Several years ago, I went to work in an oil field in Southwest Texas. It was right on the border with Mexico. In the towns where I lived and worked, the population was about 85% Hispanic, and they did not like white people.

Like all oil field towns, there was a shortage of women. In all of the bars, restaurants, gas stations, grocery stores, there were very, very few attractive women. There was one bar restaurant in the town where I lived, that both whites and Hispanics went to, the food was very good. The waitresses at this restaurant were not very pretty. However, the hostess, Monique, was very attractive.

To describe Monique, imagine a personable and charming housewife, about 5′-4″, long dark hair, her complexion being slightly tan, and everything else I will just describe as perfectly proportioned female features. I described her as a housewife, because she was calm and confident, like she didn’t really need anything. But Monique was only 15.

One day, Monique came and sat beside me at the bar. She was on the telephone with her mother, insisting that she was at work, and not someplace else. I so wanted to say, “Monique, come back to bed.”, knowing that her mom would hear me, and get upset. Monique would not have cared.

Patrick, the bartender, who was Spanish, as was Monique, not Mexican Indian, said that he was glad that I didn’t say that. He said that he knew Monique’s mom and dad, and they were very strict parents. Patrick said that he had had to warn other men away from Monique, she was only 15, she had lied about her age to get the job.

I asked Patrick what would happen to me if I dated Monique. Patrick said, “That’s a tough one. It depends. It depends on whether you are always wanting to date young girls, or just this one. If it’s just this one, it may be O.K.”

A few weeks later, at this same bar restaurant, there was an attractive lady of about 30 years of age, that came and sat at the bar with her date. I leaned forward to look at her on the other side of her date. I said to her, “You look like the young lady who used to work here, are you her sister?”. I was interested in this woman, everything was right about her. Patrick, the bartender was standing behind her waving his arms in an “X”, mouthing No, No, No, trying to get me to stop. This woman leaned forward to look past her date at me, with keen interest, then I leaned way back to see her better, then she leaned way back to see me better, her date was in the way. She said, “Who are you talking about?”. I said, ” She was very pretty, her name was Monique”. She said, “That is my daughter.”

Patrick looked like he thought all hell was going to break loose, and Monique’s mom was going to claw me to death. The opposite happened. Her mom told me where she worked and to go by and see her. About a week later, I did go to the grocery store where Monique worked. I didn’t see Monique, Monique saw me, and she came up to me and said that her mom had told her that she had met me, and that she was glad to see me. I visited with Monique briefly, not wanting to get her in trouble at work.

I had a lot to think about. Monique was very beautiful, she was physically perfect. Judging from how beautiful and in-shape her mother looked, Monique would never lose her looks either. Monique’s personality was sweet and direct. She did not appear to have any anger, hatred, or other dark thing lurking under the surface. She liked me. There was nothing to not like about Monique.

This place that I was in, it might as well have been a Third World Country. The people in the town knew that I was an engineer working for the oil company. There were things that made me look successful. Where housing was expensive and scarce, a three bedroom house had been rented for me to live in by myself. I believed that separately, Monique and her mom, had both concluded it would be O.K. for me to date Monique if I was going to take care of her. Get married and stay here, or take her with me.

I thought about it. I had a home and property in Idaho that I was not ready to get rid of. Bringing Monique to Idaho would have been very mean and cruel. In Idaho most of the people are Mormons. The Mormons suppress and repress women, the Mormon women buy into their mistreatment, and even help mistreat other women. I wouldn’t bring Monique to Idaho.

If I was married to Monique, I would help her find out what she wanted to do in life herself. Maybe she would want to go to school to be a nurse. Whatever she went to school for, whether in school or after she got out and started working, it would be normal for her to come across somebody her own age that she would rather be with.

I did not think that I could offer Monique a good enough life. It would be painful to see her get tired of me, to watch her become more and more unhappy being with me. I couldn’t see it tuning out differently.