Chapter 6: Excursions With Molly

I admit I had lied to Molly when I said I wouldn’t talk to anybody about her, or rather I carelessly got into discussing our relationship with somebody. I had foolishly told my best friend Mark, who was not one of my Scouting buddies but rather a schoolmate, about how I had met her and what we were doing with each other.

That happened on the Monday after I came home from Alpine, and I met him at a luncheonette on University Avenue in our neighborhood. Only one day had passed since I had returned from camp, and meeting Molly was one of the most significant things that had ever happened to me. I had known Mark for three years, which seems like a long time when one is that age. I believed he was the one person I could trust with my story.

After some preliminary talk, I said, “You may find this hard to believe, but I met an older woman when I was walking around outside Camp Alpine a couple of weeks ago.”

He didn’t get it at first, so I went into details about how she had invited me into her house a number of times. Having full intercourse with her was the peak event in my dealings with her, and I made sure to emphasize that. Once I started talking about her, I felt some relief at revealing my secret to someone.

Mark was flabbergasted, but he was envious too. He wanted to know, “When can I meet this Molly person?”

That was a big hint that I had made a mistake in telling him. I should have known he’d want to see her. I said, “You can’t meet her, she wouldn’t allow it. In fact, I won’t allow it either.” Fortunately, she lived up there in Alpine or otherwise he might have wanted to drop in for a visit.

Yet he kept asking me questions about what Molly was like and what we had done together. She had been correct about the loose tongues of teen-aged boys. I couldn’t help but brag about the sexual activities the two of us had enjoyed together. Those included oral sex and the times we had spanked each other.

Mark wasn’t placated. He wanted to get a glimpse of her when she came to Washington Heights. “I’ll just stand there and look into the car when she drives up.” He seemed oblivious to how difficult it would be to get the timing right for that. It wasn’t like we were operating on some kind of schedule.

I tried to walk it back somewhat. “Mark, she’s just your typical thirty-nine-year-old woman. She teaches high school, and she looks it.” That wasn’t a kind thing to say about her, but I needed to discourage him if at all possible.

He said, “Still, she’s let you into her pussy, she’s let you bang her.” Then he said, almost in awe, “She’s also sucked on your cock until you came in her mouth.” That seemed to impress him as much as vaginal penetration.

I knew I had messed up, but there was nothing to be done about it by then. My poor adolescent judgment and my joy at getting laid regularly had tripped me up. I made Mark swear that he wouldn’t tell anybody about her. “She could get into deep legal trouble if word of this got around. I’m way beneath the age of consent, you know that.”

“Who would I tell about it?”

“Like Dan, for example.” He was a mutual friend of ours. “The more people who know about it, the more difficult the situation becomes. Please don’t tell him; he’s a real loudmouth.”

Mark looked somewhat sullen, one of his common attitudes. “All right, but can we talk about it – I mean just the two of us?”

I had lost my appetite for the tuna sandwich in front of me. After delaying a reply for a few seconds, I said, “I’ve already said way too much about this whole thing. Let’s just try to forget about it.”

“If it was me, I’d tell you all the details.” That was typical of him; he’d argue about anything if it was for his own benefit.

“Look, I feel responsible for this lady’s – call it safety, I’d say.”

“Couldn’t I at least see a picture of her?”

The only camera I had access to was a cheap point-and-shoot my parents owned. It was so basic that it didn’t even have a zoom feature.

“She hasn’t given me any photos of herself, and she’d be rather suspicious I think if I started snapping pictures of her with the family camera. And I’d have to pay to get a whole roll of film developed without asking my family to pay for it.”

We argued about it for several minutes. Finally, he seemed to agree to my terms. And he kept his word. I had met him in junior high and he was one the few people from there to be admitted to my high school.

Occasionally he would bring up the Molly topic again, but I always tried to shut him down. Ultimately my problem with Molly had nothing to do with him.

One week in August, for the sake of variety, we went to Mohansic State Park in Westchester County. It was a smaller place but it had a pool too. However, it lacked the dramatic hills that Bear Mountain had.

Molly picked me up at the railroad station in Peekskill, which wasn’t too difficult to reach from where I lived in the West Bronx. Back then there was no Metro-North; it was operated by the Penn Central at that time.

While we were at the pool, I told her stories about how in the 1930s and 1940s, my grandparents took my young mother up to Bear Mountain on the Hudson Dayliner steamboats.

I said, “Those would leave from the pier at the end of 125th Street in Manhattan. I heard that once in the 1920s, before my mom was born, my grandparents had missed the boat and they took a ferry across to New Jersey and caught the West Shore line train to Bear Mountain.”

“I’ve heard about those boats. They still have one in service.” We didn’t know yet that the last one had only two years left before retirement. “I’ve never been on that route at all.”

“Really, how did you miss it riding it?”

“My dad always had a car, so that’s what we used for trips. I grew up in Englewood. We had little incentive to catch the boat in Manhattan. By the way, I remember the West Shore trains too, but they’ve been gone for a while.” I knew about her father being an aircraft engineer, but that was the first I had ever heard about her hometown.

I said, “Would you like to go on the boat once with me, while it still exists? It’s probably nearing the end of its lifespan.”

“I don’t know, where would I park at 125th Street? It still leaves from there, right?”

“All right, let’s put it on hold for the moment.” We never did get around to taking that steamboat trip.

Afterwards, she decided that she would drive me back to my home in The Bronx which wasn’t too far from the George Washington Bridge. Since we weren’t going to Alpine we’d have to forego sex on that day, but it was okay with me. I was already getting laid in amounts that most guys my age could only dream about.

When we were leaving, she asked me, “Maybe I could see where you live?” That oddly reminded me of Mark asking to find out more about her and her house.

I objected to that request too. “No, Molly, it’s a risk that we shouldn’t take it. I can’t be seen getting out of your car.”

“You’re right, you have a good head on your shoulders. Where would you like to be dropped off?”

“You know University Avenue? That’s a main street one block away.”

When we got off the expressway and drove down University, she said, “So this is what you see every day?”

“Well, yeah, we’re entering Morris Heights; this is it. Not that impressive, right?”

“I’ve been around New York quite a bit. I’ve even been in The Bronx as I said, just not through here.”

As we approached my cross-street, I chickened out of exiting the car there too. “Molly, take me down a few more blocks and drop me off there. I know I sound a bit paranoid. I mean, a lot of my neighbors go shopping right here and I’m worried about somebody seeing me with you.”

“That’s okay, I get it. You’re right to be cautious. I’ll just keep going south and you just tell me where you want to get out.”

We went down several blocks until we were almost to where she’d have to turn west onto the Harlem River bridge that then led to the George Washington. I asked her to stop next to a housing project; it seemed unlikely that anyone who knew me would be passing by.

Then, before I could open the door, she unexpectedly turned the engine off. Then she looked over at me, assessing me I think, and I did the same with her. I knew she wanted to talk to me before I left.

She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse and denim shorts. I could imagine her fleshy body underneath her clothes, and I knew it would be clean and smooth from her time in the pool. She had never been the kind of woman who turned heads in the street, but she looked very sexy at that moment. I could imagine coupling with her in the back seat of her car, something we had never done.

To distract myself, I looked at a school building couple of blocks away on the other side of an expressway.

“That school over there, that’s P.S. 104, that’s where my troop meets, or they used to anyway. I remember joining there one evening nearly two years ago.”

She glanced over at the place and said, “And all that eventually led you to me, of course.” Then she turned back to me and surprised me by saying, “I would like at some point to come into the city and see you in Manhattan. It would be very platonic, of course; we wouldn’t have the car to protect us. How does that sound?”

“You mean you’d go on a date with me?” Somehow New York seemed more like a real dating location than the state parks.

She laughed at that. “I think we’ve already been doing some dating, quite a bit of it! I meant we could meet there, walk around, have dinner, see the sights. I’d even dress up more when I see you. You know, nylons, heels, and all of that.”

“Okay, I’d like to see you dressed up. But of course, you’d still be my Aunt Molly.”

She got that I was being tongue-in-cheek with her. “Oh, sure I’d still have to be your auntie!” We sometimes joked that people who saw us together assumed that she was one of my relatives. “Thus you’d really have to behave yourself when we’re together on the street.”

“We could go on the Circle Line, among other things.” That was a three-hour boat ride in the rivers around Manhattan.

“Like the Dayliner, I’ve never been on that either. Some other time. I was planning this outing to be in the evening for us.”

It struck me again how lonely Molly must be if she was going out with a guy my age. Yet, from my point of view, I felt like I loved her although she had forbidden me from saying so. I had to at least allude to my feelings about her.

“Molly, you’re so cool. I really am very fond of you, as I said.” She allowed me to use the word fond but not love.

There had been something very adolescent about my phrasing, and she looked both embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “Well, I try to be good to you. It does take a bit of...” She left the thought unfinished, but she grabbed my hand and held it. Then she revealed that she understood more about my attitude towards her.

“I know who you’re going to be thinking about tonight; you’re going to be thinking about me.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

She let go of my hand and shook a finger at me. “Because it’s so just obvious. I thought the Scouts taught bad boys like you to help ladies cross the street, not bang them in the back seat of their cars.”

“You did it again. How did you know I was imagining you in the car?”

“Sweetie, your Molly here still has some hot moves in her, including the ones that come out of her mind. But some naughty thoughts come out of your mind too, I see. I think I need to give you another sound spanking.”

I knew her well enough to blurt out an honest answer. “I think you know I’d like that.”

She found that funny too. “Or course, I’ve seen the erections you get when I whack you. So bring your scouting uniform out to my house sometime and we can play the bad Scout and – let’s see, the stern Scoutmaster’s wife game.”

A wave of bashfulness overcame me. At times I felt very bold with her, but at other times I reverted to a more age-appropriate behavior. It suddenly seemed to be impolite to be talking to an adult woman in such a sexually explicit way.

Molly must have noticed that I was blushing. “Don’t be embarrassed or surprised. You know that the buttocks are an erogenous zone.”

I could vividly remember how she would “milk” me after such incidents, using her hands or mouth to bring me to an orgasm. Yet, as enjoyable as that was, at that moment I couldn’t talk about it while sitting with her in the car. Thus, I changed the topic. “Well, anyway, you can just turn right here, and then there’s an entrance to the GW Bridge on the other side.”

“Yes, I know about it.” She leaned over and kissed me. “Call me soon, please?”

She couldn’t call me because it would be quite awkward to have one of my parents answer the phone. How would she explain who she was?

I simply said, “I will, I promise,” and then I abruptly got out of her car as she restarted the engine. For a few moments, I watched her drive away towards upper Manhattan in her ‘66 Dodge Dart. It occurred to me that my relationship with her had gone far beyond where I expected it to be. I wished I knew where it was going in the longer run.

I was imagining myself as more mature now, although I couldn’t say for sure if I truly was that way. It’s easy to mislead oneself at that age. As Molly herself had said once, the teenage brain is not fully developed yet.