You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

JAYNE

When I returned to Oregon from six years in Saudi Arabia, I sought employment instead of trying to reestablish an architectural practice. The job I took was that of a project manager with Kaiser Permanente. As such I was to manage the budgets and schedules as well as the selection of the architect, and the general contractor for each project assigned to me. At the same time my wife Maura was pursuing a divorce and I was in the process of moving out of the house and into an apartment. I was a little depressed but not as much as I was with my first divorce.

It was not long before I had contacted a woman who had hinted at interest in me. She and I began a long distance affair as she lived in Sata Cruz, on the coast of California. She and I made several exchange visits over the Spring of and Summer of 1989. This romance was hot sexually, but not successful when it came to establishing a long term relationship. It was lively and fun while it lasted but it became apparent to me that we would not be living together. She was a take charge woman. There was one incident which cemented my feeling that it was not going to last. It occurred when she launched into plans to move in with me including her intent clear my house of all guns. This would include my 22 caliber rifle and pistol to which I had an emotional attachment. They had belonged to my dad. They were part of my outdoor experiences with my dad before he left the family.

When that fling ended, I dated another Kaiser employee, Sandi. She was in upper management and aspired to move up. She seemed to be concerned that someone in management would learn that she was dating another employee. She also seemed more interested in sex than in me. I was still seeing her occasionally when someone said “You should meet Jayne.” Jayne was a secretary in another Kaiser department. Seeing that my current interest with Sandi was not likely to go very far, I responded “Yes, I would like to meet her.”

When we met, I learned that she walked during the lunch hour, when it wasn’t raining. I asked if I could walk with her. Jayne was my age and, like me, recently divorced. We frequently walked during the lunch hour over the Summer of 1990. Though our walks were limited in time by the lunch hour, they were a good opportunity to talk. We talked of many things, superficial and personal. Among the things I told her was about my dating Sand . I didn’t mention her name. Through our many walks, we became friends. The Fall brought more frequent rain and fewer walks. After one rainy period, I missed seeing her so I invited her out to dinner. We met at a Mexican restaurant which was located about 5 miles from each of our homes. As we talked became apparent that our walks had resulted in something more than a casual friendship. When dinner was over I walked with her to her car. We embraced, she got into her car and opened her window to say good night. I stepped close to the window and said. “Jayne You could drive home, or you could follow me to my house and spend the night with me.” She paused only a second before saying “Lead the way.” We were as compatible in bed as we were when walking. After making love she curled up on her side facing away from me. I snuggled against her back. We slept in a position which she fondly referred to as “spoons.” We continued dating through that Winter.

While dating Jayne I continued to occasionally see Sandi. I justified having a sexual relationship with two women by thinking of them as intimate friendships. The concept of “friends with privileges” was current at that time. Jayne knew about Sandi, and visa versa. Neither spoke of the other. They seemed willing to accept our relationship as being intimate friends. Sandi and I went to dinner at home of a friend of mine. He and Sandi were drawn to each other. My friend assumed my roll in fulfilling Sandi’s need for male companionship. They formed a stronger bond than she and I could have had. They eventually married. I was not upset, as it seemed to be an inevitable outcome, given her more casual friendship with me. I felt some pleasure that I had brought them together. In any case, I had a more compatible intimate friend in Jayne.

When Summer brought warm weather, and the snow in the Cascades had melted, Jayne and I began camping on weekends. We tried several locations before settling on one beside the head waters of the Tualatin River. We had to climb down a steep hillside to get to it so we packed no tent. A mature cedar sheltered the camp site. I had a pair of sleeping bags which could be zipped together to make a double bed and a queen sized air mattress. Under that magnificent cedar and the stars in the absolutely black sky we made love, snuggled together like spoons and slept. We went there several times and came to considered it to be our own private camp site as it seemed no one else knew it existed.

While hiking in the forest around our camp site, we came across a large hidden forest camp. It was empty at the time but had recently been occupied by what seemed to be a large group. We had heard that there were paramilitary groups which “trained” at secret camps in the Cascades. It seemed that we had stumbled onto one of them.

Jayne had never shot a gun and wanted to try it. So on a subsequent trip, I brought my 22 caliber pistol. We had been busy with hikes and cooking through the weekend and forgot about the gun. On Sunday, while packing to go home, I found the gun tucked away in the bottom of my back pack. Reminded that she wished to do some plinking, I set up a shooting range with cans on a log against the hill side. We fired 20 or 30 rounds at the cans before packing our gear out to my truck. As we were loading the truck, we heard the reports of a high-powered rifle. It was coming from our camp site. I thought it may have been someone from the vigilante camp who had heard our shooting at cans and come to chase us out of his forest. Regardless of who it may have been, we considered it to be a threat and quickly drove away. We never returned to “our private camp site”.

While Jayne and I were in a caring relationship, it was not without one troublesome issue. Jayne would become angry with me for some transgression which I never could know. This was because she would give me the silent treatment. In a child it is known as pouting. I would ask what was the matter? She would reply with one word--”Nothing!” This became so common that I asked her father “Did Jayne pouted a lot when she was a child? He chuckled as he replied “Did she ever!” For some men the silent treatment would be shrugged off. For me, the silent treatment worked differently because I would be concerned for her feelings. Resulting in my being upset by the fact that she would not tell me what was bothering her. I prefer to talk through problems rather than to let them smolder. I remember thinking after one such episode “Well then if we are not talking, there is no reason for me to stay here. I may as well go home.” But, of course, I didn’t.

There were more good times than these difficult ones. We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. We were good friends and lovers. One time I asked her “If I am sick with the prospect of dying, will you make love with me one last time?” She said “yes”.

Eventually, I found that the silent evenings had become too much. The intervals between our seeing each other became longer. This gave her more reason for displeasure with me, resulting in more silence. Finally, I stopped calling her.

About a year later, I was living with a Japanese woman who had quit making love, claiming her age had diminished her interest in sex. I had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, and had elected to have a prostatectomy. I was advised that there was a 50% chance that the operation would damage the nerve which is instrumental in stimulating erections. I thought of the promise Jayne had made to make love with me if I were dying. I called her and reminded her of that promise. I explained my situation that while I was not dying, it was a kind of sexual death that I was facing. I asked if she would be willing? She informed me that she was seeing another man but agreed to my request. We arranged a lunch date followed by a stop at my house to make love one last time. When that day came, we lingered over lunch, eventually I asked, “Are you willing to go to my house?” She said “Yes, I was wondering why we were taking so long with this lunch.” We drove to my house, immediately undressed and crawled into bed. After making love we continued to lay together as spoons, dozing, remembering times like this in our past, and occasionally talking, but mostly just enjoying our being next to one another. It was difficult to give up our togetherness so we made love a second time, the last time. Eventually we got up, dressed, and I drove Jayne home.

Months later, on Jayne’s birthday, we met for lunch. By then Jayne’s other man had moved in with her. After that lunch, when I dropped her off at her house, she asked “Tod, what happened between us?” I tried to explain my reaction to her silent treatment, and my feelings of anxiety over having hurt her in some way with no means to resolve it. I told her that these events became untenable. I couldn’t see how it would be possible for either of us to change sufficiently to make it work. I don’t think she understood my explanation nor how her silence could have been such a big problem for me.

That was in Summer of 2005. We talked occasionally over the following year. I broke up with my Japanese “partner” and moved to Astoria. I lost touch with Jayne. Last July (2025) I received a call. The caller said “This is John Berchtold, Jayne’s Son. I am calling to tell you mom died in June. I thought you aught to know. She always thought a lot of you.” I am deeply saddened by Jayne’s death. I wish that I could have seen her to tell her how much she meant to me and to have told her goodbye.