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From: Lazlo Zalezac <lzalezac@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Different Sort Of Lifestyle 12 (MF, rom)
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Date: Sat, 13 Jan 2007 21:10:05 -0500
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Lazlo Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac
 
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<1st attachment, "Life01-12.txt" begin>

A Different Sort Of Lifestyle
Chapter 12: Blindsided
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2006

Late Saturday morning, Jack was out in the yard mowing the lawn. 
Pushing the mower back and forth across the expanse of green 
grass gave him plenty of time to consider his life in light of his 
discussion with Greg the previous night. He thought about asking 
his wife to dress a little sexier for dinner. The formal gowns were a 
little out of their financial grasp, but short skirts and tight blouses 
weren't. There was a lot that she could wear that he would find 
sexy. He wondered what she would want him to wear.

The evening with the Anders had actually eased his concerns about 
Harry. For some reason, he actually liked Greg and found that they 
shared a lot of common interests. He never would have believed 
that he'd end up in the house of some rich guy while wearing a 
tuxedo and talking about cars. They had both started driving 
Volkswagens. While Greg had a bug, he had a bus. Both men had 
waxed poetic about the qualities of their respective cars.

He still didn't know what to do about his wife and daughter not 
respecting his opinion. After thinking about it, he decided there 
wasn't much he could do about the matter. Maybe he would talk to 
Greg about it some time in the future. Of course, it didn't seem to 
him like Greg was making much progress in talking with his 
daughter. Until he did figure out what to do, he'd take Greg's 
advice and just listen to them.

A tired Lisa sat in her bedroom thinking about the previous 
evening. She hadn't gotten much sleep. Most of the night had been 
spent thinking about the bulge she had felt in Harry's crotch. If she 
had needed any proof that he desired her as a woman, then that 
proof had been amply given. She knew that Harry wanted her and 
that made her feel warm all over.

At that moment, however, her thoughts were not on that part of the 
evening. She kept remembering that angry expression of her 
father's face during the drive over to the Anders' house. It was 
obvious to her that her father's lack of interest towards her had 
turned to hate. She didn't know what she had done, but that didn't 
matter any more. She was tired of tip-toeing around him. The more 
she thought about it, the angrier she got.

It dawned on her that her mother knew that he didn't love her. It 
explained all those lame excuses her mother gave as to why he 
wasn't acting in a loving manner. The reason her father didn't play 
with her wasn't because he was tired from work. It was because he 
didn't love her and her mother knew that. Her mother had tried to 
protect her from that horrible truth. 

In the kitchen, June was busy making brownies. She didn't do that 
very often. Store bought brownies cost about the same as the 
ingredients of homemade brownies and was a lot more convenient. 
She always baked when she had some serious thinking to do. After 
the revelations of the previous day, she had some serious thinking 
to do.

She didn't know what to do about the consequences that followed 
from years of doubting Jack. There was no way she could tell him 
that she had thought he didn't love his own daughter. She knew 
that he would be crushed if he were to learn the truth. What kind of 
wife believed such a horrible thing about her husband? As she 
worked the brownie batter, tears rolled down her cheeks. 

The problem was that she knew there was no way she could keep it 
to herself. The guilt was killing her. She hadn't gotten any sleep 
the night before. Her mind wouldn't let go of the matter. It would 
eat at her until she blurted it out. She knew her confession would 
come at the worst possible moment. 

While pouring the batter into the baking pan, she realized that Lisa 
needed to know as well. She had never come out and told her 
daughter that Jack didn't love her, but she was afraid that her 
attitude might have given that impression. On further reflection, 
she decided that it was unlikely that her daughter didn't know her 
suspicions. She put a hand to her mouth when she realized that it 
was quite likely Lisa believed that her father didn't love her. To 
the empty room, she said, "Oh my God, my poor baby."

"Oh my God, my poor Jack. He doesn't even realize it." She came 
to the conclusion that she had to talk with Lisa right away. She 
shoved the pan of brownies in the oven without even checking the 
time. 

Jack finished his mowing and put away the lawn mower. On 
entering the house, he slipped his shoes off and headed towards his 
favorite chair. He had just sat down when Lisa entered the room 
from her bedroom and Sharon entered the room from the kitchen. 
He wondered if this was a good time to suggest that they try some 
of the things discussed at the Anders' house.

Sharon saw the look on Lisa's face and covered her mouth. Lisa 
walked over to her father and shouted, "I hate you."

Confused, he looked over at June and asked, "What did I do?"

June looked at him wondering how to answer. The look on his face 
was just like that of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. She 
tried to say something, but no words would come out of her mouth. 

"You've never loved me!"

"Huh?" Jack wasn't sure that he understood what she was saying.

"You've never loved me! I've tried my whole life to get you to 
love me. Nothing I ever did was good enough for you. You didn't 
even want to try to love me!" Lisa screamed. 

"I loved you."

"No you didn't. You never told me that you loved me. You've 
never hugged me. You've never played with me. You've never 
told me that you are proud of me. You've kept me away because 
you don't love me. I know it. I know it for a fact. Even mom 
knows you don't love me!" She looked around and found her 
mother staring at her. Her anger collapsed into pain. She rushed 
over to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. Sobbing, she 
said, "Mommy, take me away from here."

There were no doubts in his mind what Lisa had said. He didn't 
know why, but it was clear that she thought he didn't love her. He 
looked at June and asked, "Do you know what is going on?"

June couldn't answer. Tears welled up in her eyes, her throat felt 
swollen, and she couldn't breath. She didn't need to answer. Her 
guilt was written on her face. She hugged Lisa harder.

Staring at June, Jack finally understood. His entire marriage 
suddenly made sense. Feeling as if he had been sucker punched, he 
said, "You think she's right. You think I've never loved her." 

His wife shook her head, but still couldn't answer. He stood up and 
stared at her. The pain was written on his face in huge letters. He 
asked, "What kind of a man do you think I am? Do you think I'm 
some sort of monster who can't love his own daughter? How could 
you think that of me?"

Guilt forced June to tell the truth. For seventeen years she had been 
slowly killing him without either of them even realizing it. 
Knowing that she was about to administer that fatal blow and 
hating herself for it, she bit back her tears just long enough to 
answer, "I didn't realize you loved her until yesterday."

Stunned by the admission, he looked from his wife to his daughter 
and back again. He wanted to yell. He wanted to strike out and hurt 
them as much as they had hurt him. That kind of meanness wasn't 
in him though. He turned and walked out of the house without 
saying a word.

It took almost thirty minutes for June and Lisa to calm down 
enough to talk. Wiping the tears from Lisa's eyes, June said, "Your 
father does love you."

"No he doesn't," Lisa declared. In her mind, the truth of the matter 
was a given in the same way that gravity was a law of nature. 
There were no grounds to argue against it. She added, "You know 
it, too."

"I believed that until yesterday," June admitted as tears threatened 
to overwhelm her again. She took a deep breath and said, "Oh 
God, I was so wrong to believe that."

Sitting up straight, Lisa said, "Mother. I am not a little girl any 
more. You can't make me feel better by giving me lame excuses 
on his behalf. He doesn't love me. I have accepted that."

"Oh baby girl, you are so wrong," June replied before she burst 
into tears again.

Lisa stared at her mother. She was beginning to understand that her 
mother actually believed that he loved her. She asked, "What do 
you mean, I'm wrong?"

"You should have seen his face yesterday," June said looking up at 
her daughter with red-rimmed eyes. She grabbed a tissue from a 
box on the coffee table and blew her nose.  

"What happened yesterday?"

"He told me that he was worried about Harry taking advantage of 
you. I'll never forget that look on his face."

"Why would he think Harry would take advantage of me?"

Hanging her head in shame, June said, "Harry is the son of a rich 
man. You are the daughter of a poor man. Your dad believes that 
the sons of rich men can get away with doing anything they want 
to the daughters of poor men. He believes that poor men can't do 
anything about it. He looked so worried and helpless about not 
being able to protect you that it broke my heart. You don't get that 
kind of look if you don't love someone."

"If he loves me so much, why didn't he tell me that he loves me?"

"I asked myself that a thousand times last night. Then I realized he 
just doesn't say those kinds of things. He's told me he loves me 
four times at most since we were married and I know he loves me. 
Jack isn't comfortable talking about how he feels," June answered. 

"But..."

"We destroyed him today and he didn't say what he felt. He didn't 
yell at us. He didn't say how much I hurt him. He left," June said. 
If there had been any time in their marriage where it would have 
been easiest for him to give voice to his emotions, then this had 
been the time. Even today, he had not said a word.

Lisa stared at her mother with growing horror in her eyes. If her 
father had loved her before this day, then he must surely hate her 
now. She broke down and wailed, "Oh God!"

Further discussion was postponed when the smoke alarm went off. 
The batch of brownies had carbonized in the oven. The pair of 
women ran around frantically trying to take care of the burning 
brownies. Shoving the smoking pan under the tap, June stared at 
the mess. She hoped that it wasn't representative of her marriage.

---

In the middle of the afternoon, The Point was deserted except for a 
grizzled old bartender who had seen too many unhappy men 
drowning their sorrow in drink. It was a small place located not too 
far from where Jack lived. In the entire time that Jack had lived in 
that area, he'd been in The Point exactly three times. One of those 
times had been when his car had broken down and he needed to 
call a tow truck.

Not knowing any other place to go, Jack eventually wound up at 
The Point after driving around taking random directions. When he 
entered the bar, the bartender looked him over. Shaking his head, 
he said, "You look like shit. Where are your shoes?"

"I had a fight with the family and walked out. It wasn't until I was 
in the car when I realized that I was wearing only my socks. There 
was no way I was going back for my shoes," Jack said knowing 
that if he looked half as bad as he felt then he definitely looked like 
shit.

"Is this a beer problem or a whiskey problem?" the bartender 
asked. 

"Scotch on the rocks. A double please," Jack answered. He really 
wanted to get hammered. Maybe that way, the pain would stop.

"I'm not so sure about that. What was the fight about?"

"My wife told me that she believed I had never loved my 
daughter."

The bartender picked up a glass and started wiping it. He knew it 
was a cliché, but sometimes clichés worked. He said, "Wives are 
often jealous of the relationship between a father and a daughter."

"She said that after my daughter accused me of the same thing," 
Jack said. He walked over to the bar and sat down. Just saying it 
aloud hurt.

"Sounds like a beer problem," the bartender said. He went over to 
the tap while grabbing a beer glass on the way. He filled the glass 
and set it in front of Jack with a nice authoritative thunk.

"You don't understand, they really believed it," Jack said. He still 
couldn't get his mind around the idea that they really believed that 
of him. What kind of woman would stay with a man for seventeen 
years thinking that about him? That thought disturbed him more 
than the accusation.

"I understand. That's why I say it is a beer problem," the grizzled 
man said. He knew that if he started giving the guy a hard liquor 
drink that he'd be drunk in thirty minutes. More likely than not, 
he'd kill someone while driving home. A beer would give him a 
chance to calm down before he got into more trouble. It was also 
easier to control how fast a man got drunk by serving him beer.

Jack looked at the bartender and shook his head. He picked up the 
beer and drank down about a third of it. It went down too fast and 
hurt his throat. He put the glass down and said, "I really don't 
understand why they would think that. I've done everything a good 
father is supposed to do. I go out everyday and earn a good wage. I 
pay for a nice house in a neighborhood I can barely afford. I made 
sure that she went to the best schools. I made sure she was wearing 
clothes that wouldn't embarrass her. I take care of things around 
the house. Why would they think that?"

Twisting his head to the side as if to get rid of crick in his neck, the 
bartender said, "Women are different than men. We act and they 
want words. You ever tell them what you're thinking?"

"They don't listen to me. I tell the wife about the bills, but it 
doesn't slow down the spending any," Jack answered. He took 
another sip of his beer. This one was smaller than the first, but the 
glass was already half empty. Talking about it made the pain a 
little easier to bear.

He'd seen lots of guys like Jack and understood the problem 
immediately. Guys like him would wander in confused about why 
the women in their lives didn't understand them. There had been a 
time when he'd been one of those guys. It took him two wives to 
figure a few things out. He said, "I'm not talking about that kind of 
shit. You got to tell them that you love them occasionally. Women 
are that way. They are all touchy-feely. They don't see actions 
speaking louder than words. They want the damned words."

"But, they should know," Jack said gesturing wildly with his 
hands. 

"They should, but they don't," answered the man. He lifted his 
arms to his sides to reinforce the idea that this was one of the great 
mysteries of life.

Jack took another sip of his beer thinking about it. After a few 
minutes, he said, "I don't understand women."

"You and every other man. Every month some guy comes in here 
and says that his wife doesn't understand him. More often than not, 
he doesn't understand her."

Jack took another sip of his beer and thought about it. Greg had 
said that talking was important, but the guy hadn't told him what to 
talk about. It seemed likely to him that Greg didn't know either. If 
neither of them understood, then it seemed likely that most other 
men didn't understand. He put the beer down and said, "I guess 
you see that a lot."

"Every night I drive home past tracts of houses. They call them 
bedroom communities, but I don't understand why. Most of the 
bedrooms in those houses don't see much action. It seems to me 
that most houses don't see much action at all. People are just 
sitting around in their own private little world sharing a common 
space. When there is action it is in the living room with people 
yelling at each other. There are times when I think they should be 
called battleground communities," the bartender answered. It was a 
shame that most people lived like that. Life was too short to spend 
isolated and alone.

"You sound jaded."

"Not really. You see, I know that the action can move from the 
living room to the bedroom if you want it to. Women will tell you 
that they have to take control for that to happen, but I don't think 
so. It's up to the man. He's the one who has to start telling her 
what he's feeling."

"I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time," Jack said. He 
took a drink of his beer. 

The bartender watched him take the drink. Jack still had a quarter 
of a glass of beer left. He smiled thinking that if he had served Jack 
whiskeys that he would have been on his second by now. In the 
same amount of time that it would take him to finish the beer, the 
guy would have already been drunk. He said, "I didn't say it was 
easy."

"No, you didn't," Jack answered staring into his beer. After a 
couple of minutes, he glanced over at the television. It had been 
muted with the closed caption on. He read the words that crossed 
the screen and said, "Turn up the television."

The bartender turned to look at the television and swore, "Shit. 
Don't tell me they got another one."

Walking over to the television, he hit the mute button and the 
sound came back. The news story was about another teenage boy 
who had been found murdered behind one of the area high schools. 
On hearing the name of the high school, Jack said, "That's in the 
next town over. It's getting closer to us."

"I don't understand why anyone would do that," the bartender said 
shaking his head. They listened as the news reporter announced 
that there were no new leads. All that was known was that the boy 
hadn't shown up at home after school. After a wide spread search, 
the body had been found in some woods behind the school. This 
was the third death of its kind in the area. Like the others, the boy 
had been raped before he had been killed. 

"Sick. That's what it is, real sick. Raping and murdering a boy is 
just sick," Jack said. Although there were lots of dangers for girls, 
at the moment he was glad that he had a daughter. At least this 
wasn't a threat to her.

"I hope they kill the bastard when they catch him," the bartender 
said.

Jack took another sip of his beer. Frowning, he said, "Some liberal 
asshole lawyer will just claim he ate too many cookies and that 
caused him to kill the boys. He'll get off."

"You're probably right."

Jack took another sip of his beer. He decided that all of his troubles 
were really just a sign of the times. He said, "The world sure was a 
lot easier thirty years ago. Things made sense."

Old enough to know better, the bartender said, "It wasn't any 
clearer then than today. Sick crimes have always happened. 
Families have always had their fights. Men have always had to 
worry about providing for their families."

"Shit, my wife works. I don't know what we'd do without her 
paycheck," Jack said picking up on the last item in the list of things 
that didn't change. The fact that she had to work was an injury to 
his pride. 

"That's nothing new. My mother used to wash laundry to help the 
family pay the rent. My second wife worked as a waitress serving 
up corned beef hash and burgers so that we could eat tuna fish 
casseroles. The more things change, the more they stay the same."

"My mother didn't work." He looked over at the bartender taking 
in his age. The guy was old enough to be retired. He wondered 
why he wasn't retired.

"That's where you're wrong, son. She worked and she worked 
hard. I bet she made the clothes that you, your brothers and your 
sisters wore. She probably made her own clothes. I wouldn't be 
surprised if she didn't have a little vegetable garden in your 
backyard. Maybe she wasn't bringing in money, but she was 
working to save your father money."

He'd never thought about it like that. Maybe life wasn't as 
straightforward for his parents as he had always thought. He said, 
"I never thought about that."

"Every dollar she saved was a buck and a dime your daddy didn't 
have to earn."

Jack finished his beer. Almost immediately his bladder started 
demanding some attention. He stood to go to the bathroom and 
said, "I'll be right back."

The bartender looked down at his customer's feet and asked, 
"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," the bartender said with a 
smile.

"Why?"

"No shoes. Are you really going to walk into a barroom bathroom 
wearing socks?" He wasn't going to mention that he had just 
finished mopping the floor and it was about as clean as it ever got. 
This was a chance to get rid of the guy before he hurt himself. It 
was rare that he got one of the unhappy husbands home after just 
one beer.

Looking down at his feet, Jack realized the bartender was right. 
The idea of wet socks was bad enough, but urine soaked socks 
nearly made him sick to his stomach. Looking up at the bartender, 
he said, "I've really got to piss."

"Want some advice?"

"Yes." Jack knew that it wouldn't be long before he was going to 
be doing the pee-pee dance. 

"Get into your car, drive home, use the bathroom there, and then 
get your shoes. Once you've got your shoes, then you can decide 
what you want to do."

"Okay."

"Well get going before you piss yourself!" He snorted while he 
watched Jack leave the bar without paying. He wasn't upset by that 
little fact. If the guy came back tonight, that would mean another 
marriage failed and he'd collect his money then. That would bother 
him. If he didn't come back right away, then there was hope for 
them. As far as he was concerned, it was a no lose situation. He 
picked up the glass and started to wash it. 
<1st attachment end>


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