Copyright © 2000, 2003

I opened the door to find Carla at thirteen. Big blue eyes with long lashes. Overpowering eyes. Gangly, coltish, flat chested, and hipless. Long, straight brown hair. Lips of brown from a Fudgcicle she sucked innocently.

"I'm Carla. You're Bill, Bessie's grandson who lives here now. You're twenty-six and working on your Master's in English at the university. You're a writer, too, but you've never published anything. You're single and you don't have a girlfriend. See. I know all about you. Can I come in?" She bounced by me to spend the first of countless delightful hours.

Creaking, the rusted hinges on the door of my heart began to open.

Carla at fourteen slammed the door behind her. Angry eyes, perturbed expression. Sweatshirt hiding budding breasts. Shorts revealing long legs starting to ripen. Brown hair, slightly curled, to her shoulders.

"I hate boys."

"Why?"

Hands on hips, eyes flashing. "They all want to play with me. Do I look like a toy to you? Well, Bill, do I?"

How do you talk about love, about sex, to a beautiful young woman starting to blossom? How do you talk about those things you desperately wish to share with her?

Carla at sixteen closed the door softly behind her. She sat on the couch. Blue eyes sensual. Brown hair streaked with redblonde sunlight. Shapely leg tucked under her. Breasts moved rhythmically as if an offer given only to be withdrawn.

"How's Jane?"

"We broke up."

"Of course. She wasn't the woman for you. I could've told you that. Do you have a new girlfriend?"

"No."

"I don't have a boyfriend." Brow furrowed waiting for me to speak. She leaned forward hesitantly. "I want to be your girlfriend, Bill."

"Carla, I love you," rushed from me.

She flew onto my lap. Arms around my neck. Lips hot against mine. "I love you, too. I want to make love to you, Bill. I want you now."

Insane for a man of twenty-nine to take a girl of sixteen? Yes. Insanely in love. Hot Carla. Sexy Carla. Laughing, loving Carla. Carla and I for the first of many times.