Friday, May 29, 2009

Who Is Jack?

I quickly figured out a few things about Sharon after that first date. Let’s see… she was fun and she liked to fuck. Hold it. Those might be the same thing. Over the next few dates, which always, ALWAYS, ended in a spare bedroom at Mona’s house I learned that she liked to kiss—but only as long as it took to get warmed up for something more. She liked to have her breasts fondled, but only long enough to get her heated up for something more. She seemingly enjoyed it when I fingered her pussy but she didn’t go in for a lot of foreplay.

No, Sharon liked to fuck. Everything else was a distraction from what she really wanted which was to have my cock in her pussy. Oral? She had no problem going down on me but she had no interest in reciprocation. I didn’t take offense—it wasn’t like I had eaten her out and she said, "don’t ever do that again, pal." She just directed me away if I started to head that way and she'd say, “Fuck me baby.” Or words to that effect. And, really, she only sucked my dick to make sure I was hard and ready to fuck her. At least that’s the way I see it now. At the time I wasn’t getting all philosophical about it or sitting, chin in hand, and pondering. After all, I had been minding my own business when she asked me out to the German America Festival. After a couple hours of the public portion of that first date we went to her sister’s best friend’s house. And, what a shock, the lady of the house was out for the evening and, hey, what’s this-- now we’re bangin’ away on the living room floor much to the delight of a neighbor woman watching from her kitchen window. Then it’s off to Mona’s Master Bedroom where we’re back at it for round two. Followed shortly thereafter by bout number three. I hadn’t even met Mona yet and I’m fucking away in her bed with Sharon. First date—three fucks-- it was fucking nuts.


Another thing I figured out was that Sharon always called me “baby.” It was “let’s go out baby”, “let’s leave baby”, “baby, let’s go to Mona’s house”, “put it in me baby”, “fuck me hard baby.” Yes, I was “baby”. Which was cool with me until the night I was bangin’ her like a screen door on a hot summer day* and she called me “Jack.” Which didn’t sound even remotely like “baby” or “Wil.” I had to rethink the whole “baby” thing. Did she call me baby because it was endearing or because she was afraid she’d call me by some other guy’s name? Beats me. I didn’t let it slow me down when she said it. I came in her tight little cunt, and then I said, “Who the fuck is Jack, Sharon?”

It turned out I knew Jack. Well, I didn’t really know him, but I knew of him. He was a starting guard for the nearby college (not where I went and not where Sharon went either)and I had seen him play on TV the prior winter. I actually remembered him because I thought he was a cocky sonovabitch on the floor. One of those guys who whines about every foul call that goes the wrong way. A prick. Plus, I didn’t like the school he played ball for-- so fuck him. Apparently Sharon had done just that. Turns out that for most of the last year Jack and Sharon had been going out. And now they weren’t. And she had nothing good to say about Jack. Boy, she had nothing good to say about Jack.

Now I wasn’t falling in love with Sharon—not by any stretch. But, I was falling in love with how much she liked to fuck, so I wasn’t in a big hurry to have this come to an end. Which means I paid attention to what she said she didn’t like about Jack. And that, dear reader(s), is where I screwed up. I listened to what she said and didn’t bother trying to dig a layer or two deeper. But, don't despair, things didn’t get messed up for a quite a while. No, this was The Summer of Sharon just as surely as the prior year had been The Summer of Jackie.

And, did I tell ya?
Sharon had just one thing on her mind.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Pause: Long Weekend

Sure, it's Memorial Day weekend and that means (to repeat the hackneyed phrase) that it's "the unofficial start of the summer." That's all well and good. Live it up. Grill a wienie or six. Have a beverage or two. Think about why we even have a Memorial Day holiday for a moment. But just remember what the great 70's era philosopher Linc Hayes and his pals said so eloquently:
Got it? Solid.

Friday, May 15, 2009

The True First Date

The after-work trip to the bar went fine. Everybody had a good time, friendships were made, and backs were talked behind-- in other words, a typical after-work function. I delivered Sharon to her front door as promised. We seemed comfortable in each others company. Was there a spark? At the time I didn’t think there was but I did think she was pretty cool. Honestly, my first impression of her had been that she was a stuck-up, private school, sorority chick and not really somebody I would get along with very well. But, being in the car together a while lead me to think she wasn’t too bad.

The following Wednesday she asked me out. Yes, you read that correctly. I suppose you could claim that my offer to take her to the after-work drinking excursion was a “first date” but I didn’t see it that way. No, Sharon asked me out first. She had passes to a German-American Festival that Friday night and she asked me to go with her. Not a group outing. Just us. That’s a date. I hesitated for one tenth of a second before saying, “Sure.” Didn’t want to seem too eager.

The festival was just an attempt to pull Oktoberfest forward into the hotter months. It was like any of those things— corn dogs, popcorn wagons, soft drinks, and beer. Lotsa “German” beer. And old guys walking around in lederhosen wearing those little hats with a feather drinking beer. And buxom serving wenches dressed like the St. Pauli girl bringing trays of beer. We went straight from work, dined on corn dogs, had some beer, and after a couple of hours we reached a crossroads: we could stop drinking and get bored as hell or we could keep drinking and get shit-faced. We opted for an interesting third way: stop drinking and go somewhere else. I didn’t know where we would go, but it seemed like a good enough idea as the OomPah band music was starting to annoy. What wasn’t annoying me was Sharon. She was fun. We were having fun together. Imagine that. I also didn’t find the fact that she was wearing jeans and a halter top annoying. The jeans were dark blue, the halter top had a light blue background with a yellow flowery design. She had white flip-flops to complete the ensemble. I have a picture here somewhere… hmmm… better not show it for sake of anonymity.

We rolled out of the Rec Center parking lot in my little two seater with the top down. I didn’t know where we were going but Sharon had an idea. Her sister, who was four years older than us had a girlfriend. That girlfriend had a house nearby. We could go there. She laid this out as though it had suddenly dawned on her. I wasn’t sure I needed to go visiting some friend of her sister. I didn’t even know Sharon’s sister let alone her sister’s friend.
“You want to just drop in on her? She doesn’t know we’re coming over, right?” I said.
“It’s not a problem. She shouldn’t even be home,” Sharon said.
My mind took a second to grasp that as she gave me a little grin.
“But if she’s not home... how do we get in the house?”
“I have a key.”
“Where do I turn next?” I asked.

She did have the key and we entered through the front door of the tastefully furnished 3BR/ 1.5 BA—garage attached in a nice middle-class suburban neighborhood. Sharon called out for the lady of the house to no response.
“OK, I’m missing something here,” I said and just gave her a quizzical look.
“Mona is Sandy's... my big sister’s... best friend. They’ve been friends since grade school. Mona got divorced last year-- she kept the house. Married her high school boyfriend—it didn’t work. Sandy moved to Louisville for her job and Mona misses her and I miss her too and Mona treats me like her little sister. I knew she’d be out on a date tonight, Wil. She told me any time I needed to stay here I could. So I thought we’d come here,” she said.
Then she put her hands on my chest, looked up at me, and said with a little pouty face, “But, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that. We can hang out here for a while,” I said.
We stood there in the foyer and kissed. For a long time.
When we came up for air Sharon said, “Why don’t you have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back.” She went down the hall to the bathroom.

I found a seat on the couch and looked around the room. In a few minutes Sharon came back. She had freshened up her makeup and perfume and brushed her hair—the convertible had been unkind to her hairdo. Rather than sit down next to me she just sat across my lap and put her arms around my neck. we went right back to kissing. Soon my right hand moved to her left breast. She felt good through that halter top and the material was thin enough that her nipple was hard and quite evident. The more we kissed the more I fondled her. She didn’t resist in the least bit.
Then she pulled away. I thought maybe I’d gone a bit too fast. When she reached behind her neck and untied one knot, then reached behind her back and untied the other knot letting the halter fall away from her I figured I probably hadn't been going too fast. Now we were shifting around on the couch and I was able to get both of her firm beauties in my hands. Tugging and flicking the nipples… squeezing the full breasts… kissing her and then nibbling her tits. Sharon was squirming pretty good and my cock was stiff.
“Wil, come with me,” she said.
I figured we were heading to a bedroom in Mona’s house. My pulse was pounding in my ears. Man, we were flying right along on this first date. But we didn’t go to the bedroom. Instead Sharon took me over by the sliding glass doors that went out to the patio. She got down on the carpet. She kicked off her flip-flops and got on her back. She undid the button on her jeans and unzipped. Then she stuck her feet in the air towards me and said, “Help me,” in a little girl voice.
I grabbed the legs of her jeans and pulled her pants off. She slid her panties off and tossed them to the side.
I couldn’t believe what was happening-- but I wasn’t against it.

I kicked off my shoes, pulled my shirt over my head, and got out of my jeans, socks, and underwear as fast as I could while she ran her right hand through her blond bush. In my careful estimation she looked ready to fuck, so I went straight into her. It seems that was exactly what she wanted. I know because she was very talkative. In fact, in my limited experience with several dozen or so women she was the most talkative I’ve ever known. That's not a complaint-- just an observation. Her favorite word was “baby”. Nearly as popular was some form of “fuck me” or “do me” often with a modifier such as “hard(er)”, “deep(er)”, “faster”… all I can say is, I did my best under the circumstances.

When we were done with our first fuck I noticed that the drapes weren’t closed. We had been fucking like wild rabbits in front of the sliding door, with no shades or drapes and I could clearly see a window at the back of the house one street over. A woman’s head was visible in the window and I could see her smiling. I think it was a kitchen window and the woman was doing dishes. Not many people smile while doing the dishes—unless they’re watching a couple of young people fuck.

I didn’t say anything to Sharon about it and she didn't notice the smiling neighbor woman. If she saw me blushing she probably chalked it up to the vigorous session we'd just finished. I didn’t have time to ponder this because Sharon stood up and said, “Let’s go use Mona’s bed.”

Sure.

Why the hell not?

I barely knew Sharon, we were already voyeur bait for the neighborhood, I didn’t know the name of the street this house was on, and I’d never even met the girl who owned the place. Why wouldn’t I fuck my new girlfriend in that girl’s bed?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

No Civics Lesson

Through the first three or four weeks of the summer I didn’t spend any time around Sharon. I met her the first day when all the summer hires met in the bullpen, she seemed to ignore me, and subsequently I didn’t think much about her one way or the other. The plant was going into a summer maintenance shutdown that required round-the-clock workers. I volunteered to work 2nd shift-- there was more pay—and stayed on that shift all June. When I broke back to the day shift I was more likely to spend my breaks and lunch with Tim or some of the other guys and wasn’t much aware of any of the women that were now working with us. Unless one of them was assigned to work in your crew it was kind of outta sight, outta mind.


That changed one hot July day during afternoon break. When it was break time you went to the closest place there was air conditioning. That could be a plant control room, a pump house, anywhere you could cool off. The day in question I was close to the locker room where there was a large area with seating for nearly a hundred at lunch time. During this break there were only about a dozen people there. I was sitting with a couple of buddies and noticed Sharon and another girl sitting about twenty feet away at another of the big lunch tables. There was nothing blocking my view of her profile. Now everyone wore long-sleeved coveralls, hard hats, and work gloves in the chemical plant for safety. So on this very hot and humid day we were all trying to cool off during the break. Sharon had undone her hair, usually pinned up inside her hard hat, and it fell loose past her shoulders. She had unbuttoned her coveralls to the waist, pulled her arms from the sleeves and then tied the sleeves around her waist. She had a sleeveless white t-shirt on and that was the first time I got a look at some of the body those baggy work clothes had been covering up.


Sharon was a slender girl of about 5’6 and in that t-shirt it was clear—the girl was more than a little bit top heavy. In 2009 someone looking at her would figure those babies were fake, but back then that circumstance was a lot rarer. She was also one of those people who look reasonably attractive in the face but if you study each feature none of them are exactly stunning. For example, her nose was a little crooked—not hockey player crooked—but it had a wee dogleg left. Her eyes were clear and blue but not awe inspiring. Her lips? Kinda thin. Her hair was long, wavy and blond. Don’t get me wrong, she was cute—just not drop dead gorgeous. But you couldn't deny that, given her height and weight, she was stacked. And let’s just say that was workin’ for her in a big way. Beyond that there was no way to tell about her legs and ass since she was in those big baggy coveralls. I know. I know. It sounds pretty shallow of your dear and loyal scribe-- all of this ogling of the physical. But remember, at this point I didn’t really know Sharon, hadn’t even had a conversation with her, and the dropping of the top part of the over-garment was a revelation. Plus, it was really hot and humid. Dammit, we’re talking first impressions here so just give me a break! So I had gotten half an eyeful of Sharon, but it didn't mean much really since I didn't even go over and talk to her. I just went back to work when the break was done. However, I filed away that she was cute and had an attractive figure. Yep, I just checked, that’s what it says here in my first entry in her dossier.


About a week later I was waiting for my dad to pick me up after work. The summer before we always rode in together but now that I had a car I usually drove. I was hourly, and when the whistle blew it was hit the locker room, shower, dress, and head out without having to wait for pops to give me a ride home. But this day I rode in with him for some long-forgotten reason so had to wait for him at the guard shack. As I sat on the sidewalk, my back against a brick wall, I witnessed something that made me actually stop thinking about the nap I was going to take when I got home. It was Sharon, walking alone in my direction. She was coming from the women’s locker room and looked squeaky clean. She was wearing a tight white top and chocolate colored shorts. I don’t remember if this was during the time shorts like that were called short-shorts or if they were currently being called hot pants, but they were short and tight whatever they were called. For the first time I saw that she had great legs and a fine little caboose.

Things were looking up.
Actually I was looking up at her as she walked over to where I was sitting.
“Hey, Bill. It is Bill, right?”
“Everybody calls me Wil,” I said.
“Hi Wil. I’m Sharon Malone,” she said.
“Have a seat, Sharon. I saved you a place right here,” I said, pointing to about twenty feet of empty concrete.
She sat against the wall with her shapely legs out in front of her. She had white flip-flops on. She smelled like shampoo and soap.


We talked while we waited. She seemed pretty bright. She went to a small private school in the state that I had heard of but never visited. She laughed at a lot of what I said. Either she thought I was amusing or she was flattering me. Either way worked for me. A tiny white car was coming and she got to her feet.
“That’s my ride,” Sharon said and I recognized her dad, the head of HR, behind the wheel and gave him a nod.
“See ya tomorrow, Wil.”
“What kinda car is that?”
“A Honda,” she said.
“Like the motorcycles?” I said.
She shrugged. Smiled. Waved. And got into this preposterous little clown car.
A little while later my dad pulled up. I got in and said, “What kinda car is that little white thing that Malone the HR guy drives?”
“Sompthin' Japanese. I dunno who makes it. He says it gets great gas mileage. I think it’s called a City or something like that. Supposed to be for people that live in the city. Sure can't haul much in it,” dad said.
“Where do they live?”
“Hmmm. I think Malone lives over in ____right near ____ Country Club,” he said.
“That ain’t exactly the city, dad.”
“Nope. Guess not.”

------
The following Friday at lunch a bunch of the guys were talking about going out drinking after work. We were trying to let everyone know so we could have a huge crowd at this dive just ten minutes from the plant. I volunteered to let “the girls” know and went over to where they were all sitting together.
“Ladies, we’re all going out to have a few drinks at Captain Nemo’s right after work. I’m sure we can count on all of you rookies to show up, right?” I said.
They were pleased to be asked it seemed. I stayed and talked to the group until the whistle sounded and everybody headed out into the plant. Sharon hung back. She told me she didn’t think she could make it since she was riding home with her father.
I, being gallant to a fault, offered to give her a lift to the aforementioned tavern.
She wondered aloud how she might get home afterwards.
I suggested that I could also provide adequate transportation back to her abode.
“Cool!” she said.
“I’ll pick you up at the guard shack,” I said.


At five minutes before four PM I drove up to the guard shack in my little Italian two seater. The top was down. The radio was on. Sharon jumped in wearing skin tight jeans, a tight white top and sandals. We roared off to the bar. I was quite certain this leggy blond with the nice rack upgraded the value of my $400 roadster just by putting her cute ass on the seat.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Nice Wheels



As soon as I moved back home after my sophomore year I bought my first car. I purchased a two-seat Italian sports car. Don’t get too excited—it was used and cost $400. Still, $400 was a lot of money to me back then (still is, actually) and the car was pretty cool. Well, at least it looked good, the engine ran well, and it got 40 mpg. That last part was important because gas was over 35 cents per gallon and I was frugal. OK, cheap. What you couldn’t see at first glance was that this crate was rusting away-- a victim of a few Midwest winters and tons and tons of rock salt spread on the roads. Yes, that fine Italian steel was looking more like Swiss cheese in places not easily spied. But I didn’t care about that—it looked fuckin' cool.

Going back to work in the chemical plant was something I looked forward to. It was hot, tough and dirty but it was a good workout after months of college. Made me tan, lean and sinewy… or, maybe just a skinny twerp. If you were there perhaps you’d have an opinion—I was there and I don’t. Spending a lot of time gazing into the mirror isn't nearly as much fun as looking at women. I learned that early on in life I suppose.
It was good to see some old friends from the prior summer including my ol’ bud Tim. Tim and I couldn’t get together after work though since his girlfriend (and future wife) was still best friends with Jackie but we hung out at lunch, and the union-negotiated coffee breaks and were still friends despite the whole girlfriend debacle bullshit. We just avoided the subject of women. Which, as I recall, meant we talked a lot about sports.

There was, however, one big change that summer at the plant. The college student summer hiring program now included-- girls! It seems that company workers who were the parents of female college students wanted their dear daughters to get in on these relatively high-paying summer jobs. Of course not many of the young ladies themselves wanted anything to do with working in a dangerous, dirty chemical plant but apparently a half dozen or so did. Most of the “veterans” were kind of torn on this change. First, we assumed they wouldn’t be required to do any of the jobs that were nasty and dirty or anything that required heavy lifting. But, secondly, a couple of them were babes.
So we figured it just might work out OK.

The two more, ahem, interesting young ladies who joined our hardhat crew were Tina and Sharon. Tina was an olive skinned, Italian beauty of about 5’2” who didn’t take any crap from anybody. She was fun to work with the few times I was assigned to spend a shift with her cleaning out tanks, grading stone, or other fun things. Sharon was a bit more, um, delicate. I figured the only reason she was there was because her dad headed up the HR department for the plant and wanted her to set a good example on the equal opportunity front. She wasn’t particularly well suited to carrying an air wrench around that tipped the scales at half her weight. So, working a shift out in the plant with Sharon was usually like doing double the work. Then again, working with Sharon had some positive features.

Yes. It wasn’t all bad.

Sometime around the second week of August summer got pretty interesting.