Mrs. Hubbard's vagina is magical.
Arlene and her husband, Everett, live next door to my family. They live in a house that everyone in our small town calls 'the shoe'. Some stupid idiot confused two nursery rhymes, thinking the old woman who lived in a shoe was Mother Hubbard!
The house was originally a brown three-story structure until Everett decided to build a first-floor addition. The addition was a simple flat-roofed design, making it the whole structure resemble a high-topped leather shoe.
On my eighteenth birthday in July, my parents threw a huge block party. A ton of people showed up, some that invited themselves. Being neighborly Midwesterners, they brought casseroles and beer, so it ended up being an epic party.
The street was closed off and people packed the block. To escape the crowd, I found refuge under the willow tree in the Hubbard's back yard. As I leaned against the tree trunk illegally sipping a beer taken from someone's cooler, I heard a woman's drunken voice ask, "Do you think I'm pretty, Louis?"
I turned and saw Arlene Hubbard standing there, sipping on her own beer.
"Well, sure, Mrs. Hubbard," I answered, "you've always been pretty to me." She was wearing a thin yellow summer blouse, with the tails tied together so her midriff was bare. Bonus: no bra, either!
"You're 18 now Louis, you can call me Arlene." I simply nodded, my eyes focused on the movement of her breasts and the way her nipples pressed against the thin fabric. "My husband hasn't told me I was pretty since our wedding day," she sighed.
Maybe it was the beer talking, but I blurted out "Then Everett is either blind or gay."
She looked deep into my eyes, and feelings I can't describe swept over me as she asked, "Do you really think so?"
I was feeling my oats now. "Hell yes, Arlene, you're fucking gorgeous! You're the prettiest woman in the whole damned town!"
