I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, where most of the nine hundred or so people, who lived there, often didn’t lock their doors. Being part of the baby boomer generation, meant that a lot of those residents, were my age, or a few years older or younger, give or take. A lot of our parents were veterans of World War II, and a few families had suffered losses in that war. But this story isn’t about wars or hardships.

The summer after I graduated high school, I learned what it meant to work in a very physical, full-time job at a stone quarry. We worked ten hour shifts and five more on Saturdays. I was in the best shape of my life at eighteen years old. Working that kind of schedule meant we had to squeeze our fun into a few short hours every evening over that summer. In less than a month, I would be starting my freshman year at a major university. So, this summer had kind of a last chance feeling attached to it. If Bryan Adam’s song, ‘Summer Of ‘69’ had been written then, it would have certainly been our theme song.

That late July evening started out fairly blah, no plans to go out anywhere since it was a Thursday, and I had to be at the quarry at seven sharp the next morning. I usually just hung out with my girlfriend, Faye, who lived with her aunt several blocks from my parents’ house. Her parents also lived in the same town, but she had moved in with her aunt while still in high school. The official reason for the move was to help her aunt and keep an eye on her in her old age. But the main reason was her mom was an overbearing witch, and her Aunt Mamie threw her a lifesaver.

Faye, would usually eat dinner at her parents’ house, and after a short visit, just walk over to the next block to stay with Aunt Mamie. Her brother Carl, who was eight years older than her, used that exact same move to escape their mom’s domineering persona. Carl Sr., who was a veteran of the war in the south pacific, was more or less pussy whipped to Florence, his wife. Upon graduating high school, Carl junior promptly enlisted in the Air Force, and never lived at home again.

Living with her aunt was the perfect setup for Faye, and me coincidentally. Aunt Mamie never had children, and she doted on both Carl and Faye. She also approved of me for some reason, so I was always welcome in her house. My girlfriend had her bedroom on the second floor. She usually ate her meals at her aunt’s house on weekends. I was often invited, and she was a great cook. But my mom was also a great cook, and Faye living with her aunt had other advantages.

I had started to date Faye the previous summer. But I knew her more or less since grade school. I think we started to get interested in each other while attending youth fellowship at our little church as teenagers. Our little town had two churches and three bars. A catholic buddy of mine always said that ratio pretty much defined the moral character of a town. I didn’t know what he was talking about then, but he always gave me the Catholic mindset on all things that his priest had shared with him.

That summer of sixty-nine, Faye was working as a clerk-typist at the Indiantown Gap Military reservation, home of the largest ROTC camp in the U.S. She was an assistant to the head secretary for the officer in charge of personnel. She helped type personnel reports for the ROTC cadets, who were taking their summer training. This military reservation is a pretty large complex and my guess is there were close to seven or eight hundred young men, receiving their training that summer. Many of them would be headed to Viet Nam later that year.

The personnel department at the Gap had over two dozen officers and non-comm’s attached to it, and exactly three women. Faye, my girlfriend; Marie, an attractive Latino girl; and Norma the middle aged, head secretary to the Colonel. Faye also reported to both Captain Babb, whom she despised, and Sgt. Major Glennon, whom she adored.

Both Faye and Marie wore skirts or dresses to work during that time. It was also that period when dresses and skirts had hemlines above the knee. At five foot eight, Faye often complained about finding skirts that were long enough, especially when she sat down at a desk to type a report. When I first started to date her, my eyes couldn’t settle on what part of her to look at first, but I started with her eyes, to be polite. To a young man, she was a feast for the eyes, and also a source of my frustrations.

Faye had great, long legs, and was ogled, pretty much all day, while working with a large group of men, all of whom were away from their girlfriends and wives for months on end. She was very pretty, and had dark brown eyes, long brown hair with her bangs cut straight across the front. Her hair fell down to her shoulders and was usually curled up at that point. Her mom used to say that Faye had inherited her paternal grandmother’s features, wide at the hips and ‘wowza’ in the bust.

So, you have an eighteen-year-old, pretty girl working with, what? Almost eight hundred, horny soldiers? These guys had more pickup lines than Carter has pills, as the saying used to go. To top it off, her breasts are large with no sag at eighteen, and an ass that looks great in a short skirt bordering on a mini. And it wasn’t like there weren’t other women there, probably a dozen and a half in all, mostly young and dressed like Faye and Marie. A few of the older secretaries had been with their commanding officers for years, even a few wives had that job. To the best of my knowledge, all these women were civilians. I’m just setting the stage for some of our conversations that summer, and my frustrations.

My name is Tom, actually Thomas, but only a few of my old-lady teachers called me that, or Mom when I did something wrong. I’m the tallest person in my family at six foot-three and three-quarters, and actually the tallest person among my friends and my thirty-seven first cousins. Yea, you heard me right, I have thirty-seven cousins, well actually thirty-eight, but one of my girl cousins died before I knew her. A couple guys in high school were taller than me; one at six-eleven, and no big surprise, he played Division-I college basketball. But I digress, height has no bearing on my story, but cousins do.

So that late July evening, Faye and I just planned on a little drive in my ‘56 Ford Fairlane. It was a beauty, painted metallic blue. I earned it by working for my dad, helping to rehab a couple of rental houses that he owned. I started doing that work before I could drive at sixteen. It was a good way to learn general carpentry skills, but not what a fourteen-year-old kid wanted to do on his Saturdays. Dad surprised me when I was almost seventeen by giving me that car as payment for all the hours, I’d helped him. He’d bought it from a young electrician who did some wiring for him in the houses he was remodeling. Bob, the electrician was headed to Viet Nam serving in the Marines.

That evening, I pulled up outside Aunt Mamie’s semi-detached house and parked under the large maple tree next to her front porch. Faye’s second-floor bedroom faced up the main street, and she could see me coming down the street while she was getting ready.

I didn’t have long to wait, Faye bounced out the front door, wearing some tan-colored shorts, and a canary V-neck sleeveless blouse. It was a good time to be a young man, as girls wore their shorts, very short and fairly tight. I was waiting next to the passenger door and opened it for her. She quickly got in, and I went around and did the same.

Faye slid across the bench seat and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. She looked and smelled like something to eat. Her hair was shiny, and her arms and legs were lightly tanned. She often spent time lying in the sun on weekends at her parents’ pool. She was never satisfied with her tan when she compared her arms to mine. Ten hours a day working in a quarry, I had the darkest tan in memory, and I tanned easily.

“Oh, I look pale, compared to you,” she lamented, while holding up her arm next to mine.

“You look fine hon, stop worrying about your tan,” I chided her.

She smacked me on the arm, and made a face. I retrieved my arm and turned the ignition key of the Ford. The dual exhausts rumbled and the big V-8 made the seat vibrate.

“Ohh, that tickles a little,” she giggled, and arched her back, causing her large, pointy breasts to strain the top she was wearing. The sleeve holes were loose enough to see her bra from the side when she did that. She knew the effect her boobs had on me. To me, it was just another reason to love the sound of a well-tuned engine.

Before most of my buddies and I could even legally drive, we’d sit around and discuss which car and exhaust pipes sounded the best. Next to talking about girls, cars were a very close second, followed by professional baseball players. We could argue for hours about what team had the best line-ups. Of course, we could also discuss the finer points of the girls in our town for longer than that.

Faye and I had been seeing each other since the previous summer, and she sat close to me on the bench seat, while I was driving. Seat belts were not yet standard equipment in vehicles. It’s a wonder there weren’t more accidents, from the distraction of soft breasts resting against your arm. When I wasn’t shifting gears, my hand usually rested on her tan knee or thigh next to me.

I dropped the shifter into first gear, released the clutch and pulled away from curb, and headed towards town. We called the small city, that was exactly one-half mile from our smaller town’s border, the ‘town’. We had the windows rolled down, and the air blowing through the car felt good. After shifting through all three gears on the column, my upper arm often nestled in the valley between Faye’s boobs. After almost a year together, Faye was comfortable allowing me some familiarity with her boobs, as long there was some clothing between us.

“Want to go to the Dixie, and get a milkshake?”

“Okay, maybe with some malt,” Faye didn’t seem that enthused.

The Dixie was a drive-in restaurant, on the outskirts of the city, that bordered our town. You would pull your car into one of the parking spots under a small, roofed pavilion, and place your order with a young waitress who roved the area. I’ve seen the waitresses do that on roller skates in movies, but that must have been before our time. The mostly high school-aged waitresses would bring your order on a tray and sit the tray on a shelf that sat next to the driver’s window. You’d pay her in cash, and when finished, leave the tray sitting on the shelf.

The Dixie was a pretty popular hangout over the summer, and there were quite a few other cars sitting there. Lots of guys-only cars also patrolled these spots looking for girls. I had done the same in previous years. And sometimes, you’d see a car with girls only, doing the same.

We’d placed our order, for one vanilla and one chocolate milkshake, with malt, plus one large order of fries to share. I’d eaten dinner about two hours earlier, but the physical nature of my job had kicked my appetite into high gear that summer. I’d graduated weighing one hundred-ninety pounds, and by summer’s end was an even leaner one eighty-five.

“What do you want to do later?” I asked while waiting for our order.

“I dunno. I guess go back to Aunt Mamie’s, watch tv or sit on the front porch?” Faye answered with some options.

The front porch was code for making out, although it was on the main street of our little town. The porch had a nice wooden railing, and the leaves of the maple tree, that sat directly in front shielded us from the street light in that area. It wasn’t unusual for us to be kissing just as someone walked by, and said hello. Faye was always embarrassed; I was always proud they’d seen us.

“Is that okay?” Faye asked.

“Sure. Okay with me,” I answered, half-heartedly.

“Or if it’s too hot, we can go inside,” Faye added.

‘Go inside’ was also code for something more to my liking.

Aunt Mamie’s house was a semi-detached, and had two window unit air conditioners, that did a decent job cooling the first floor. The first floor consisted of a front living room, a middle living room, a dining room and a kitchen all in a straight line. My parent’s house was laid out similarly, except we never owned an AC unit.

If and when we went inside, we’d sit a little bit and visit with her aunt in the middle room, where she sat watching tv. She’d ask us about the movie, or whatever we did that evening, just small talk. Aunt Mamie was a shrewd operator, and never nosey. She loved her niece, and seemed to really like me, so I was thankful for that, over the alternative.

Typical of the women in our town, she’d offer us something to eat, and if there was some of her famous lemon sponge pie, Faye would give me a piece. It’s still the best I’ve ever eaten. After spending some time sitting with her, sometimes, Faye would say she’s going upstairs to change.

Faye would go up to her bedroom, and usually come back down wearing a light robe or a conservative night gown. She’d usually be barefoot, or in cold weather, wearing her slippers. Under the robe, she usually had just her bra and panties on, and on rare occasions, no bra. So, it’s easy to see why I preferred the ‘go inside’ alternative.

At that point, we’d go into the kitchen for a snack, and make out a little while sitting at the kitchen table. Then we followed a routine, that didn’t vary very much.

“I better get going, have to get up early for work in the morning.” I’d say somewhat loudly, so Aunt Mamie might hear it. I know this wasn’t the most creative diversion, but it had worked pretty well up to now.

We’d walk back through the middle living room, and I’d say good bye to Aunt Mamie, and thank her for the pie, or whatever I might have eaten. But more often than not, she’d be asleep in front of the tv in her easy chair. I’m not totally sure if she was always asleep or not. If she was asleep, Faye would put her finger up to her lips, shushing me.

Aunt Mamie, conserved her electricity and often the tv was the only source of light in the middle room; or the light at the top of the stairway, which was also located in the middle room. If she had a light on at all, it was a tiny lamp that sat on top of an antique desk in the far corner. The front living room almost never had the lights turned on. Faye and I would sit on the sofa, in the front living room, and talk quietly for a bit before things got interesting.

Faye’s aunt was sitting approximately fifteen feet away, facing away from where we sat. The back of her swivel easy chair also partially blocked her view into the darkened front room. In these older houses, the front living room was where the “good” furniture sat. Most of the everyday living was in the middle room, and the front was usually reserved for guests visiting. Hey, I was a guest after all, so I deserved to sit on the good stuff.

Faye would sit beside me on the sofa, and we’d kiss for a bit, while my hands found their way to her breasts, over or under her robe. One of her older robes actually had a zipper. That was the best. She would always resist me lowering the zipper on that robe, but eventually gave in. Faye left me play with her big tits while we kissed, but they were almost, always sheathed in her bra. After what seemed like a decent amount of time to get better acquainted with her lips and breasts, I’d move over, and lie down with my head on her upper thighs. Her breasts would be directly above my face, and I could smell the Tabu perfume she wore and loved. Tabu’s creator supposedly tried to develop a scent that ladies of the evening would wear. I loved how it smelled on Faye, but she didn’t need anything extra to excite me.

After I had positioned my head on her legs, Faye would casually reach over and slowly unzip my shorts or jeans. She’d have to do it very slowly, so Aunt Mamie wouldn’t hear it. By then, my erection was tenting my pants and underpants. I loved that sensation when her fingers pulled my underpants down, and finally made contact with my hard cock. She had become adept at getting a hard cock out of a tight pair of shorts or jeans without making much noise.

All men know that feeling when a woman’s hand initially wraps around your cock. That thrill never gets old. And to an eighteen-year-old, young man, well, it’s what we’ve been waiting to experience for a long time. There was also something erotic about having my cock out in plain view, where Aunt Mamie could simply turn slightly more than ninety degrees, and see my cock in her niece’s hands.

Faye had told me that mine was the first one, she’d ever felt or seen, when it finally happened the previous fall. And I have to confess to not having seen her pussy yet. Most of the time, she wouldn’t allow me to put my hands or fingers inside her panties. So, after getting rebuffed more than a few times, I decided to patiently wait things out.

When Faye first started to use her hands on me, she confessed to being a little afraid of it. Probably knowing where it would eventually wind up. I reassured her that it would fit, but didn’t push the issue. An older, more experienced guy might have. I was pretty happy, to have her hands on my cock on most evenings that we had been together since that first time.

Since most horny eighteen-year-old guys had a lot of experience jerking off, it often took Faye several minutes to get the job done. With my coaching, she knew when to tighten or loosen her grip, and how fast or hard to jerk it. If I’d done the deed earlier in that day, she’d sometimes have to change hands when her arm got tired. I usually had to sit up then, so she could reach me with her other hand. I’d give her a signal when it was imminent. I usually kept a clean, cotton handkerchief in my pocket and had given it to her earlier.

Faye could tell when I was about to shoot my wad, and to keep me quiet, she’d clamp her other hand over my mouth. For some reason, trying to not groan, or make a noise with her hand clamped over my mouth, only heightened the sensation. On those times, her hand wasn’t enough, I’d simulate a fake coughing attack from my ‘allergies’, or be clearing my throat. I would be half-laughing and half-coughing, and Faye would give me a dirty look, and just wad the soiled hanky onto my belly for me to take along. And God forbid, she misjudged the trajectory and some of my “stuff” wound up on her robe or night gown.

Through dozens of these encounters, Aunt Mamie never once turned around. The noise from the window air conditioner and television gave us some cover. But I think she knew exactly what was going on, and allowed us to have our fun. She was a great old gal.

Back at the Dixie, we were waiting for our order to arrive. Fast food back then, might be a five-to-ten-minute wait after your order was placed. I had the radio playing while Faye would often sing along softly with the songs. She seemed to know the lyrics to just about every song; to me it was more about the music, and not the lyrics.

A couple of cars were driving through the rows of parked cars, and just then I saw a light blue Chevy Corvair slowly passing by in front of my Ford. I groaned mostly to myself, when I saw the driver was Bonnie Dallmeyer.

“Hey Tom, Oh, Hi Faye,” Bonnie was yelling loudly while waving excitedly with her hand outside the driver’s window.

I waved back at Bonnie, and Faye gave her a minimal hand wave too.

Bonnie and best friend, Sue-Ellen Hoerner, were cruising the Dixie, like I had the previous years.

“There’s your old girlfriend, BON-NEE,” Faye announced as the Corvair pulled away.

“Bonnie was not my girlfriend. Why do you keep saying that?”

“That’s not what my cousin, Jane told me earlier this summer.”

“I told you about that, it wasn’t what it looked like.” I said for the umpteenth time.

“That’s what it looked like to Jane. Bonnie with her big boobs sitting on your lap, on HER front porch.”

I groaned to myself and stopped arguing. Earlier that summer, sometime in early June, I was talking to a buddy, Jim Greiner, on his front porch. Jim’s house was about a half block away from the Dallmeyer’s on the same street. Bonnie and Debbie were twin girls that had moved to our town while we were all in grade school. Bonnie and Deb were not identical twins, Debbie was a smart, slim, and athletic brunette, who competed in girls’ basketball and ran track. Bonnie was taller, had dirty-blonde hair and was built for comfort, not speed. Debbie was more of an introvert, and Bonnie was a friendly extrovert.

On that evening, Jim wanted me to walk along to look at an old pickup truck sitting in front of the Dallmeyer’s with a For Sale sign in the front window. Bob Dallmeyer, who was the twins’ dad, was selling his old 1960 Chevy C-10 pickup. These trucks were built like tanks. When we arrived, Jim and I went up to the house and he knocked on the door. After a short time, Debbie, the slim brunette came out onto the porch.

“Hi Deb, is your dad home?” asked Jim.

“Hey Jim. No, sorry. Mom and Dad went into town to do some shopping. What do you need?’ Debbie asked matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I just wanted to see how much he’s asking for the pickup,” answered Jim.

“Don’t know, but he should be home soon, if you want to wait. I can get the key so you look at it. Start it up if you want,” she added.

“Okay, that would be great.” Jim responded.

Debbie went inside, and Jim and I remained standing on their porch. In a minute, Debbie returned with the key, and handed it to Jim. We walked out to the Chevy, and it was unlocked. He got inside and cranked the engine, Va-room! Jim looked at me with a satisfied look on his face. He turned it off, and got out, and opened the hood. It had the 235 cubic inch-Overhead valve, Inline six-cylinder engine that produced 140 horsepower. Like I said earlier, guys in our small town of that generation were all car nuts.

After Jim closed and latched the hood, we walked back to Debbie, who was sitting on the porch and he handed her the key. Deb and I exchanged hellos.

“Do you know when your dad will be home?” Jim asked again.

“It shouldn’t be too long, maybe a half hour or less,” she answered.

“Someone else just called and asked about it too,” she shared.

“Oh, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait. Can we sit here on the porch?” Jim had some concerns about the competition, and he had his eye on this truck since he was sixteen.

“Sure, would you guys like a soda while you wait?” Debbie asked.

“Thank you, that would be great. Coke or root beer for me,” I piped up.

“Coke’s good for me too, Deb,” Jim answered.

Debbie got up off her metal lawn chair, and went inside. Jim and I settled into the two remaining lawn chairs on their porch. The sun had set, and it was starting to become twilight. The evening was still pretty warm, and muggy. In a minute, she returned with two cokes, and she had an orange soda. We thanked her and started to drink our sodas.

I had gone to school with Debbie from about third grade through twelfth, and this evening was the most conversation I’d had with her the whole time. She was very bright, and a good athlete, but our paths just didn’t seem to cross very much. She was wearing tight shorts and a French cut t-shirt. She had the build of the girls who ran track; muscular legs, a small firm butt, and small breasts. Her skin was naturally dark complected, like her mom’s, who had a Mediterranean heritage. She wore her dark brown hair in a bob-hairstyle. She often had an impish smile or expression on her face, as if she was up to something. All told, she was pretty and had a pixie type of look.

“Deb, did you land a job this summer?” I finally broke the silence.

“Yea, just waitressing over at the diner, until September. I start nursing school then.”

“Hey, that’s great, didn’t know you wanted to do that.” I returned.

“What about you Jim?” she asked.

“Uh, I’m working the grounds, and cutting grass out at Indiantown Gap,” Jim answered.

I had applied for that job too, since I knew Faye would be out there all summer. But I never got a call. For some reason, that was a highly sought-after job by new high school grads. Jim would relate to me later that summer, that officers stationed at the base were provided housing. And their young wives lived there with some of them. Jim had some good stories about cutting grass at those houses.

“What about you Tom, where are you working this summer?” Debbie asked.

I just started to answer her, when Bonnie, came bounding out the front door, wearing a pink striped onesy, jumpsuit. Mother of God! Her shorts stopped about one inch below her crotch, and the buttons on the blouse were straining to stay closed over her boobs. They resembled guided missiles, ready for launch. Bonnie had a straw colored, bouffant hairstyle, was fair skinned in contrast to her twin, and had always been a little flirty all through school.

“Hi Jim, HI Tom, what are you two doing here? Come to see me?” She teased.

“Nah, just want to check out your dad’s truck,” Jim responded.

“Not a good answer, Jimmie,” she chided him.

“How come you girls aren’t keeping it?” I asked.

“We don’t want to learn how to drive stick shift,” Debbie answered.

“It’s not that hard, Jim or I could teach you,” I offered.

Jim gave me a look that said, ‘shut up’, he really wanted that truck.

“Tom, can I have a sip of your soda?” Bonnie asked me.

“Sure,” I said holding out the can from where I sat.

There were only three of the lawn chairs on the porch. Bonnie came over and sat down across my legs and took the soda from my hand. She was turned sideways to me, and put her one hand on my shoulder while she sipped the coke with the other hand. She smelled really good, and I struggled to keep my eyes off of her big tits.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do Ya?”

“Ok, with me, it’s your porch,” I answered weakly.

“Wow, you’re really tan. Are you working as a lifeguard again this summer?” Bonnie asked while touching my upper arm.

“No, I’m working in a stone quarry near Hershey this summer. Pays better than the club pool.”

Bonnie seemed to be listening and had rested her arm up on my shoulder. She was sitting right on my lap, and I could feel the soft skin of her thighs touching my legs, where my shorts ended. She was fidgeting while she was sitting. It was starting to get a bit uncomfortable. My face was literally inches from that pink cotton, that was straining to contain her boobs.

“I thought you guys here in town, got your all-over tans over at the B-A-B,” she said and laughed at her own joke.

“You should try it Bon, we’ll take you sometime,” said Jim.

Jim was a wiry, little guy, with short blonde hair; but he was also a real horn-dog.

“Maybe I will. Are girls allowed at Bare Ass Beach?” laughed Bonnie.

We all laughed along at her joke. Debbie just rolled her eyes at her sister.

“There’s no formal rules, Bon. I’ve heard a few girls went over after a graduation party. It turned into a coed, skinny-dipping, beer party,” I said.

“Were you there?” Debbie finally joined in.

“Nah, but I helped Bogie hide the beer in a shallow spot earlier, so it was cold when they arrived.”

“Who all went to that?” Bonnie asked.

“Well, I’d heard a few names, but Betsy was the only girl who supposedly, swam with all the guys. Bogie said the other ones didn’t have the nerve to do it.”

“I’m just glad nobody drowned, since they were all drinking,” I added.

“Ha! Knowing Betsy from the basketball team, I bet she did more than swim,” laughed Debbie.

I just held out my hands, palms up, and made a face, like I didn’t know the answer to that. Just then we could see car lights coming down the street, I was nervous that the Dallmeyer’s would be pulling into their driveway, and see Bonnie sitting there on my lap. She made no attempt to move, and had that a devilish grin on her face at my predicament.

The car didn’t slow down to make the turn. As it passed, I saw it was Jane Kirby, Faye’s older cousin driving the car. She clearly saw me with Bonnie, and her twin, pink missile launchers sitting on my lap. I groaned audibly.

“What’s the matter? Am I getting too heavy?” Bonnie asked.

“No. But that was Faye’s cousin, Jane driving that car.”

“Oops. Well, it’s no big deal, I’m was just sitting here. Tell her that you were here to look at dad’s truck.”

“Yea, that’ll fly, I’m sure. Gotta go girls.” I said and helped Bonnie off my lap.

Jim was the prankster among my buddies, and he was enjoying my situation, as if he’d cooked it up.

“See Ya later Jim. Let me know how you make out. Bye girls,” I said.

“Later buddy, let me know how you make out too,” he laughed.

“Bye Tom; bye Tom,” both twins said as I walked off their porch.

Under different circumstances the evening could have turned out quite differently, now it was going to be a damage-control shitshow as far as Faye and I were concerned. I decided to tackle it head on, and get ahead of the situation by telling Faye the whole story the following evening. Yea, that could work.