had experienced with any man before. Her body shook for what she thought was minutes; but in reality was only seconds.

She couldn’t talk and that was ok, because she didn’t think she knew what to say.

But Billie did.

Because to Billie, what had just happened in the shower was almost a weekly occurrence for her.

Billie explained to Emma that Willie and she were the most identical of identical twins.

“Right down to how much we like sex,” she had told Emma right after they dried off and climbed back into their clothes.

I will always believe that those two had sex with each other, too, Emma wrote in her diary.

“I think he’s into dirty sex and you’re into clean sex,” Emma said with a laugh.

“He nailed you on the floor, didn’t he?” Billie asked.

Before Emma could answer, Billie threw a word out that Emma had to look up a few days later and then enter the word’s meaning into her diary.

“We have been into portmanteau sex ever since we first found out what masturbation was,” Billie said.

When Emma looked up what the definition for ‘portmanteau’, she found that it was a noun that was for a traveling bag that opened into two equal parts.



How fitting, she thought, as she smiled as she remembered the conversation with Billie, and then chuckled to herself at her own pun.

Willie was a fireman and worked the graveyard shift. He had left the house after showering, knowing that his identical twin sister would be returning within minutes after he left from her second shift as a police dispatcher. If Willie had been successful in bringing home someone that he thought his sister would enjoy, he left the front porch light on.  It was a simple signal and had worked for them for years.

“That’s a simple signal,” Emma noted. “My question is why?”

“Because it feels so good,” Billie shot back.

“Then why not get married and have sex all the time with your husband?” Emma, “the psychiatrist” asked.

“Sex with one man only, are you crazy?! You here, are you not? Marriage is so boring. All our friends who are married fuck around on their spouses, some with me and my brother! Only their children allegedly keep them together. Then, there is my job to think about,” Billie said.

The comment about the kids was a punch to Emma’s gut and an uppercut to her glass jaw of the past few hours. Suddenly, she felt very guilty and wanted to go home. It was time to end her extra-curricular activities.

“A few words of advice honey,” Billie offered to Emma as Emma walked down the stairs.

Emma froze, cringed and listened.

“If, you’re going to fuck around, you should have extra clothes and toiletries in your car!”

Emma nodded in agreement and walked through the foyer where she had been laid and out the front door to her car.

She climbed in and started it up and looked at the time. She sighed at the clock being in her favor and knew she had plenty of time left to make it home and thus no one would be suspicious.

She was about a half mile from home when she came to a red light. She decided to look in the rear view mirror to see if her face was giving off guilt signs, when she let out a scream.



“Fucking bad karma!” She yelled as she pounded the steering wheel. Her hair was wet and unkept. She had forgotten to blow dry it and brush it. The light turned and she pulled over to the side of the road. She had to think and act fast. She could drive over to Nomi’s and fall asleep there. That was her only chance. And then good karma decided to take a whack at Emma. Out of nowhere it started raining cats and dogs, as they say. It was pouring like mad. Emma started laughing and for good measure yelled at the top of her lungs “fucking great karma!”

Now all she had to do was come up with an excuse about the car breaking down and not wanting to disturb anyone’s evening. She would tell them she felt totally safe and comfortable in walking home. She went to the trunk and opened it. She found the umbrella and took it out of the trunk. Naturally, it was an umbrella emblazoned with Ohio State football designs. She knew her car would be safe and it was legal to park where she had stopped it. She walked to the darkest house she could find and leaned the umbrella up against the front door and started the short-wet-walk home all the time thinking about how incredibly lucky she was that mother nature decided to drop a night shower down on her.

When she got home, she lied about the car’s engine stalling out. No one suspected a thing and her dad and Mitchell left to retrieve the car. When they came home, Emma had already fallen asleep.

Mitchell and Emma’s dad didn’t care, because they found that the vehicle was working, which meant no money out of their pockets.

“I’m only mad about one thing,” Mitchell told Emma the next morning.

Emma cringed.

“I can’t believe I lost my Ohio State football umbrella. Could have sworn I left it in the trunk of the car,” he said with a deep sigh.

“You really only had one affair,” Nomi joked to her sister.

“It was two!” Emma spat out.

“Not even using that tone will make two out of one with me,” Nomi replied. “By the way, you should script a porn movie with that tale.”

Of course Emma never mentioned the two affairs (Emma’s view) in her diary.


If you missed the earlier Chapters you can find them here.

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