Cat Tracks with WildcatOne: Close Encounters
I am not a perfect husband. My wife is not a perfect wife. We both have to live with those facts. In my experience, I have learned that marriage, for me at least, is a never-ending series of compromises, reaching levels and layers I never dreamed could happen. I never completely "get my way." I can only accept whatever gratuitous blessings I receive and try to deal with the losses. I have had some things happen that did make me realize that I am about as good a husband as I am capable of being under the circumstances, though. We have had a somewhat unique relationship. We've been married twice to each other. There was a 10-year-long divorce between us, but when we got back together in '95 and got remarried in '96, we both made the permanent commitment to each other forever.

As I understand it, the current statistic is that 80% of all married men are unfaithful to their wives, whether it's one time or all the time. And by unfaithful they mean that they have had an extramarital affair with another woman. The opportunity has come to me a few times, but I didn't go for it. Since I work a second job as a semi-professional musician in the Houston area, there have been some close encounters that have given me a chance to reflect once they were behind me. The most recent two times were this year. One was part of a gig I played in South Houston, and the other could have happened to anybody. Here they are.

Please note that these are adult situations and I'm using straight-ahead language and descriptions. If you do not wish to read these stories, please stop here and everything's cool. Thanks. Wildcat One

The Xcalibur Girl. In March of this year, I was going out one night to get some drive-through dinner for my family. I usually cook dinner now, but on this occasion, we all just felt like having some good old fast food. So, I went to the ATM down the street to get the money. I'm sure we have all noticed that a new kind of store has turned up in the strip-malls around our neighborhoods. They have blackened windows and they usually have just one word at the top. "Lifestyles." "Xcalibur." And so on. What these places are, well, they are little strip-joints where a guy can stop off on the way home and get a quick blow job. There are a few girls working there and they sell you a drink and turn their backs from you while the girl comes over and gives you a quickie. Of course, they are watching the parking lot while this is going on in case a cop shows up, but it's a place where a guy can walk in and with $50, get what his wife won't do for him after a stressful day on the job.

The ATM I use is right in the parking lot in front of one of these places. I got the money and as I was turning across the parking lot and making my way past the building, out from behind the wall jumps a young, beautiful and very sexy girl. She gets in front of the van and waves at me to stop. I stop. She comes around the passenger side, opens the door, and gets in. I was immediately hit with waves of perfume and fresh soap in the air. She had just jumped out of a shower. She says "Hi, Johnny. How ya doing?" I'd never seen her before in my life. I looked at her. I said "Uh, pretty good. How are you?" She says, "You want to spend some time with me? Take me to my place over on Bissonnet. It's near here. You got monies?" I said, "Well, yes. I'm going to KFC to get some food for my kids. Do you need a ride home or something?" She is looking at me and she goes, "Oh, that's OK. I thought you had money to spend on me. Listen, man, I'll see you later. I gotta go." She gets out, closes the door, and walks back behind the wall. I went ahead and split.

I realized that I had just been solicited by a prostitute... a very good-looking one, at that. Whether or not she was a cop and that was a sting operation, I don't know. Could be that her Bandito boyfriend was waiting over at her place on Bissonnet with a lead pipe in his hand to greet my head when we showed up. But right off the top, I was stammering to her that I am a family man and the last thing I would imagine doing would be to pay her some money for sex on a Tuesday evening. It's not that I'm a sexual dud or anything, but she ain't my wife and the thought don't enter my head to grab some chick I don't know and have sex with her, no matter how spontaneous the situation might be. I just went on and got the fast food. I never said anything about it to Debby and we all ate a nice, hot KFC dinner that night.

The Ice House Madonna. About a month and a half ago, I was playing the biweekly jam at Park Grocery, a big drive-in ice house in South Houston. Another band showed up and was playing the last set. It was around 10 minutes to 10 p.m. on a Sunday evening. I gradually started across the room, heading for my guitar cases and gig bag, to start packing up my stuff as soon as the band finished their last song. I was on a 45-degree collision course with Mary, the waitress there. We collided in the middle of the room and we did a side-step two-step and I said, "Well, what the heck. Let's dance." So, we danced for a few seconds. I gave her a twirl and sent her on her way to the office. No problem. I turn around and here's another chick standing in front of me with her arms open, smiling. She says "How 'bout me?" This lady had been there since I showed up at 5:30, drinking and partying and carrying on. She was good-looking, but by ice house standards, she was fucking Madonna.

I was not prepared for this. I said, "OK, here we go" and I went to dance with her. She jumped up and wrapped around me like a cheap suit. Ran her hand up the back of my neck into my hair and planted her mouth on my neck, and lifted her legs up off the floor and wrapped them around mine, holding onto my ass with one hand and the back of my head with the other, and she planted her crotch between my legs and she was moving up and down. She wasn't the least bit interested in my holding one of her hands with my other hand around her waist, like a gentleman would do. She mounted me in the missionary position, right in front of everybody. I'm like stumbling around carrying her and she's panting and heaving and sweating and just giving me the business, and I hear Ronnie the bandleader say "Johnny B's dancing, so we're gonna stretch it out..." and they did, for 7 1/2 minutes.

Thanks, Ronnie! The only place I could put my hands without her slipping off of me and falling onto the dance floor was to cup her ass in them. She loved it. The guy she had been with was a big redneck who didn't dance and he was eyeing this, stroking his long goatee. Everybody in the whole place was watching us. I put up my hands to him and I said "I ain't doing nothing to her, man!" He grinned and nodded to me, like "Go ahead." So I had to finish up that gig with this chick wrapped around me, wobbling around in front of the band. I was pretty flabbergasted by it. She wanted to hang on to me after the song finished. She was asking me about my van... but I politely went over to my stuff and started putting it up. She got the message and she went back over to her friend. I immediately felt a shock when she first jumped up on me. I knew it wasn't Debby.

It usually happens every time I play somewhere, some lady has had a drink or two and she comes up to me and flirts. I flirt, too, but in a good-natured way. Since I got married, I always wear my wedding ring. That has helped to curtail the libido that goes down at a gig for Johnny B and the Wildcats. But there are some that don't see it or pay any attention to it. I appreciate my wife understanding that I'm a musician and I play a wild set of songs -- most of which are about sex -- when I'm playing with that band. Johnny B has a reputation as a rock n' roll doctor, and the show that band puts on deals with a lot of clichés and innuendos that surround the inevitable outcome of a night of partying heavily in a club between two consenting adults.

I know, it's wild. It's rated "R." But they don't know ME. They couldn't possibly know whom it is they're talking to. I get paid, I pack up my stuff, and I go home to my family afterwards. It's a show, nothing else. Johnny B works for me. There have been a few times when Debby gets up and gives me and the band a spectacular dance that expresses desire and sexual passion. I turn around and the band is looking at me with their mouths open, and they look at Debby and go, Wow. That's something that kinda makes me proud, because it shows that the music is doing its job. I haven't been getting mixed up with ladies I don't know or ones I do know, for that matter. That incident just reminded me of how much I love Debby and how much I miss her when I'm out playing.

Even when I was single, I didn't get into the groupie thing...much. I had a few experiences with them and they always turned out to be nothing but trouble. Just not worth the payoff compared to the hell they could dish out afterwards. But now, it's not an option at all. I told Debby about it the next day. She asked me, "Did you have sex with her?" I said "No." She said, "Well, no harm done. She probably wanted to dance all night and that guy didn't dance with her and you were the only guy in there who'd dance with her and she did her thing on you." Well put, Deb. Thanks.

Like I say, I'm not perfect. Debby ain't, either. But somehow we've managed to stay together for seven years this time. Overall, it's the happiest and most well-adjusted I've ever been in my life. I want it to last forever. I suppose we could be a lot worse. As it is, we've kept our vows and lived up to them, for better or for worse.

Cheers, Wildcat One