Chapter 2

“There is always something left to love. And if you ain’t learned that, you ain’t learned nothing.” Lorraine Hansberry

“Mom actually said,” Mindy related in a very low voice, making me strain to hear the answer, “that after a couple of hours on the beach, we should go into the guest bedroom where the two of you made love (and here her voice broke for a second) ... made love three weeks ago, and you should screw my brains out!”

I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say or do.

I looked over at Mindy. I have always heard about someone turning beet red with embarrassment, but had never seen it until now.

Mindy’s face was as red as it could be, and I noticed the red continued all the way down past her bikini top.

What? As I said, when I picked up Mindy at school, and while we were eating, only the top button of her blouse was undone.

Now, all the buttons were undone...

Young girl, get out of my mind

... the blouse was pushed back exposing her stomach and bikini top...

My love for you is way out of line

... and I could see the bikini top...

Better run girl,

... barely concealed her nipples. And there were no tan lines!

You’re much too young girl.

I was also remembering how many times in the past year I had heard Jennifer make a statement about “screwing her brains out.”

“I want you to screw my brains out,” or “I need you to screw my brains out today,” or after the fact, “Man, did you screw my brains out today.”

And yes, just three weeks ago Jennifer and I had made love all afternoon in the guest bedroom of the beach property.

It and the guest bathroom were, at the time, the only rooms I had completely finished, and Jennifer had really surprised me by coming down to see how the repairs were going. One thing led to another, and I didn’t get a lot of work done that day.

All these thoughts were swirling through my head when I also realized I was still traveling about 45 miles-per-hour down the highway.

I looked up just in time to realize I was running a red light. Luckily there were no cars coming from either side street, there were no police cars around, and the little old blue hair trying to cross the road was still on the other side.

Very shaken, I pulled into the parking lot of the first business I saw, which was one of the ubiquitous drug stores in Florida. I can tell you for a fact there is NOT a drug store on every single corner in Florida, but it does seem that way at times.

I parked my truck as far away from anyone as I could, then just sat there for a minute trying to figure out what to say. I couldn’t even look at Mindy again, but stared out the front of my truck.

“Look, Mindy,” I began still looking out my front window, “I don’t know who has been talking about your Mom and me, but...”

At that point, Mindy smiled, and actually laughed (such a beautiful laugh), and reached out a hand and placed it against my lips, silencing me, and also turned my head until I was looking at her.

Better run girl,

“Mom told me,” Mindy said. “She also said you were such a true Southern gentleman you would probably try to defend her ‘honor’.

“She also told me you were, other than Dad, the best lover ... the best lover she has ever had,” Mindy added, and again her voice broke on the word “lover”.

You’re much too young, girl.

“Look, Alan, I now know about Dad,” she continued. “ALL about Dad! About what happened in Iraq.”

“I lived through five years of hell with Mom, and was actually considering committing suicide when I was 13. That’s how bad it was at home.”

“At the time, I didn’t know what caused it, nor did I know what cured it, but I just knew my Mom was a total bitch for five years. Neither Dad, Sara nor I could do ANYTHING she didn’t complain about. For hours and hours and hours. If we put a fork down on the dinner table a half-inch away from where it should be, then she would go nuts and complain for hours.”

“Then suddenly she went on a trip for two weeks, and when she came back she was almost like the Mom of old.”

“It still took a couple of years to fully trust her again, and I really don’t think Sara ever has. Sara only remembered the bad years, and turned to track and running as a way of escaping from Mom. She still has a lot of anger and resentment against Mom.”

“So, Alan, I know about Dad, I know about you, and I know about Mom.”

“But there is something YOU don’t know about,” she continued. “Do you remember my 18th birthday last month?”

“Of course,” I answered, “I bought you a bracelet.”

She held her left arm up to show she was still wearing it!

I also knew since the birthday, Mindy had only come over to my house one time, and seemed very distracted when she did and left quickly.

Yes, it is true I was spending a lot of time at my beach house, but even on the days I got home around six or seven, she never came around anymore.

Before her birthday, even if I got home as late at eight or nine she would often drop by just to say hello, even if she couldn’t stay.

Although I have to admit I was very disappointed she wasn’t dropping by all the time like she used to do, I simply assumed she had found someone her own age (meaning a boy) to hang around with.

No, I wasn’t jealous! How could I be jealous when there had never been anything between us to be jealous of?

I just missed her funny, quirky sense of humor. THAT’S ALL!

Well, I also missed the way she would sort of tilt her head a little sideways when hearing one of my Dad’s songs for the first time, or the way she would brush her hair out of her face with her hand.

And yes, I suppose I missed her incredible aquamarine eyes that looked like liquid pools of sometimes green and sometimes blue. The kind of eyes you felt you could almost swim in, they were so deep.

I had been reminding myself just how young she was, and telling myself the best thing she could do was find someone her own age she could get serious about.

As far as I knew, she never dated, always claiming her school work was more important – even while she was spending a couple of hours over at my house.

Why then, during that month when Mindy stopped coming by, had I often thought of the incredibly sad, yet beautiful song “All For The Love Of A Girl,” by Johnny Horton, with its truly haunting opening?

It wasn’t love!

LOVE was a weakness.

Love WAS A weakness.

Love was a WEAKNESS.

LOVE WAS A WEAKNESS.

I would not be weak!

“Well,” she explained, “after the birthday party I went out with a couple of my girlfriends to the mall. Later, we met some guys, had a few beers, and I lost my virginity that night. It was not a very pleasant experience.”

She said when she got home, Jennifer immediately knew something bad had happened, and Mindy told her all about it, including how much it hurt and how unclean she felt.

“I asked Mom if sex was always this awful,” she added.

Jennifer and Mindy then had a total heart-to-heart conversation, where, for the very first time, Jennifer told her daughter all about her life. The good and bad.

As I have mentioned, Jennifer never does anything half-way. It is either whole-hog (another old Southern expression) or Jennifer never discusses it. And there is little Jennifer won’t discuss – even with her own children.

She told Mindy about how wonderful sex was with Tom, how much she had loved Tom (and still does), and then what had happened to bring everything crashing down.

Jennifer had also told me the story, the day she said she wanted us to be more than just friends. When I tried to explain I could not do that to Tom, she said it was actually Tom’s idea.

Unfortunately, that IED in Iraq had taken more than Tom’s leg – a lot more.

Testosterone pills helped Tom maintain his masculinity, but there was no surgery to replace what had been lost.

What had been a very strong, healthy sex drive in a very attractive woman was replaced with anger and frustration. And the recipients of that anger and frustration were at first, Mindy and Sara. As the years went by, Tom was also included in the list of people who could never do anything right.

“For five years,” Jennifer told me, “I was an absolute bitch to everyone.”

Then she said something really bad happened (she wouldn’t say what, but started crying) and Tom called her and asked her to come by the office.

When she arrived, she found a bag packed, and Tom was holding two envelopes.

“The kids don’t want you with us anymore,” he said, “and even though I still love you, we can’t continue like this.”

In one of the envelopes were a set of divorce papers.

In the other were plane tickets to California, along with tickets for a two-week singles cruise.

“Either go on this cruise and get laid, or I am filing for divorce,” Tom said. “And I will be taking the kids with me.”

With those words, Tom left.

Jennifer did go on the cruise, and did get laid – actually several times. And even though she said the sex was not necessarily all that great, it was wonderful to feel wanted and needed and attractive again.

When she returned, she did indeed feel like a new woman.

She and Tom had many long conversations after she returned, and she kept saying she could not believe how understanding and supportive Tom was of her needs.

And Tom told her how sorry HE was his pride refused to acknowledge Jennifer still had needs he could no longer meet.

Every couple of months Jennifer, with Tom’s knowledge and blessings, would take a few days and fly into a different city where she would “hook up” as the saying goes. And every other year she would go on a singles cruise.

Her last experience looking for a weekend “hook up” had been a disaster. The guy beat her up and left Jennifer covered in bruises.

That was when Tom suggested perhaps it would be safer to only “hook up” with someone they knew and trusted. Tom actually suggested me.

The rest, as they say, is history. It wasn’t like we were constantly in bed together, but every two or three months Jennifer would call me, and we would spend a day, or sometimes a weekend, together somewhere.

“Are you saying it is okay about your Mom and me?” I questioned. Mindy, “You are not upset or mad at either one of us?

“To be honest,” she said, “at first I was really mad and shocked – at both you and Mom. I mean I could understand, given what had happened to Dad, she would find someone else to fill that need in her life, but to learn that that ‘someone else’ was you bothered me. I mean it REALLY bothered me.

“The fact is, Alan, I have always had a crush on you, from the first day we met,” she added, which really surprised me. “In fact, a lot more than just a crush.

“Why do you think I was always over at your house?”

Better run girl,

You’re much too young girl.

I guess that also explains why Mindy would frequently find a reason to brush up against me when we were operating the woodworking equipment.

I told myself then it meant nothing. That when Mindy put her hand on my shoulder, or arm, it really meant nothing. It felt so wonderful, but I told myself it meant nothing.

How could it mean anything more? I mean she was just a young teenage girl wasn’t she? At the time, not even 18 yet!

And of course I was constantly reminding myself, even unconsciously, “love was a weakness.”

With all the charms of a woman,

You kept the secret of your youth,

That stupid song by Gary Puckett was WRONG! I knew the secret of her youth. She was just a young girl ... who now, suddenly, has turned into one of the most beautiful women I have ever been around!

Or had I been looking, but refused to see?

Then she added the part that almost broke my heart.

She said the main reason she went to the mall with her friends, and later had the beers with the guys, was because I had been home that night – but wasn’t alone.

I had met a young interior designer when I bought the house, and in fact she actually picked out all the furniture and other design items in the house.

That night, she had dropped by unexpectedly, and one thing led to another. I guess she was a firm believer in “service after the sale,” even two years after – and I wasn’t going to complain at the time.

Mindy said she had carefully chosen her sexiest clothes, and was coming over to tell me she was now 18 – a woman in the eyes of the law – and to let me know how she felt about me.

To tell me she had known the first time she and Sara came over to my house we were destined to be together – sooner or later.

She said she had even told Sara, that very first day, she had met the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with!

When Mindy told me that, I was so stunned I couldn’t have said anything if my life depended on it!

That is why Mindy had hugged me so tight that first day, but then realized there was no way to explain how, and why she felt that way, so she quickly left!

Better run girl.

When Mindy realized I wasn’t alone that night, she was devastated. She had waited for me for two years, and now, when she was ready to move our relationship to the “next level,” she saw I was with another woman – a very attractive, and well-endowed woman.

Mindy said she had always been very self-conscious of the fact she didn’t have much up top and it really bothered her. Especially to see me with a well-endowed woman.

She couldn’t help but make the comparison between what she had up top, and what the other woman had up top.

“I’m barely a B-cup – really an A-cup, and she was what ... a C or D?” Mindy explained.

I wisely didn’t answer.

Mindy spent many minutes outside my house that night, looking at us through my windows and crying. That was when she called some friends and they went to the mall.

She had been so angry with me, the only thought in her head was to “get even” with me.

I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say.

I could hear the pain in HER voice as she described watching us through the windows.

I guess Mindy could also see the pain in my eyes at feeling responsible for what happened to her because she reached out her hand and took mine.

I had actually nearly reached out for her hand while she was talking, but wasn’t sure if I should.

“It wasn’t your fault, Alan,” she said, “It was my choice ... a bad choice, but still my choice.”

I could not believe it, she was actually trying to comfort me!

You’re much too young girl.

“But I don’t understand one thing,” I finally said to Mindy, still holding hands with her. “How and when did my name come up between you and Jennifer, about us getting together?”

“Well, as I said, Mom told me about the two of you last month,” Mindy explained, “and kept saying I needed to find someone like you. She said I needed someone older, someone who would respect me, and teach me how wonderful sex actually was. Someone like Alan, she kept repeating.”

“I finally said ‘but we don’t know anyone else like Alan’.”

Mindy said just the previous afternoon, she and her Mom were talking when Jennifer said she finally realized they didn’t need to find “anyone like Alan,” since they already had him, err, me.

“But, Mom, he is your friend,” Mindy had stated.

“Right now, Mindy, you need him a lot more than I do,” Mom answered.

Mindy admitted to her Mom she had thought about me more than once during the past two years, but didn’t actually tell her Mom how much she cared for me, and had from the first moment she met me.

They were actually trying to figure out how to get the two of us together when they got the call from Minnesota about Jennifer’s parents.

“Well,” Mindy asked, “what do you think?”

Mindy was still holding my hand.

I didn’t say anything for a minute or two, then started talking.

Even though the conversation was very serious, I was trying to keep it light – but whether this was for her benefit or mine, I honestly couldn’t say.

“To be perfectly honest,” I explained, “before this morning I think I still thought of you as the gawky, geeky, nerdy (“Hey,” she said), nerdy, geeky (“Now you are repeating yourself,” she opined with a laugh) young girl I have been watching grow up for the past two years.”

Young girl, get out of my mind.

“It wasn’t until I saw you this morning, with the covers pushed down to your feet (“I knew you saw more than you were admitting,” she exclaimed) I realized that that very young girl I used to know had grown into a poised, sophisticated, beautiful, geeky, nerdy (“Hey.”) sexy woman.”

My love for you is way out of line.

“So, just how much of me DID you see?” she asked, with a big smile. God, she is so beautiful when she smiles! Her whole face seems to light up when she smiles. In fact, I think her smile could light up an auditorium!

Better run girl.

“I told you,” I said, “really no more than I usually see when you are wearing a bikini. But it was very different when I saw you sleeping in my house, lying on one of my beds.”

I still didn’t feel comfortable telling Mindy I had actually also seen one of her breasts, and saw how hard her nipple was getting after the cool air from the ceiling fan hit it. Or that I knew she didn’t have any tan lines!

“What did you think?” she asked, continuing to hold my hand, and moving even closer to me.

I was silent for a minute. I wasn’t sure if I should, or even could, tell Mindy what I had actually been thinking. But I knew Mindy was waiting for an answer, and I did not want to lie to her.

As difficult, for me, as it might be to tell her the truth, I knew she deserved to hear the truth.

“I don’t think I have ever wanted anything,” I finally, somewhat reluctantly added, “as much as I wanted to slip into bed with you this morning, wake you with my kisses, and make love to you!”

“So,” Mindy asked, “why didn’t you?” She also moved even closer over towards me, and was still holding my hand.

You’re much too young girl.

“Well, I was mentally weighing the options,” I said, with a little grin.

“Options? What do you mean, what options,” she asked, truly puzzled.

“I was trying to put myself in your situation, trying to imagine me as Mindy the geek and nerd! On one hand, there was sex with me,” I told her, with a great big grin, “but on the other hand was 12 years of perfect attendance. Sex, or perfect attendance? Sex, or perfect attendance? Which would Mindy choose? Which would a geek and nerd choose?”

She dropped my hand to pick up a candy wrapper, which was the nearest “weapon” she could find and threw it at me.

“And you thought I would choose perfect attendance?” she demanded.

“Well, I just tried to put myself in the role of a geeky, nerdy...”

“Alan, I don’t know whether to hit you or kiss you,” she interrupted laughing.

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.“ Ingrid Bergman

“Mindy,” I answered, very serious now, “you know I like you – a lot. But you are barely 18, and I just don’t know if this is really such a good idea. There is a lot you don’t know about me, about my background, things I am not proud of that happened in the past, and you have your whole life in front of you and...”

I was about to tell her more, about why it might be a good idea to wait, when, like in the words in one of Doris Day’s songs, her “lips got in the way!”

And back to Gary Puckett’s song, Young Girl:”

Get out of here,

Mindy had leaned over and kissed me.

Before I have the time...

And heaven help me...

... to change my mind

... I put my arms around her...

‘Cause I’m afraid...

... and I kissed back.

... we’ll go too far...

Initially, she was a little hesitant -- not surprising given her previous experience, but as my tongue pressed against her lips she opened her mouth and began kissing back.

Get out of here...

I knew it was wrong.

Before I have the time...

I knew it was improper.

... to change my mind

I knew I should not be doing what I was doing with this oh-so-young girl.

Cause I’m afraid...

But words like right or wrong, proper or improper, should and should not seem to have lost their relevancy.

... we’ll go too far.

I was a man, and she was a woman. That was all that mattered at the moment.

After just a minute or two of kissing, Mindy really surprised me by taking my hand from behind her back and placing it on her breast.

Get out of here...

Almost any semblance of self-control I had remaining was gone.

Before I have the time...

I was a man...

... to change my mind

... and she was a woman.

Cause I’m afraid...

I was a man, and she was a woman.

... we’ll go too far!

I could hear her gasp as I began gently massaging her breast. The bikini top was so small and thin, it was almost like she was wearing nothing. Her breast felt so perfect in my hand, about the size of a small peach.

Yes, I look when I see TV ads, or magazine ads, or actresses with large breasts, but I honestly prefer woman with smaller breasts.

After making out for a couple of minutes, kissing and my squeezing her breast, Mindy broke the kiss, smiled and said maybe we could go to the bedroom first, then the beach.

I smiled, and kissed her again, but this time I slipped my hand inside her bikini top and began lightly caressing her nipple.

She moaned against my mouth, and started kissing even harder.

When we stopped for a minute to catch our breaths, Mindy had another idea.

“The hell with the beach,” she gasped, “let’s stay in the bedroom all day so you can really screw my brains out!”

I actually thought that was an excellent idea!

I love women who still listen to their Mommas!

“It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

I quickly put the truck back in gear and drove the remaining mile or so to the beach property while Mindy moved over beside me. But not until she had taken off her shorts!

And yes, it was a thong bikini! And still no tan lines!!!

She took my right arm and draped it over her shoulders, and placed my hand back on her breast which I continued to massage as I drove with only my left hand. Thank goodness for automatic transmissions!

After we arrived at my place, I held Mindy’s hand until we reached the front door, found my keys and fumbled a minute trying to unlock it.

Finally unlocking it, I then reached over and picked up Mindy and carried her over the threshold to my beach house. She put both arms around my neck and put her head down on my shoulder and started to give me little kisses on my neck.

In the three weeks since Jennifer had been there I had nearly finished the place. The kitchen, master bedroom and bathroom were completely finished, and I just needed to paint the living room and third bedroom and finish a little more tile work and I would be done.

Still carrying Mindy, I walked straight back to the master bedroom where I put her down on her feet, then put my arms around her and gave her another kiss which she returned with eagerness, but not yet much experience.

As I was holding her I asked if she was scared.

“Yes, a little,” she admitted, “but more nervous than anything.”

“Princess,” I said, “I promise I will never hurt you, and make you do anything you don’t want me to do. If you don’t feel comfortable with something, just let me know. All you have to do is say ‘No!’ or ‘Stop!’ and I swear I will. Okay?”

She just nodded her head, but I could feel some of the tension leave her.

“Can I take your top off?” I asked, letting her know I meant what I had said, that I would not do anything without her permission and approval.

Again, she just nodded, so I reached behind her and untied the strings holding her bikini together.

As the bikini top came off, I think I must have gasped out loud. Mindy’s breasts were, I thought (and still think so), the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

Her breasts were small, but perfectly shaped. Her breasts were firm, and curved slightly upward, and her nipples were hard nubbins.

“God, you are so beautiful and your breasts are perfect!” I proclaimed.

“No, they are not,” she denied. “My breasts are so small. I probably have the smallest breasts of any girl in my class. Even my younger sister has breasts twice this size.”

I immediately put my fingers against her lips to stop her from talking, then looked into her eyes.

“Mindy,” I said, “don’t ever put yourself down. You are beautiful, and your breasts are perfect.”

She still looked a little uncertain, but I could tell she was pleased with what I said.

“You know, there is one experiment we can conduct to find out if your breasts are the perfect size or not,” I suggested.

I think, despite herself, she laughed.

“Oh, yeah,” she inquired, “what is that?”

“Someone once said anything over a mouthful is wasted!” I explained, and immediately bent my head down and covered her entire breast with my mouth.

She gasped, and then started softly moaning as I caressed her hard nipple with my tongue. She brought both hands up and held my head against her as I alternated sucking on her nipple, and then caressing it with my tongue.

She started moaning even harder once I brought my hand up to her other breast and began squeezing it, and moving my thumb over that nipple.

After many minutes of gently making love to her breasts with my mouth and hand, I stopped and pulled her against me.

“Perfect!” I whispered into her ear, “Nothing wasted.” Then we started kissing again, while I ran my hands up and down her soft, sexy back.

After a few minutes of kissing, she pushed me back a couple of inches, then started trying to unbutton my shirt.

I helped, and she pulled the shirt off my shoulders. I then pulled her back into an embrace.

“No,” she complained, “I want to see you too! Without the t-shirt.”

For the first time in more years than I cared to remember, I was nervous about a woman seeing me. For some reason I could not quite figure out, it was important to me that this young lady like my body.

Before my unfortunate collision with that drainage ditch in Afghanistan, I used to really keep myself in shape. I would run anywhere from 20 to 30 miles each week. On Saturday I would start with anywhere from six to 10 miles, on Sunday I would run three miles, trying to maintain a pace of just under four-and-a-half minutes per mile. My goal was to always run in less than 14 minutes, and I usually completed the run between 13:30 and 13:45 minutes. On Monday I would only run one mile, but try to complete it as quickly as possible, usually between 4:05 and 4:15.

My schedule with weights was the exact opposite. On Saturday I would usually work out for about 15 minutes, on Sunday I would increase that to 30 minutes, then on Monday I would often spend about an hour.

There is a lot more to being a Marine than just upper body strength. Overall conditioning, and cardiovascular training were a lot more important. I would also try to swim for at least 30 minutes each day.

Tuesday was my goof-off day. I usually did nothing more strenuous than read, other than a 30-minute swim.

My routine would start over on Wednesday with a six to 10 mile run, then three miles on Thursday, etc.

Since my accident, and the surgeries, my routine had completely changed. I could no longer run, so each day I would start with 15-20 minutes on a stationary bike, spend an hour or two on weight training, and swim for 30 minutes. I would still take Tuesdays off, with just a short swim.

Of course, since I had been working on the beach property for the past three months, I was spending very little time (make that zero) working out.