I parked the rental car across the street from her apartment building. It was only eleven in the morning and I knew I was probably two hours early, but after all this time, it really didn't matter. As I watched the apartment door, I thought back over the last four years.
Jim was my best friend. We grew up in a suburb of Boston. We went to the same schools, played the same sports, and slobbered over the same girls through high school. I was always welcome in Jim's house, and Jim in mine. Jim had an older sister and a younger sister four years his junior—a happy mistake his parents said. Because of Jim's family's financial situation, he had gone to the local state university. I had gone to the other college two hundred miles away.
He had called me that late spring day and said, "Rick, I need a favor, buddy. Tiny got accepted at your college and has been bugging my folks to go there for Gold Key so that she can see the place during a party weekend. My folks are going to a wedding that same weekend and my girlfriend and I are going to Florida for our spring break... that leaves you."
Tiny was his younger sister Beth. She hated the name, so of course Jim and I never failed to call her that. I admit I didn't even remember her as a person when Jim and I were in eighth grade—she was just a noisy little sister. When I was a senior in high school, she came within radar range as I noticed that this soon-to-be freshman in high school was starting to develop breasts, legs and other female features. But it was a passing look; Jim and I were chasing high school senior girls that had gone from "developing" to "they are there and ready to be conquered." Our hormones were in full gear and we paid scant attention to his kid sister.
One day stands out from back then. I was a junior in college and had come home on break and, of course, I headed over to Jim's house. We were sipping a couple of beers in his bedroom, lying outrageously about the number of females we had seduced when his mother yelled for us to come down. Beth was going to the junior prom and was waiting for her date. Jim's folks wanted to take some pictures.
We walked down the stairs and there was Beth standing at the bottom ready to be judged—formal, pale yellow dress, beautiful bare shoulders accentuating breasts that had magically appeared, matching shoes—the whole works. I looked at her and without thinking said, "Tiny, you are absolutely beautiful!"
She immediately blushed profusely at the compliment and yelled at me, "Don't call me Tiny."
Everybody laughed and the pictures were taken. For one shot her folks had Beth in the middle between Jim and me; each of us had our hands around her waist. A second before the picture was taken, I squeezed her and she laughed and looked me in the eyes just as the camera clicked.
The doorbell rang and her date arrived. He looked like a dork to me, but back then going to the prom was more important than who took you.
Jim interrupted my thoughts and said, "Well, are you going to let your best friend down or will take Tiny for the weekend?"
My answer was easier than he knew. My girlfriend of six months had dumped me a few weeks earlier, and I didn't have a backup girlfriend for the big spring weekend. I said, "Jim, for you anything; let me know when she's coming and I'll take care of the rest."
Four weeks later in the early Friday evening I waited at the bus station. Her bus pulled in and the passengers started getting off. I stood in the shadows just watching when she stepped off the bus. She looked around and didn't see me the first time. A second later she searched again and spotted me. She ran over and hugged me with a big kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to the big college, Tiny," I said.
She blushed and said, "Don't you dare call me Tiny... I am Beth for the whole weekend."
I laughed and hugged her back. "OK, Beth for the whole weekend. However, I am a senior at this august college and you are just an almost-a-freshman, so I want you to pay me the proper respect."
She giggled and said, "I will certainly pay you the respect you deserve."
The bus driver finally found her suitcase and I picked it up; we walked to my apartment. One of my friends who lived in the same building was getting married at the end of the school term. He was using the party weekend to go to his girlfriend's home to make the final plans for the wedding. When I explained my situation, he readily agreed that Beth could stay in his apartment.
Once Beth got organized, I took her to a local restaurant—good food and a quiet place where you could talk. We sat at a small table and I finally had the opportunity to look at her. Her soft, glossy brown hair was carefully trimmed and hung to the top of her shoulders. She was wearing a sweater that showed skin disappearing into the depths of her full breasts that were even bigger than I remembered. Her brown eyes twinkled with happiness. She smiled, showing brilliant white teeth, and then giggled when she caught me looking at her breasts, but said nothing to embarrass me.
Beth was excited and talked about her senior year at high school, the ecstasy of being accepted to the college, the marriage of her older sister, and the trials and tribulations with her brother Jim.
She asked if I had accepted a job yet. I told her that I joined a major consulting firm located in Boston, but that the first three to five years I would be in the field on different projects as an intern or junior consultant. They told me my first assignment would be in California and I would be there about a year before being reassigned.
Her enthusiasm enchanted me. Her happy excitement at being here with me, her intense desire to bring me up to date on her life, and her physical beauty overwhelmed any hesitation that she was so much younger than I. Beth had turned from an ignored little kid sister to a beautiful woman.
Finally, it was almost eleven and I said, "Beth, you look like you're starting to slow down and tomorrow is your big day. We have an early breakfast with good friends of mine; then Julie, who is a girlfriend of one my pals, is going to give you an inside tour of the college including the inside scoop on who are the good teachers versus the jerks; we have the Gold Key lunch where the Glee club will put on a show; then a basketball game in the afternoon and afterward a dinner with more friends of mine. Finally, we are playing for the hockey division championship so you're going to that game too. Maybe we should call it a night?"
Beth stuck her tongue out at me and gushed, "I don't want today to end. But you're right—I'm starting to get a little tired."
As we walked to the apartment, her excitement about the day continued as she giggled and laughed at everything I said, and on an impulse, I reached for her hand and squeezed it. She beamed at me with happiness and wouldn't let go of my hand. At the door to her apartment, I said, "Sleep well, my friend. Tomorrow is going to be very busy for you."
She smiled and looked at me. I leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek as I squeezed her hand. Her hair brushed against my face and I could smell her perfume, whose fragrance was enticingly feminine. She hesitated briefly and then stepped back and walked into the apartment.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment I realized I was semi-hard and thought, "She was waiting for a real kiss."
The next day was a whirlwind for Beth. The early breakfast and her time with Julie were fantastic. Julie and she obviously bonded; by the time they returned they were laughing and talking as if they had been friends forever. Lunch was fun and the Glee Club put on their expected great performance for the holiday crowd.
We lost the basketball game. The dinner with my friends was really fun for Beth—even though she was only a high school senior, some of the guys were obviously hitting on her... talk about an ego boost. We won the hockey game in the last sixty seconds, which set the crowd off into a delirious celebration. Beth was so excited she surprised me when she put her arms around my neck and gave me a passionate kiss.
We were walking back to the apartment. Beth had grabbed my hand and held it tightly. She talked about how great the day had been and then said, "Maybe we should have a drink to celebrate?"
I asked, "Do you drink?"
She answered, "No, but with me going to college, maybe I need some practice."
"Beth," I replied, "you are under age—you're barely eighteen. In this college town, without a great fake ID you can't get a drink."
"What about your place?" she shyly asked.
She was right. I had booze and after a drink or two, the night would be over. "OK," I replied, "let's go to my place for a victory drink."
Ten minutes later she sat on my couch and stared at me with those deep brown eyes. I asked, "What do you want to drink?"
She grinned at me sheepishly and said, "I don't know. Except for beer, I never had a drink. What should I drink?"
I chuckled. "Beth, my little friend, I will teach you what my father taught me. It's easy. You either drink scotch or bourbon. You always drink it with ice, water or both, but never with a mixer or anything sweet. I'll make you two tiny drinks—scotch with Dewers and bourbon with Jack Daniels. Taste each one and the one that is the least terrible, that's your drink."
I handed her a small drink of scotch. "Ugh... terrible," she gasped.
I handed her a small drink of bourbon. "Oh... not good, but not terrible. Does that mean I'm a bourbon drinker?"
.... There is more of this story ...