Bayou Recompense

"Find yourself a woman that isn't attached to some other swinging dick and your love life will be a hell of a lot more pleasing. There's millions of them out there, believe me."

I was maybe 15 when he told me that and I had been doing chores for a woman down the road whose husband was an OTR truck driver. Charles knew her reputation for chasing strange and her predilection for much younger playthings. It was good advice. Her husband found her in bed with a fellow from Prairieville and shot both of them. He didn't kill either one but he spent 6 years at Dixon and she walks with a gimp to this day.

It was getting harder to heed Charles advice on that particular evening but then Cynthia made it easy. After a couple of drinks and banter, she and Nancy called it a night with a hug and a kiss, from each. I ended up sitting at the bar contemplating finishing my beer or going upstairs to manually tend to my frustrations. I compromised and did both.

The rest of the week was a blur of activity with meetings of all the principals involved on the project and by weeks end everybody had settled on the sky bridge approach. I called into my home office and let them know I was staying on through the following week to scope out our involvement.

I had not seen Cynthia since the night of our dinner and Friday evening found me surveying the revelers at play in the bar. A retro disco band had set up for the night and thumping strains of K.C. & the Sunshine Band covers were reverberating across the checkerboard lit dance floor.

Her hand slipped onto my shoulder and caressed the tense muscles as I turned and caught her blue eyes.

"I'm surprised some Mississippi honey hasn't already lassoed your Louisiana ass by now."

"I've kept it glued to the seat so far."

"Let's change that."

Cynthia led the way out onto the dance floor and put on a demonstration of how to be immaculately dressed, work her ass to a sexy beat and do it all in heels all the while keeping her eyes on mine the whole time. We did a slow number the next time and I noticed the ring on her finger. It wasn't a large glittering rock. For that matter it didn't look like a wedding ring at all. It was a simple small ring with an opal in the middle of it.

"Don't you think Mr. Bishop might be a bit disturbed to find his woman in another man's arms tonight?"

"He's off to a party in Houston for a couple classmates from 'Ole Miss. He'll be back in time for your meeting with the team on Monday morning."

"Well, that's not exactly what I meant." I replied questioningly. The song finished and I recommended we grab our drinks and a table.

"What I meant is I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate me keeping his woman entertained this evening. It makes for uncomfortable dinner talk, don't you think?"

"Oh I'm sure he'd be a bit miffed to see me working up a sweat with a muffin like you but I know for a fact I've got no cause to tell him."

The waitress came by to get our order for new drinks and Cynthia took the moment to cross her legs allowing the deep slit in her dress to offer a sensuous reveal of long, firm thigh. She knew what she was doing to me because I had to adjust my pants to keep from tenting, again.

"So, why didn't you go with him to the party?" I asked with genuine curiosity if only to distract myself from the charms trying to peek out at me.

"I don't know any of those people and to tell you the truth I hate those kinds of things, especially in Houston. Besides, I'd rather be right here with you."

At that moment, she stood up excitedly and started waving her hands and shouting 'Over here, over here'. Three amigos were standing at the bar, each dressed to kill in heels and similar style dresses. Priscilla, Candice and Nancy, from the other night, walked over and pulled another table in next to the one we were at.

"I see you found your beefcake." Candice grinned. "Are you sharing?"

All four of them thought that was funny as hell and in the midst of the beauty all I could do was smile along with them and thank my lucky stars. The truth is if it were not for the ring on Cynthia's hand, I would have preferred to have kept the table between the two of us. As it were I could only dwell in the fragrances of each woman; hard duty some might think.

The rest of the evening was immersed in a quick study of how all four of the women moved on the floor, slow and fast. Candice wasn't kidding about sharing and she made her intentions evident especially with the slow numbers. Unfortunately for her and perhaps me, Cynthia cut in.

"There's plenty of manscape in here for her to play with." She whispered in my ear while on the dancefloor.

"Maybe, but she seems interested in Cajun cookery and I do know my way around the saucy recipes."

"I know that all too well, don't I?"

That's how the banter went and by the time we settled back at the table Candice and Nancy had hooked up with a couple very fortunate young men as I counted my losses.

"Don't look so glum, Mr. Blanchard. The night is still young!" Cynthia had a big grin splashed across her face.

"Priscilla, let's dance."

With that I left the Mrs. Cynthia Dawes Bishop sitting at the table and Priscilla put me through her paces.

"You know she has every intention of having a repeat of that fabulous night the two of you had before she and Michael had their announcement dinner?"

"Well, that may be but my long ingrained code of conduct tells me that Michael Bishop will have nothing to worry about from me."

She just chuckled to herself and glanced around the room briefly. "Oh my, I don't see Mr. Bishop anywhere at all" and she then erupted in gleeful laughter as we returned to the table. The others were back by then and Cynthia had ordered a round for the table.

"Here's to a great evening and ladies, Mr. Blanchard and I need to tend to some more attentive matters."

"Here, here" was the refrain in unison from all three of the young women as I sat there a bit perplexed. The three of them rose up and mingled back into the crowd.

"Now, Maynard, let's go see if the maids fluffed your pillows properly?"

She was turning into a seductress before my eyes and Charles admonition began to ring in my ears. 'Don't fuck married pussy ... don't fuck married pussy.. Don't'.

"Cynthia, I don't think you've forgotten how I feel about chasing after another man's woman. It's just not how I am."

She looked down at her ring finger and her face became instantly animated.

"Oh, this? Oh, I can take care of that." She slipped the ring off her finger and deposited into her clutch.

"There, now I'm no longer married and now you can chase after your woman, Maynard." She purred.

Charles had never covered this scenario with me so I was a little bit fluxed.

"Seriously, Maynard, Michael and I never did marry. Take me upstairs and I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

My expression must have spoken volumes because Cynthia rose from the table and took my hand leading me toward the elevator bank. Of course I simply followed the delicious morsel like a fly caught in Charlotte's web. She was reeling me in for the kill, taken and devoured...

I had missed it immensely once I found it again; I just didn't know how bad a spell she had on me. In hindsight I have to admit I was royally pussy whipped. It was so good there wasn't much I wouldn't have done for her. The next morning she told me her story over Danish and coffee.

"Well, you see we did have the Announcement Party and Michael went and put a great big giant diamond on my finger. That was all good and well except there was an objection and she sure as heck made sure she was heard. After Daddy had the announcements published in the paper she must have figured out she was getting stiffed."

"Who is 'she'?" I interjected.

"Why his baby-momma, of course. Not just any baby-momma, mind you. Michael had knocked up Miss Monique Pressler whose family bank rolls just about every major project in Mississippi including several of Daddy's ventures, Lender's State as well.

"Daddy pulled him aside and asked him if it was true what the Pressler's were telling him and he admitted it. We are a little old fashioned here, Maynard. In some families, mine and the Pressler's among others, you knock up one of the precious baby daughters and you got yourself a wife!"

She actually laughed.

"So the marriage was off and that was kept low key for a while until Michael and Monique had their big wedding. I guess I was pissed at first but I got over it real quick. I figured I was saving myself for you."

Even I thought that was funny.

"So what now?" I asked her.

"You're going to be my husband and we are going to live happily ever after here in Jackson."

She was so sure of herself; I even started to believe it.

"Why is your father still keeping Bishop around?"

"Family obligations plus I asked him too. I still like Michael. He fucked up but he gave his baby a name and didn't run off or anything. He's just not going to be my husband; you are."...

"You poor young pussy whipped swinging dick." Charles bellowed when I related the events of my return to Jackson. "You'd do better to hook up with that hot momma you were with in Memphis than marry some rich spoiled fancy pants girl like that.

"I betcha she makes you sign a prenuptial agreement too. If she does, make her sign one. Hell, you'll be rolling in dirt when I kick off." He roared with that and poured another sniffer.

Charles was like that most of the time. He got a big kick out of my exploits with Bella but he was serious about the prenuptials. I was his only heir and one day I'd have more dirt in the form of land than I would know what to do with. He did have one final piece of advice regarding Cynthia which I wish I had paid more mind to.

"Son, if you marry that girl, you just keep your eyes open and your nose about your business. Those rich folk have a whole other set of morals about them. They can't help it; it's how they were raised. You, well, you're damn near a coon-ass or at least you would have been if your momma, God rest her soul where ever to hell she is -"

"California, Charles." I interrupted.

"Oh yes, anyways, we have our own ways to deal with rich swinging dicks that come sniffing around pussy that's spoken for. Some fellow in a fucking fancy suit start chasing after your woman, just remember that. There's more than a few gators with a taste for blue blood in some of these bayous."

Yeah, he's old school I remember thinking at the time...

As I said, I was pussy whipped with the best and that remains my excuse. Cynthia and I were married after a long talk with Daddy Dawes. I had to remember not to laugh when I thought of that moniker but he was serious; there were rules of decorum in becoming a member of the family and it was to be my great privilege.

All in all, Cecil Dawes was a good man and a fair man. I agreed to keep his daughter in Jackson when my company allowed me to work out of a local office in Jackson rather than run to New Orleans. I still had a good bit of travel to deal with although Cecil did his best to convince me to come to work for him even though I turned him down every time. Eventually the company promoted me to regional manager and I was off the road for the most part...

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

The first few years of marriage were what most would call blissful. We jumped each other's bones on a regular and frequent basis. Of course I had to put up with the expected dinners and grand events hosted out on the Dawes estate with all their pretentious airs but I really didn't mind Daddy Dawes at all. I could talk to him as a man and not some chicken shit subordinate without him taking offense.

Just before our fourth anniversary a quick secession of events occurred that upset everybody's expectations and plans going forward. The first event was the sudden death of Cecil Dawes one afternoon at a charity golf tournament. He dropped dead of a heart attack, folding over like an empty sack. His wife, Emily, didn't skip a beat. The relationship should be noted first.

Cynthia's mother had died when she was a young girl and Cecil married Emily when Cynthia was fourteen. There never was any love lost between the two women over the years but Cecil was wise enough to ensure that Cynthia would be well taken care of all the while providing his second wife with enough influence and 'prestige' to keep her satisfied and domesticated.

Upon Cecil's death, my wife inherited 45% of her father's estate, 35% to Emily and of all surprises he left me 20%. These were also voting shares for B&D. Emily also had a seat on the Board of Directors for Bishop & Dawes and in collusion with a majority of the board, placed Michael Bishop at the helm of the company.

With the dividend stream from her inheritance Cynthia 'retired' from the firm at the ripe age of twenty seven and took up the art of charitable social work. Emily on the other hand married Michael Bishop's father-in-law, the esteemed Fox Pressler. As a result the boards of both family firms were 'cross-pollinated'. Cynthia just took a disinterest unless there was a board meeting or investors conference she had to attend.

The second big event was the death of Cynthia's grandmother on her mother's side. Mabel Nason was old money going back to the War Between the States when some great-great grandfather or some such had the foresight to convert most of his holdings outside of his ante-bellum home into bullion which was sufficiently stored away from prying Union hands.

Mabel left the sprawling home to Cynthia and the couple of Maynard Blanchard and Cynthia Dawes-Blanchard took up residence in about a third of the rooms of the stately mansion along the Natchez Trace.

Lastly, my mentor and only blood east of the Mississippi, Charles P Maynard passed on due to his being tired of living at the age of eighty seven. He left me everything he owned including the house in Baton Rouge. He told me once he would have left something to my mother if he could have ever figured out just where in hell she was; his words.

Mother came back to Baton Rouge for the funeral and I'd have to say she looked pretty good for a forty five year old working on her third marriage. She was California healthy with a good tan and everything done up nice. The man with her was some sixtyish looking gold digger who probably kept her around for pussy and her pocketbook.

Marie Blanchard Parker Simpson had struck gold in Sacramento with Arthur Simpson III who bequeathed her a fucking fortune when he passed away from a sexually induced heart attack three years earlier. It was the stuff Charles had lived to laugh over and here she was presiding over his rather unobtrusive funeral; he only allowed Mother, me, Cynthia, his attorney and a little widow woman he kept on the side even at his advanced age.

Once we had him covered with several bucket loads of his own dirt, well, technically it was to be my dirt when it was done, we all sat down in the parlor of Charles' big house and the attorney went over his will. As mentioned before I was the sole heir but there was a letter addressed to me asking me to make some provision to people as I saw fit.

We didn't go over the particulars but I did see fit to provide a small stipend to the comfort widow. Mother wasn't interested in anything so we concluded the business and all of us returned to our own affairs.

When the dust settled I was now what I had always heard Charles call 'land rich with an empty wallet'. I had land holdings in Louisiana, Mississippi and east Texas; mostly timberland and a good bit of leased farmland as well. There was a modest bank balance and two commercial buildings in downtown Baton Rouge along with the house. My instruction to the attorney was to keep it all in a portfolio and I'd manage the investments periodically. The lease stream revenues would continue as before being deposited in the bank account per my review.

I really didn't have time for it. My job was keeping me busy and with Cynthia's schedule I left most matters to the attorney...

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

All of Cynthia's Pussy Parade as I called them married well and were living leisurely lives somewhere in the Crossroads of the South as Jackson is sometimes referred to. Priscilla and Candice both married well- heeled lawyers, each of them at least a dozen years older than their brides. Nancy hooked up with a former Ole Miss Football hero who was then a state senator looking to run for Congress when he could collect enough graft to pull it off.

In their free time, The Nason place on Natchez Trace was their preferred location to ensconce with Queen Cynthia holding court. I suppose I really didn't mind much. All of them were fine eye candy and given the near absence of clothing out by the pool I enjoyed many an afternoon just sipping my beer behind the eye shades.

Married life continued unabated for the both of us with nothing seemingly out of place or askance for the next several years until what I've come to refer to as the 'Conversation'...

"Nancy, have you decided who you are going to take on as your replacement for Bo yet?" Priscilla asked one afternoon by the pool. I was working in the pump house trying to fix one of the salt filters and just tending to my own business.

"Girl, I tried out a couple of them last week and Ben was a fucking dud. He could only get it up once and that was just to get his nut. Now, Santos, that boy, he's another matter. That motherfucker plows it on autopilot one right after the other, just like a fucking ever-ready."

"Damn, that sounds like fucking Michael, eh, Ms. Blanchard??" Candice said just a bit too loud to my wife.

"Jesus, woman, keep it down. He's right in the house there." She replied nodding to the house and referring to me while breaking into soft laughter. "These are things that husbands don't need to know about, you know?"

"Amen to that." Priscilla added. "Although, girl, I don't know why you need Michael around with your own stock of prime to take care of that business."

"There isn't a respectable woman we know that doesn't keep a man on the side unless she's some poor schmo who can't afford it." Nancy chimed in.

"Cynthia, Michael's been banging you as long as you've been married, longer. Why haven't you changed racehorses?" One of them asked.

"Michael got her sized for her first training bra!" Candice added to peals of laughter from the others.

Cynthia was chuckling along with the others and then she added. "If Michael wasn't fucking me, there wouldn't be anybody else. That's just how it is. So, Nancy, Santos is the one? Big dick?"

From there the conversation degenerated and I retreated back into the house through the service entrance. We had been married for over twelve years by then and considering how I felt at the moment 12 minutes longer might be too much. I poured a cold beer and retreated to my personal man space in the wine cellar and decided that the Conversation needed a Plan...

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

"Jesus, Maynard that is just plain fucking nice." The young lady was late twenties but she looked years younger with her hand wrapped around my engorged prick. Her mouth followed her comments right down to the mushroom head and she slowly stroked it up and down.

The girl had been a regular at a bar in downtown Baton Rouge working for a law firm and spending her free evenings learning the finer points of nine ball and becoming quite adept with a cue. She beat me in a run of three and I ended up buying her drinks until the young thing agreed to fuck me in the large master bedroom of the house Charles left me years earlier.

Slick, buttery, wet and hot... Those adjectives come quick to mind when I think of Wendy. She soon became a regular 'friend' when I was in Baton Rouge. Part of the Plan was to go back on the road or at least give the appearance of such. Instead of burning up frequent flyer miles I opted to pop into the old home frequently and tend to the portfolio the old man left in my care. I spent half my time in Baton Rouge, a third of it staying on top of my holdings and the remaining smidgeon of time was occupied in the delightful lair of my beautiful and adulterous whore of a wife.