Chapter 1

Story tags: consensual, romance, non-fiction, oral, masturbation, job

Aging fishermen tell stories about “the one that got away.” The one that got away from me was a girl named Loni.

The heat waves shimmered in the distance, inexorably rising off the sand in an unmerciful display of mother nature’s authority. Shade was nowhere to be found. Off to the left, a transistor radio could be heard, the music of the Beatles signaling the start of another day on the beach.

It was the summer of ‘69. It was the summer of Loni.

I was fresh out of college with a completely useless diploma in a major that had zero job prospects without a Master’s degree. The amount of partying I did in college ensured that I wouldn’t get into any kind of grad school, not that I had the self-discipline to do the work anyway.

Knee injuries from drunken college foolishness kept me out of the military. I moved back into my parents’ basement, hacked off some of my hair, and found a proofreading job at a printing company. Second-shift was fine. I’m not a morning person.

Neither was Loni. She started working there soon after I did. She was a typist, transcribing manuscript into primitive computer files on cassette tapes. When a typist finished a document, she would print it out, put it in a folder with the original manuscript, and bring to the proofreaders.

Loni was gorgeous. Fred, an older guy I worked with, caught me watching her one evening.

“Go for it,” he said. “You’re close enough to her age. She’s been legal for a year.”

“Who is she?”

“You’re joking. That’s Loni Svensen. You know? LONI SVENSON?”

“Who’s Loni Svensen?”

“What planet did you say you’re from?”

“Man, you know damn well I live fifteen minutes from where we are right now. Who the hell is Loni Svensen?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know. She was high school Homecoming Queen in her senior year, won the county beauty pageant easily, and placed second at the state pageant. She’s working here, saving money to go to a fashion design college in Boston.”

“She’s cute,” I said.

“Cute? That girl was one unfortunate song choice away from competing for Miss America! Beautiful and sexy as hell are the words you’re looking for. She’s not dating anyone. There was a boyfriend in high school. The dumb shit dumped her for some other girl. She lives with her mom. I went to high school with that women. Tried to get in her pants more than once. Loni’s sexier than her mother ever was, and that’s saying something.”

“Way out of my league, man.” I turned back to my work.

Fred spun my chair to face him. “Nobody gets laid with that attitude. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

“Hardly. I had fun in high school and college.”

“What? Twice? Once each place?” he chuckled.

“If you must know, I had a serious girlfriend in high school. We learned a lot from each other. I had chicks in college, too.”

“Ones you had sex with? And when you say ‘chicks’, you mean, what? Two? Three?”

“Three in one day once, and there were two girls who slept over pretty regularly. My roommate dropped out. Two dorm beds pushed together made plenty of room for all kinds of fun. A chick lived in my room with me for a few months, and...”

“All right, all right. Fine. You’ve been with girls. Were they sweat-hogs?”

“No! But they didn’t wear tiaras!”

Fred laughed. “Loni’s my daughter’s best friend. She’s at our pool all summer. Pictures tomorrow.”

“Why would you torture me? I’ll never get to see her in a bathing suit in real life.”

“I don’t know what brain damage you suffered in college, but if your ears work, listen! You can get that girl!”

“That’s insane. You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong. At least I won’t be if you’ll just fucking listen to me.”

“Right.” I moved back to my desk.

Fred grumbled, “We’ll talk tomorrow, after ‘show-and-tell’.”

I dreamed about her that night. We were work buddies, talking at breaks sometimes, but nothing more. I thought the dream might be a glimpse into my future with her. All right. I’d be thrilled with that. It would be more fun drinking coffee with her than Fred.

He displayed an envelope when he came in that afternoon. “I’ll show you these on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You forget where you saw them. My wife and daughter would kill me.”

“What the hell is in that envelope?”

“Wait until break-time.”

Loni wore a casual dress that day. Fred said she designed and made it herself. When she leaned over my desk to bring me her work, I tried not to stare at her cleavage. Her aroma was natural, healthy, a hint of sweetness, very feminine, but only mildly sexual – maybe the way a goddess would smell.

When she left the room, Fred tossed me some coins. “You know how I like my coffee. I’ll find a table outside. God, she smells good enough to eat.” He rolled back to his desk.

The break buzzer sounded. I made it to the vending machines in record time, but why? If he had nude pictures, it would only make things worse.

He opened the envelope when I sat down. “This is her mom, Camilla, the summer after we got out of high school, about the same age Loni is now.”

Camilla looked like Loni, with the same nearly black wavy hair, but she was shorter, a little more Italian looking. It was a posed shot at the beach. Her suit must have been pretty daring back in those days, and she looked damn good. “Damn, Fred, she’s as beautiful as her daughter!”

“Yup, but Loni’s taller. Her height and those blue eyes come from Dad. Peter Svensen. Big blond guy, starting tackle all through school. We called him Thor. He died in a car accident, going for milk for the girls. Loni was three.”