Chapter 23: There's No Taking It Back

May 24, 1982

At eight o’clock on this Monday morning, I began my stint as a summer intern. I had just five days after arriving home from college to get myself in the right frame of mind. No rest for the weary.

That’s not to imply that the work was challenging or difficult in any way. I’d be working at a site about five miles from the one where Dad worked. This was standard procedure; the point was to allow the interns, all of whom had parents who worked for the company, to gain independence. In fact, I found the work ridiculously easy. I worked in a warehouse, completing bulk orders for small machine and manufacturing parts like washers, gaskets, nuts, bolts and the like.

The adult in me from the previous life got bored with this type of work very quickly. I was used to being a professional. I wondered why I’d looked forward to taking on this job. But it was a way to pass the time. Plus, there was the pay, which amounted to almost seven dollars an hour, and that was in 1982 dollars. A small fortune for a college student. I worked forty hours a week, Monday through Friday, so I’d be raking in the dough.

I needed to have a complete physical before starting work; that had been arranged the previous Friday. This was before the days of company-ordered drug testing; it was a good thing, for if they’d tested me for marijuana, my piss would’ve lit up like a night crawler. But now that the source of that temptation was no longer in my life, I’d sworn off pot. I didn’t want to go down that path any more. I missed it for about a week – more of a psychological thing than anything else – and then the desire left me.

As I said before, I was doing this summer assignment one year earlier than I had in the other life. But I still recognized many of my new co-workers. There was Larry Weatherby, another college intern who went to Penn State. Last time, I’d struck up a friendship with Larry, and had kept in touch with him for a while after we went back to our respective universities. I worked alongside two thirty-something women whose names were Helen and Linda. I don’t believe I ever knew their last names. They were both slightly overweight, short-haired, lower middle class married women with young children. Their conversation was full of tales of Little League games and swimming lessons.

On the first day of work, I had lunch with Larry in the cafeteria. We’d just sat down to eat when Larry whistled.

“Wow. Check her out,” he told me, nodding in the direction of a woman who’d just entered the cafeteria. Right away, I recognized her as Kaci Walters, who both Larry and I had often lusted after in the other life, as did every other heterosexual male in the place.

Kaci was, to put it bluntly, a walking wet dream. She was a secretary who worked for one of the site managers; I would have pegged her age as somewhere in her late twenties. She was fairly short – about five-two or so – but had good-sized breasts and killer legs that she often showed off by wearing skirts that were just long enough to meet the standards of the unwritten dress code. Her fashion sense could be described as “professionally provocative”. She had long dark brown hair, fair skin, fine delicate facial features and big, expressive brown eyes.

“She’s smoking hot,” Larry elaborated, “but for college schmucks like you and I, she’s way out of our league.”

“True,” I agreed.

But was she really? Remember, I was part adult.

May 26, 1982

Two mornings later, I arrived at work early. I went to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. There was a line in front of the coffee pot area, and I was surprised to see Kaci Walters at the end of the line, dressed ravishingly in a short pastel blue skirt with matching blue and white top, and those incredible legs resting on top of two-inch heels with straps.

I wasn’t about to pass up that opportunity. Even though I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, I quickly got in line behind her.

“Who turned up the air conditioning in this place?” I asked, outwardly to no one in particular. It did in fact seem to be uncharacteristically cool in the building.

Kaci turned around and flashed a smile.

“And I thought it was just me,” she commented.

“It isn’t just you,” I assured her. “It’s freezing in here.”

Most normal college males would have been completely intimidated at the prospect of making small talk with Kaci. But I was, after all, the possessor of the mind and life experiences of a man in his mid-forties, and I took full advantage.

“Are you one of the summer interns?” Kaci asked.

“I’m Pat O’Malley. I just finished my freshman year at Rutgers. I’m a business major.” I held out my hand, and she took it gently. Just the touch of her cool, soft hand began to induce the beginnings of an erection. I remembered that in the other life, she’d starred in many of my masturbation fantasies.

I conversed with her a little more until it was her turn at the coffee pot. I watched carefully as she poured her coffee, adding one small canister of cream, and skipping the sugar entirely. Then, she was off to her desk.

“Nice meeting you, Pat,” she smiled.

“You, too,” I smiled back at her. “See you around.”

Later that same day after work, two notable things happened on the home front. First of all, my spring semester grades arrived in the mail. I could not have done any better – almost. A single B-plus kept me from getting straight A’s. My parents were, once again, thrilled.

“We were a little worried about you, Pat,” Dad told me, obviously quite pleased. “You’ve seemed a little distracted lately. But I guess you were just studying too hard, right?”

Yet again, excellent academic performance had dispelled parental concerns. Even though they may have been merited.

The second happening that evening was considerably less pleasant. I was downstairs in front of the TV, and I heard Mom and Eileen having a loud discussion of some kind upstairs. I wondered what was going on with my sister. I was really becoming concerned.

But I had my own reasons for not wanting to get involved.

May 27, 1982

Next a.m., I arrived even earlier to work. I went to the coffee pot and filled up two cups of coffee. I left out the cream and sugar in one of them, since when I actually do drink coffee, I prefer it black. To the other, I added one cream, no sugar.

Then, I headed over to Kaci’s office. She was just getting in to work. I knocked on the door, which was half open. She recognized me, and waved me in. I set the coffee cup, the one containing coffee with cream, no sugar, down on her desk.

“You made me coffee?” she said in disbelief, but that disbelief morphed into a wide smile in no time. “How sweet! Come in and sit down for a minute. It’s early.”

And once I got past the distraction of her good looks, I found her very easy to speak with. She was unfailingly pleasant, intelligent, and a good listener. I got the impression she was happy that a male wanted to actually talk to her instead of ogle her. I learned that she had gotten divorced a couple of years ago. She was from upstate New York, and had moved down this way for a fresh start after the divorce. The marriage had lasted five years, and had produced no children. She lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment in a nearby upscale apartment complex.

When I heard where she resided, I commented, “Rents are pretty high in that place, aren’t they?”

She grinned and said to me unapologetically, “Alimony.”

Ah. I knew all about that topic, from the other point of view. It had been a never-ending thorn in my side in the latter stages of my previous life.

Soon, it was almost eight o’clock, and I needed to head off to my work station.

“Have a good day,” I told her.

“Drop by anytime,” Kaci smiled.

June 4, 1982

And I did just that. Morning coffee with Kaci became a daily routine.

I was getting to know her quite well. I realized that in my interactions with Kaci, I was bringing my other self – my middle-aged male self – to the forefront. Today, she commented that I was not like your typical college kid.

“You seem so much older and more mature than eighteen,” Kaci noted. “Sometimes, you seem older than me.”

I shrugged in reply.

“I guess I’ve just grown up faster than a lot of people my age,” I added. Lame, but hell, how else could I explain it?

“I wanted to ask your opinion about something.” She pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to me. “I just had it renewed yesterday. Good picture or bad picture?”

“Good picture,” I told her without hesitation. “Kaci, you couldn’t take a bad picture.”

“Thanks, Mr. Smooth. You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” she said, blushing noticeably. I couldn’t believe it. Kaci Walters was actually flirting with me! While I had her license in my hand, I quickly scanned it for her date of birth. I did the math in my head, and learned that she was twenty-nine years old, and would be thirty in July.

It was Friday, and we got to talking about the upcoming weekend.

“I have a whole lot of painting to do tomorrow,” she informed me. “The inside of my apartment was entirely plain white, and I hated it. I bugged the landlords until they agreed to let me paint it.”

“What color did you choose?” I asked conversationally.

“I’m painting it light green. I’ve already done the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. All that’s left now is the living and dining area, which of course, is the biggest job. I’m not looking forward to it.”

I wasn’t sure whether that statement contained a broad hint or not. But regardless, it was time to put up or shut up.

“Want some help?” I volunteered. “I’m really good with a roller and brush.”

“Wow. I-I...” she stammered. I’d caught her off guard. But she collected herself in rapid fashion.

“Yes, Pat,” she smiled. “I’d love the help. Thanks for the offer.”

She gave me her address; I wrote it down and told I’d be there bright and early the next day.

This whole thing was going even better than I could have dreamed.

June 5, 1982

I left our house at about seven-thirty in the morning, wearing old, ratty clothes. Mom, the early riser in the household, was already up and about.

“I’m helping someone do some house painting. Someone from work,” I explained. It was the truth, wasn’t it?

“That’s nice of you, Pat,” Mom remarked. She questioned me no further. And out I went.

I knew where Kaci’s apartment complex was located, so finding her place was a snap. I knocked on the door.

“You’re an early bird, aren’t you,” she smiled, beckoning me inside. She was dressed to paint. Her hair was confined with a bandanna. She was wearing an old T-shirt and a tattered pair of shorts. I’d never before seen her like this. And she looked delectable.

Kaci had already moved the furniture out to the center of the room, and put down sheets of plastic over the carpet. With brushes and rollers, we got to work. We talked and laughed a lot. I was discovering that not only was she gorgeous, but she was sweet and funny and a delight to be around. I spent a lot of time in very close proximity to her, often brushing up against her, getting a slight whiff of the body wash she’d apparently used early that morning. I was uncertain about how to proceed next. The adult me would have come on to her almost as soon as I walked in the door. But I had to remember that in her eyes, I was still a teenage college student. And I didn’t know how Kaci, nearly thirty years old, felt about getting involved with a teenager. I wanted to believe that she was willing, but at the same time, I thought that was maybe expecting too much.

But wait a minute. Hadn’t she willingly accepted me into her place for an entire day, just the two of us? She could very easily have said no when I asked. She didn’t. What to make of that?

Basically, I was getting mixed signals, and the only thing I could do was play it by ear.

By midday, we’d finished applying one coat. We decided to take a break, and ordered out for some pizza. Kaci also retrieved some soda from the fridge. After lunch, we got back to work, beginning to work on the second coat together.

Then, Kaci became playful.

“Paint fight,” she declared with an impish grin. She took her very wet paint brush and swiped it against my arm, coloring the sleeve of my shirt light green, as well as some of the exposed skin of my arm.

“Oh yeah?” I grinned as I ran my paint-soaked brush nearly the length of her arm.

She responded in kind, painting a stripe across the back of my T-shirt. My next move was to affectionately apply a small dab of paint to the tip of her nose.

Then, I kissed her. Firmly on the lips.

Her eyelids fluttered in surprise. And then she smiled. “Smiled” is perhaps too weak of a verb to use here. “Beamed” or “glowed” would be better.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to that,” she commented, her voice containing a discernible undertone of arousal, confirming once and for all that yes, she was interested in being more than friends, in spite of my age.

She threw her arms around me and drove her mouth into mine, forcing her tongue between my teeth. We tongue wrestled there in a standing position for a moment or two. I couldn’t believe what was happening! My erection was straining to get out of my shorts. I began to worry I’d ejaculate before I could remove them. Kaci took note of my “problem”, and posed a solution.

“I know what I want,” she said smugly. “Let me show you.”

Once again grabbing her wet paintbrush, she drew a straight vertical line from just below my chin down to the bottom of my shirt. Then, she drew matching short, straight lines intersecting the bottom of the large line at forty-five degree angles. The result was a large arrow, pointing directly downward at my penis.

“Only thing is, I’m not on any kind of birth control,” she related, her eyes focusing on me expectantly.

“I have a condom,” I smiled, before adding, “or two.”

“So you had a plan after all. You pervert.”

I gave no vocal reply, but started to kiss down her neck, when she stopped me.

“Let’s do it, right here, right now,” she uttered in a low primal growl. “No foreplay. Maybe later. I’m wet. You’re hard. Just put it in me.” She laid down on the plastic sheet, which had a good quantity of still-wet paint on it, and removed her shorts and panties. I too got naked from the waist down, and slipped on a rubber; neither of us bothered to remove our T-shirts. I laid down on top of her and slid neatly inside her. This was unimaginable. I’d always viewed Kaci Walters as an out-of-reach trophy, one to be admired only from afar. Now, here I was, actually having sex with her!

I managed to exert enough control over my own passion to bring her off first, right before I filled up the condom. We took a minute or two to come back to earth, and then it was me who proposed our next course of action.

“I think we should finish the painting,” I suggested, “first.”

“First being the operative word, right?” she winked.

We applied the second coat as quickly as possible, allowing for several short breaks involving kissing, grabbing, and mutual fondling. When we were done, I feigned innocence.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Well, first of all, we need to wash all this paint off of ourselves.”

“You mean wash it off each other.”

“Now that you mention it, great idea.”

We both stripped naked. The nice thing about Kaci’s apartment was its lack of windows. Out came the paint thinner, and some rags. We rubbed each other down until all the paint was gone.

“Hmm ... I think we need a shower,” she pointed out.

“Race you there!” I said, a split second before taking off in the direction of the bathroom. I won the race easily.

Under the shower, I decided that I needed to properly worship this goddess. I did so in the most enjoyable way that I know. Few things in life are better than kneeling down in front of a beautiful woman in the shower, and eating her out. I kept it up until the hot water began to run cold, and she’d come three times.

Kaci regarded me with a gleam in her eye.

“You do that incredibly well. Are you sure you’re eighteen?”

“Actually, as of tomorrow, I won’t be eighteen.”

“Wait a minute. Tomorrow’s your birthday?”

I nodded in affirmation.