Chapter 10

A couple of days passed, and another huge thing happened. Grandpa called and told me to expect a surprise. Today was the day. I had waited all day, and nothing came. Just when I figured it was gonna be another disappointment, there came a knock on the door.

A short stocky guy stood on the porch. He wore a blue work shirt that said Porterhouse Chevrolet on the front.

“Steven Conner?”

I nodded.

“I need you to sign this.”

“Sign for what,” I asked. The man was empty handed.

He grinned and pointed out to the street. A blue 64 Chevy C-10 pickup was parked in front of the house.

A white-haired old guy sat in the passenger seat. He gave me a wave.

“Nice truck, yours?”

“Nope, yours,” he said with a grin. “According to the paperwork, that’s your birthday present. You’re a lucky kid. Your grandfather had us working round the clock going over that baby with a fine-tooth comb.”

Holy cow, what a birthday present!

As soon as I could pass the driver’s license test. No more biking. Freedom!

By the end of September, I was well into the high school routine.

Get up in the morning and run or do a schedule of bodyweight exercises I got from a physical therapist named Clarance whose lawn I mowed. For some reason, my body continued to demand more and more exercise.

After a quick breakfast, I’d pick up Beany and Tank in my new truck. Both Tank and I trying to ignore Beanie’s speculations about flying Saucers spotted in Arizona or the Abominable Snowman sightings in Montana.

Marylou Olson AKA Bogart Girl was speaking to me now that she had finally gotten over her embarrassed anger. I explained that all I had wanted to do was to smooth out Miss Erickson’s entrance into teaching. She understood but grumped that the wedding was off even if I was the last boy on earth. We were sort of pals after that.

Julie Snyder and Suzy Cummings were still mad at me for some unknown reason, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was way too busy with my Man of The House chores as well as my new job at Safeway as a box-boy making the princely sum of $2.00/hr.

The lure of the ring still had me leading a double life. I really tried not to use the dang thing. Every day I swore off and the next day I gave in. Curiously enough, so far, I hadn’t tempted in the slightest to use the ring on any of the girls in school. But the housewives, young and especially old who shopped at Safeway on Saturdays were fair game and tempted me at every turn of the hour. Most of them had pretty ordinary fantasies, but there were some doozies.

Here’s an example:

Mrs. Ebbing was a tall Valkyrie sort of a woman with auburn colored hair and medium sized tits and a big round ass. Her husband managed the First National Bank downtown. He was unlikely match for her, being much shorter and probably weighing fifty pounds less than her. They lived on what amounted to a hobby farm outside of town.

I ran into her just as I was done with my shift. My boss asked me to carry her groceries out as I was leaving. I followed her pushing her cart full of groceries. All the while her watching those big ass cheeks flexing under her flowery cotton dress. I gave into temptation and slipped on the ring.

“Mrs. Ebbing how are you doing. I bet you have an interesting story,” I said.

She looked at me her eyes confused like she didn’t understand the question. Then she focused and grinned mischievously.

“Young man, I bet you’d like to hear them, wouldn’t you? I saw you looking at my ass like you’d like to mount me right here in the parking lot.”

She opened her trunk and I put her groceries in the trunk, I opened her car door for her, and she got in giving me a nice show of leg and thigh.

I closed her door, and I went around to the passenger side and stuck my head in the window. She gave me a naughty grin. With her eyes fixed on mine, she pulled up her dress to reveal a hairy pussy under her pantyhose.

“Well, you do have a great ass,” I said boldly. By now I was comfortable with the effects of the ring. I felt free to say anything that came to mind.

She gave me a sly look. “Oh, I have stories. Ones I can’t imagine telling anyone else. Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

I took my eyes off her pussy, looked into her blue eyes and waited.

“Somehow, I think I can trust you. I would love to tell it. It would be so exciting and naughty to share with someone. This week is what I call my sexy time of the month. Most of the time I don’t care about sex, but for a week or so after my monthly visitor, I have thoughts—real nasty ones. My husband is a good provider and I love him, but our sex life is utterly boring. So, I make do with my fingers and my imagination.”