Part 19-Y: Esther LeBaron McDonald de Spencer —
and Polygamy On The Down-Low
Is God then so ignorant of things,
so unacquainted with the human heart
that He has to find out about a man by testing him?
Of course not. It is in order that a person
may find out about himself.
There are things in a person which are
hidden from the person in whom they are.
And they won’t come out, or be opened up, or discovered,
except through tests and trials and temptations.
If God stops testing,
it means the Master is stopping teaching …
you do not know yourself unless you learn yourself
through trial, temptation, and testing.
St. Augustine of Hippo (430 A.D.)
I left off in “My Memoir: Esther LeBaron McDonald de Spencer — And Polygamy On The Down-Low, Part 19-X” relating:
When my husband Bill came home around 3 AM, and then to our bed, our first night in Guadalajara, Mexico, I approached him to make love, having no idea gay Billy and his beaus had barely finished a sexual rendezvous–NO idea such things existed. He liked to keep it that way.
I only knew I was crushed by his quick finish and even quicker falling asleep on top of me. And crushed by the dead weight of his limp body I held in my arms as I struggled to breathe, in between sobs and supporting his heavy muscular frame — about the only warmth I had felt from him the whole time there — or since I don’t know where.
This experience was extra disappointing and devastating because I had been expecting to finally have some time alone with my husband; since his other two wives were not there, for a change.
Instead, and with no explanation, Bill left me alone at Steve’s house with Steve’s two wives, my sister Doris and first wife, Beverly. Then, after spending the evening out on the town with Steve, he topped my pain, neglect, and disappointment off by returnning home and to bed unusually late.
After this and all my other suffering and sorrows with Bill, and knowing what I know now about him and how he constantly deceived and mistreated me, if I weren’t so civilized (though I could never do it) I would like to kill him. Then I remember he’s already dead.
On my second day in Guadalajara with Bill, after touring some of its beautiful landmarks, with Steve as our guide, Bill took me with them to eat at a swazzi French restaurant where one of their handsome Mexican “contacts” worked as a Waiter.
When this Waiter came to take our orders, Billy and Stephen spoke with him in French — using an odd, pug-nosed, nasal accent I had never before heard Bill or Steve use. (They had learned French in school; and while on their Mormon French mission in the late 1950s.)
Then, the pug-nosed nasality amongst the three carried right on as they switched to speaking in Spanish! (And, no: We’re NOT talking about the Castilian accent. I’m fluent in Spanish, spent five weeks in Spain; and I can speak with a Castilian accent–for those of you who want to think Bill and Steve were using the “High class” Castilian accent.)
I only knew a few words in Spanish, back then. No French. But, as with other weird things I’d witnessed on this trip with these two men, I never quit wondering why they used that odd nasality. I never heard Bill nor Stephen speak again in that pug-nosed nasal tone; but I was never around them much, either, when they were together with other men.
Eventually, my wondering about the strange things witnessed on this trip bore fruit. After I escaped the cult, became educated and experienced, listened, watched, and read for answers–It helped that I had been around the block a few times, too–I learned, among other things, pug-nosed nasal speech was a secret code homosexuals used, at least back then, to connect.
The “connection” with the Waiter worked: That night, while climbing the loft to our bunk, Bill raised his voluminous voice and bellowed–so I would believe I was the guilty party–victimizing the victim:
“I”m not taking you anywhere else with me and Steve! I’m going to punish you for coming on this trip when I didn’t say you could! You just hopped a ride! So, for our next four nights here, you are to stay on your side of the bed. And DON’T touch me!”
Isn’t it odd: While hidden away in the big city where Billy was free to enjoy the homosexual spree, he didn’t want me … couldn’t use me, is more like it. But now I realize Billy’s punishing me was simply an excuse to save his sexual juices for gay rendezvous!
Because, on the trip to and from Guadalajara, when there weren’t any gay guys but Steve to save his sex for, Bill had NO problem responding to my sexual advances — even though one of Stephen’s wives was also riding in the back of the truck with us; whichever one was not sitting up front with Steve while Bill relinquished his envied spot next to Steve to get some sleep so he could take the wheel next.
So, on our way back home to Colonia LeBaron, Bill’s punishment ended as quickly as it had begun! If I made the first move, this sex addict was back to responding then falling asleep on me immediately after his three-minute screw, wherein he took advantage of my nubile body and how well he fit — when we thought the other person in the back of the truck was asleep.
I was so in love with Bill, and so bluffed by him and my Mormon fundamentalist indoctrination, I took whatever I could get, whenever I could get it — which was never nearly enough … nor ever often enough.
Continued in “My Memoir: Esther LeBaron McDonald de Spencer — And Polygamy On The Down-Low, Part 19-Z”