Last week I got a strange message on LinkedIn. "Do you ever get to L.A.?" was the entire message from someone named Janet.
I didn't recognize the last name or the blurry photo. I have several consulting clients, current and former, in the Los Angeles area, but the name didn't connect, I'd never heard of the company, and the LinkedIn profile revealed very little. I didn't respond, but the message nagged at me, and I kept returning to it. After a few days, I wondered if it could possibly be "that" Janet from long ago.
Sitting in my home office that evening, I found myself reliving an event from my teenage years.
*****
It's a week after graduating from high school, and I'm washing my mother's car in the driveway and notice Janet pulling her new Chevy convertible into our driveway. The car is a graduation present, and we'd all admired it in the school parking lot the day she got it.
I've marginally known Janet all through high school. She's a tall girl, maybe even 5'9", and very well assembled. I think she's very pretty, but she's part of an elite social set that has existed, as best as I can tell, since junior high. They're out of my league; I'm what will, one day, be referred to as a 'geek." She has exquisite taste in clothing, managing to look extraordinarily sexy and much older than she is. She also has a reputation for being "a lot of fun," but I'm unclear what that implies. Janet has, however, been one of the two women from that social set who has been in every one of my accelerated learning classes.
I'm standing there barefoot, wearing sodden khakis and no shirt, with water dripping off my body when Janet climbs out of her car wearing shorts, heels, and a wispy blouse. Her long brown hair is windblown but somehow still styled. I've never spoken with her outside of school, so I'm unsure why she's here.
Janet struts up to me, pokes her finger in my chest, and says, "Why haven't you ever asked me out?"
I'm stunned. Until last summer, I was just a fat, short kid, and that's still how I see myself, although my mother assures me that I'm now very handsome due to a tremendous growth spurt that puts me at just under 6 feet.
I don't know how to respond. I'm not about to admit that every one of the women in her group terrifies me. Every pretty girl terrifies me! In desperation, I fall back on a ridiculous excuse, "Karin and I have sort of been going together for a couple of years."
(Karin is a cute little blonde whom I've hung out with since our sophomore year, taken out on an occasional date, driven home from school frequently, and made out with fewer times than I wish to admit.)
Janet laughs. "Lame," she smirks. "You're just friends. Karin told Sandy that many weeks ago. And Karin is too mousy for you."
I have no idea how to respond. I'm just standing there, with the hose running into an overflowing bucket. I've rarely been at a loss for words, and I'm entirely off-balance.
Janet rescues me, "There's a party on the beach tonight. I'll pick you up at 8. Bring a blanket." Before I can respond, she steps in, pushes her breasts against my chest, gives me a long, sloppy kiss, then turns back to her car, slides in, waves at me, and backs out. I notice that the front of her blouse is now soaking wet.
I'm a nervous wreck. I've never been to a real beach party, I haven't a clue what to wear, I'm concerned about Janet's expectations for the evening, and I don't own any condoms (and both fantasize and fear I might need one).
It's after 8 p.m., and I'm even more nervous, wondering if she will show up. I've showered, shaved, found a clean pair of khakis and a not-too-wrinkled shirt, anguished over whether to wear socks with my ratty tennis shoes, pulled an OK beach blanket out of the back of the family station wagon, and rounded up a measly few bucks to put in my pocket.
At 8:15, she zooms up. The convertible top is down, and there's another couple in the back seat. When I get close, I notice that the other couple is the spring homecoming king and queen, the peak of the high school elite. I open the passenger door, mumble "hi," give a little wave, and slide in. I'm so far out of my comfort zone I'd like to melt into a puddle on the floor mat. To make it even worse, Janet slides over and kisses me, rubbing her breast against my arm!
Janet is wearing a Mexican peasant skirt over several petticoats, which are exposed as she drives. She's also wearing an almost transparent blouse and, I suspect, a push-up or similar bra. (I've had minimal experience with bras at this point in my life, so I'm not sure what type of structural support, if any, is involved.)
We're soon cruising up the Pacific Coast Highway, and Janet, Tom, and Susie are chattering about who's going out with whom, what happened at grad night, who's going to college where, and what happened the previous night at the drive-in movie. I haven't uttered a word and have no way to participate. I am sure this will be a disaster that will embarrass me for the rest of my life! On the other hand, the wind blows Janet's skirt around, exposing more and more of the petticoats and her beautiful legs.
It doesn't take long to arrive at the beach party, already in full blast. A bunch of people I've never seen are clustered around a substantial bonfire. Some surfboards are standing upright in the sand, there's music from somewhere, several couples are dancing, and many kids are sitting around.
Janet finds a place to park her shiny new car, close enough so everyone can admire it, and pulls a picnic basket from the trunk. The four of us amble over to the crowd. I'm about to spread my blanket on the sand, but Janet pulls me along, threads her way through the masses, and finds a spot not far from the bonfire and even closer to a beer keg. While Susie and I spread the blanket, Janet and Tom head over to the keg and soon return, each with two overflowing cups.
I'm not fond of beer. My parents have served wine to us at dinner since I was about twelve, and I much prefer it, but I swallow a good gulp of beer while Janet chugs an entire cup, then takes my cup, hands me hers, and tells me to refill it, which I do. When I return, Janet is dancing with Tom, and Susie is alone. I've always been in awe of Susie, who is beyond beautiful, extremely endowed, the only child of a wealthy couple, and already a minor TV and movie actress, clearly destined for much more.
Much to my surprise and delight, Susie also turns out to be very easy to talk to, quickly engaging me in a far-ranging conversation. She's much brighter than I ever imagined; I always pictured her as a dumb blonde. My ego is seriously bolstered when she remembers that I won the high school science fair the past two years. She's also aware that I have been engaged in some computer stuff and is very curious about what computing is all about.
Janet and Tom return, cutting the engaging discussion with Susie short, and Janet wants me to dance with her. I'm a terrible dancer, a real klutz, but I'll try it. By now, Janet has consumed enough beer to be a little silly, which helps cover my inept dancing, and we're having a fun time, laughing and sort of dancing.
The next song is slow, and Janet has both arms around my neck, which obliges me to put my arms around her, and we're just rocking back and forth with her boobs mashed against my chest. This results in an unavoidable response from my body, which I'm sure she can detect, much to my embarrassment. Janet worsens the situation when she begins pushing her crotch against my erection! She also pulls me into a lush kiss with her tongue deep in my mouth. I, of course, respond, although awkwardly.
Janet breaks the embrace, takes my hand, and leads me back to her car, where she retrieves another blanket from the trunk, then leads me along the beach to an area protected by large rocks. We weave through the rocks, avoiding some other couples, until she finds the spot she's searching for, spreads the blanket, lays down on her back, and beckons me to join her.
This is a situation I've fantasized about but never experienced. At her instigation, we're soon in a deep embrace, with her on top and driving me crazy. She takes my right hand and places it on her left breast. I feel a firm nipple through the blouse's fabric and begin a gentle, slow rotary motion with my palm. This results in a sound of approval and a substantial increase in the intensity of the kisses. My self-confidence gets a minor boost.