Chapter 1: I Get a Job

I graduated from high school in May of 1975. Because I had no idea what I wanted to do in life, I didn’t see a point in enrolling in a four-year university and wasting my parents’ money. Instead, I started taking classes at a local community college. It was a much cheaper option, especially since I was still living at home. After I finished my first year, I got a job at a large warehouse for the summer. The work was tough, but I volunteered for as much overtime as I could get. My plan was to accumulate a nice nest egg so I wouldn’t have to work when classes started again in the upcoming semester. I was still going to be living at home, which would save even more money. It seemed like a good plan. To be honest, I think Mom liked having me around for a little longer anyway. It can be hard on parents when their only bird flies out of the nest.

I made enough money that I could afford to quit my job and take it easy for the last two weeks of summer before the Fall term started. I slept late, read a lot, and even started jogging. I didn’t want the positive effect of working all that manual labor had on my body to go away. It looked like it was going to be a great vacation before school started, then Mom came home from work one day and happily announced that she had found me a job.

“I wasn’t looking for a job,” I reminded her.

“Don’t whine, Tim. It’s easy money.”

“Okay,” I sighed, “what is it?”

“You remember Pam Oxley?”

“Sure, from your work.” Pam and my mother were nurses at the same hospital. She was attractive, middle-aged, and divorced, too old for me, but I had heard one doctor call her “a real hottie.”

“Have you met her daughter, Melissa?”

I took my time answering, as if trying to remember, even though I had met her, and it had been unforgettable. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

It had been a couple of months earlier, at a hospital picnic. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Mom talked me into it, with promises of hamburgers, barbeque ribs, fried chicken and watermelon. She said there might be volleyball, too, and memories of watching some of the younger nurses bouncing around in shorts and tight T-shirts at prior picnics was the tipping point.

When we got to the park that day, I didn’t see anyone my age, as expected. I found a bench to sit on, and waited for the food to be served. I saw some rug rats running around the playground, while the adults were busy fixing food and chatting. I felt out of place and would have bolted if I could. Then I noticed a teenage girl hanging out by the volleyball pit, looking as bored and lonely as I was. When she saw me, she smiled and headed my way. As she got closer, I could see she was younger than I had first thought. She was cute, in that special way that girls who probably are going to be very popular in high school have. She had long brown hair, tied up in a ponytail that swung from side to side as she sashayed across the park. She sat beside me and, with no introduction, started talking, like we were good friends.

She was a stream-of-consciousness babbler. In those first few moments l learned her name (“Melissa, but my friends call me Missy”), her age (“I just turned fourteen last month”), her favorite color (“Most girls like pink, but I’m a green girl’), her favorite band (“I love the Beatles”), and a dozen other facts about herself, all before I could even take a bite of the burger Mom had brought me.

When she came up for air, I introduced myself. “I’m Tim Rogers.”

“I know,” she said. “Your mom and my mom are good friends, and I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve wanted to meet you, and when I saw you guys pull into the parking lot, I decided this must be the day.”

We tried to have a conversation, but a fourteen-year-old girl and a nineteen-year-old young man don’t have much in common, so after a few minutes her short attention span kicked in and she wandered off, without even saying goodbye. I watched as she walked away, noticing her nicely shaped legs, not skinny and knobby-kneed like some girls her age. Her bottom filled out her tight shorts, green of course, enticingly. I gave myself a mental slap for even thinking that way about a girl her age, then I turned my attention back to my burger.

A few minutes later she came back. “Come on,” she said, sounding like someone used to getting her way. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me up.

“Where are we going?” I asked. I pulled my hand out of her grasp. I was curious and bored, so I didn’t mind going with her; I just didn’t want to be seen being led around by a young girl. She didn’t answer, just walked determinedly across the parking lot and into a wooded area. She guided me through the trees like she knew where she was going, with me following like an obedient hunting dog.

Finally, she stopped and said, “I think it’s here.”

“What’s here?” I snapped, growing impatient with whatever game she was playing.

“Some ... dead thing,” she said. “Not sure what it is. I thought maybe you could tell me.” She bent down and pushed a bush aside. “Yeah, there it is. Take a look.”

I was getting pissed now, being dragged into the woods just to look at a dead animal, but since we had come this far, I reluctantly bent down, expecting to see the rotting corpse of a bird or squirrel. I didn’t see anything, so I leaned over more, but I still didn’t see or smell anything dead. I thought maybe she was teasing, which only added to my frustration.

I turned to her and said, “Missy, I don’t see any...”, when wham! She pushed herself against my body and kissed me. It wasn’t a shy little girl peck on the cheek either. Nope, it was a full-fledged, spit-swapping, tongue-probing effort. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to push her away. Instead, I found myself participating. I poked my tongue into her spearmint-tasting mouth, almost in defense. Somehow, my hand ended up cupping one of her small, soft buttocks. That seemed to break the spell. She stepped back, with a look-what-I-did smirk on her face.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I just wanted to know what it was like to kiss a boy,” she said.

From the way her mouth had attacked me, I was sure she knew more about kissing than she claimed. “Couldn’t you find some boy your age to try it with?”

“Come on, Tim, boys my age don’t know much about kissing, or anything to do with girls.”

I didn’t bother telling her that I had only kissed one other girl in my life, and it hadn’t been anything like what we had just done.”Well, did you like it?” I asked. It may have been a regrettable moment for me, but I still had my pride.

She smiled, which looked good on her face, with a dimple in her left cheek I hadn’t noticed before. “Yep, and I think you did too.”

I felt the back of her hand brush across the front of my shorts. I looked down, surprised and horrified to see the bulge that had caught her attention. I didn’t know if it was the sloppy kiss, or the way her ass had felt, or both, but something had triggered my teenage hormones and brought my cock to attention like I was a fourteen-year-old. I was embarrassed and just wanted to get out of the woods before Missy tried anything else. “Come on,” I said, “I think it’s about time for them to cut the watermelons.”

Paranoia kicked in, and I was afraid she would start telling people that she had a boyfriend now, or send me love letters, or some other girlie stuff, but none of that happened. Thankfully, I hadn’t seen or heard from Missy since that day, until now. I noticed Mom staring at me and realized that while I had been reliving that strange afternoon, she was still waiting for my answer.