Chapter 42 The Maelstrom of a Woman’s Mind

This was not Bartlesville, but Tulsa and I was no longer working at Phillips Petroleum, but it is an interesting and bizarre story of that which women are capable.

I was working for a small company in Ochelata at the time…yeah  Ochelata…look that up on a map, it’s a virtual ghost town now, a few miles off of US 75 north or Ramona.

My wife was pregnant and we wanted to move into a less expensive rental house.  So we moved from up on 71^st at the top of the hill across from where Bennigan’s used to be, to a smaller place over near  49^th street on a cul de sac.  The house had just been vacated…rapidly as it turned out.  We were told we would get a free month’s rent if we cleaned the place out ourselves.  So I figured that it was an easy $500 bucks.

There was heaps of clothing in the garage and in the living room along with other sundry crap.  I just gathered it all up and trashed it.  Cleaning out the laundry room cabinet I found a diary. 

I kept it for a few years afterwards, but finally trashed it.

I am not superstitious but I believe that book was second only to the Necronomicon in the level of bad mojo it contained.  It was not bound in human skin, nor was it going to raise the Army of Darkness.  I do believe it was bad.   In fact reading it made you feel a little dirty.  It was like it had this aura of evil around it, and if you held it too long, or read too much of it in one sitting, some of the filth it contained clung to you.  It could be that whoever held it had a curse on having a lasting relationship. Lol.

I have never ever felt that way.  I mean you can read or watch porn, but you know that is fiction.  It is designed to push certain buttons, it’s almost in the realm of being a tool, fulfilling a function.

I kind of think reading from the diary was more like watching a snuff film.  It was disturbing because you know it was all true.  You could see where it was heading, and when I first found it, I was standing in the detritus of the book’s final chapter, only it had not been written down.

The book was a diary of some Cowgirl’s expedition to find a husband. 

She recorded each sexual encounter she had, what kind of penetration there was and so on.  It was pretty clear her intent was to have sex with a likely guy, get knocked up, then set the hook in him good.

Once she got pregnant the rest of the diary documented her efforts to narrow down which unfortunate schmuck’s spermatozoa did the egg penetration.

It was in narrative form, as if she was talking to herself or an imaginary friend as she tried to logically deduce which cocksman had done the deed.

If she had engaged in anal sex, the guy was obviously off the hook.

 

And so it went.  Encounter after encounter as she worked her way backward through a forest of stiff dicks.

Eventually she settled on a likely guy.  Not sure if the poor patsy was the actual father, or just the first of a few likely suspects that caved in and claimed paternity. 

Well, they got married and the quest finished, the Grail filled, the entries stopped.

Considering that the diary had been left behind and was in a pile of cloths on the floor, that the poor hoodwinked  guy stumbled onto this treasure trove of decadence and surmised he had been had. 

It might be that the kid actually WAS his, but the lurid details contained in the diary made it pretty obvious the owner was on a mission to find a husband so she would not have to work and her methodology was to have sex with every swinging dick in Tulsa till she snagged one. 

Now if the guy insisted on wearing a condom, she listed that too.  She hung in there for a while hoping I guess that she could hit an unprotected gusher and would be in then money.  

I cannot say, but the revelation of the diary may have led to the precipitous dissolution of the marriage. 

It’s a tragedy for the kid of course, as it always is.  I have always felt a little dirty when I think back to that diary.  Not due to the invasion of someone’s privacy, but due to the outright and unabashed attitude of the woman who kept it.  I am not quite sure what word to use to describe her.  Mercenary and calculating do not do it justice.  Maybe degenerate gold digger would do it, but that still does not explain why I feel dirty.  Maybe it is the callous disregard she had for not only the guy’s feelings, the cold way in which she set out to use some guy’s feelings of responsibility to “do the right thing” against him, and then there is the cold blooded way she brought a kid into the world simply to use as a pawn to seal what she hoped was a lucrative mercenary deal.