Fantasy Loss And Summer Love

Special thanks to Ada Stuart for the generous commitment of her time as a beta reader and commenter.

This is my submission to Summer Lovin' 2021.

Summer Fantasy, Springtime Loss, Summer Love

My last exam was Friday morning. Dorm rooms had to be vacated by noon Sunday. My parents were away, so my best friend through twelve years of public school, Jerry, came to pick me up Saturday morning. He said he'd be there early, which I was sure meant noon. I was surprised when he knocked on my dorm room door at seven.

The first words out of his mouth were entirely predictable. 'Party time this summer!' he said, wearing a big grin.

'No way, pal. I'm working this summer.'

'What? I just drove almost two hours to pick you up and you're telling me no parties this summer?' he complained.

'I'm at Forrester Country Club again. Nothing but long, hot days for me. I'll be too tired to party.'

'You're telling me you're home alone with the house to yourself? No parents. And no parties? C'mon, give me a break!'

I changed the subject to his summer job. It didn't pay much but it had its rewards. 'What're you doing this summer, Jerry?'

'Lifeguard for the Parks Department again at the town beach. Watching from a tower seat for swimmers in trouble. Scoping out the babes in skimpy swimwear when I can get away with it,' he laughed.

'You know they're mostly the younger high school girls and mothers, right?' I asked, slightly amazed he'd even say that.

'I didn't say I was going to hit on them. Rebecca would cut my nuts off,' he laughed. 'Doesn't mean looking isn't fun. Some of those young mothers are hot!'

That was typical of Jerry. He could be a bit of a jerk, sometimes. He liked to paint himself as a bad boy. He'd never do any of the things he joked about. He was really a good guy with a big heart. Plus, his girlfriend Rebecca was the catch of a lifetime. He knew it and would never do anything to screw that up. She was whip-smart, gorgeous, low-maintenance, and as easy to get along with as any guy could wish. Which is not to say she was a pushover. She could stand up for herself and kept Jerry in line without being a shrew. She didn't play head games or try to manipulate anyone. She was a world-class sweetheart. I knew of no one that didn't like her. I was a little jealous of my friend's luck in finding her.

We pulled into the driveway at my home a little after ten. Our neighbor, Mrs. Heywood, was painting her front door. She took a moment to wave at me then went right back to painting. Jerry and I unloaded my junk, stashing everything but my clothes and my books in the garage next to my Chevy pickup, where it would remain until late August. Jerry hung out for a few minutes but had to head out. He wasn't one to keep Rebecca waiting.

My folks had been gone a few months already while my father oversaw a project in Georgia. My first order of business was groceries. Mom left some money hidden so I could restock the fridge. Once I got my first paycheck, I was on my own keeping myself fed. I went for groceries only a few minutes after Jerry.

I'd just finished putting away my food when the front doorbell did it's Big Ben thing. I had no idea who it might be. Only Jerry knew I was home. I hadn't touched base with anyone else yet. Some friends probably weren't home from school yet and I knew some wouldn't be home at all this summer. Mrs. Heywood was on the doorstep when I opened the door. Still wearing a nearly threadbare old tee shirt and jeans, both stained with several colors of paint.

'Hi, Mrs. Heywood. C'mon in.' I closed the door behind her and asked, 'Everything okay? You need help with something?'

'Everything's fine, Keith. I saw you carry in groceries so I guess you can feed yourself tonight. Care to have dinner at my house? I've got some ribs I can throw on the grill and I'll make a salad. That is if you don't already have plans.'

'That would be great, Mrs. Heywood. I have no plans tonight. It'll be nice to eat something besides school cafeteria food! Can I bring anything?'

'I'd tell you to bring a bottle of wine, but I know you're not twenty-one yet,' she laughed. 'So just you. It will be nice to have company.'

'I can bring some wine. I'll grab a bottle from my father's stash in the cellar. I'll tell him I took a bottle and why. He won't mind.'

'A bottle of wine it is, then. Come hungry. Six, okay?'

'I'll be there. I promise to bring my appetite.'

'Good. I've got a big rack of ribs.'

I opened the door for Mrs. Heywood and briefly watched her head down the path to the driveway. I knew her dinner invitation was just an invitation to dinner. An offer of a nice home-cooked meal on my first night home from school. Just like my mother might have prepared. But Mrs. Heywood wasn't my mother.

Celia Heywood was a very young widow that moved in next door near the end of the summer before my senior year in high school. She was a new math teacher at the Catholic high school in town. She lost her husband only a few months of getting married.

Mrs. Heywood was a stunner. A little taller than average at about five-six or five-seven, she had wavy, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, eyes the color of the Adriatic Sea that I'd seen in Italy with my Italian teacher and some other Italian-language students right after school got out that summer, and flawless skin that had a slightly golden undertone. I spent more than a few nights dreaming about her during senior year. Fantasies of her fueled many a late-night self-indulgence.

As I watched her walk down the path, those fantasies briefly returned. But I was wise enough to know fantasies they would remain. She was nowhere near old enough for anyone to associate the word widow with her. But Mrs. Heywood was too old to be interested in me, a mere college student. She was just being kind to her neighbors' son while his parents were away. Dinner with her tonight meant a nice meal and conversation with an adult.

Though I knew this was just dinner, I still spent the afternoon anxious about spending the evening with the pretty woman that lived next door. Admittedly, I relieved some of that anxiety in the shower before I went to Mrs. Heywood's house. I arrived promptly at six, with a decent bottle of red from my father's little wine cellar and a bouquet culled from flower beds my mother maintained for decorating the house or when she needed a hostess gift.

Mrs. Heywood had been to our house for cookouts and had returned the favor, but I'd never been inside her house. She didn't have a doorbell and the door knocker still hadn't been reinstalled. I could tell the paint wasn't quite dry. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed on the doorknob, still masked with tape, to open the door a bit more and peered inside.

'Mrs. Heywood? It's Keith,' I called out.

She didn't answer but I heard footsteps coming my way. She came around the corner wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and licking her lips. 'Hi, Keith. You caught me right in the middle of taste-testing my homemade barbecue sauce. It's almost time to paint the ribs.' Her smile grew much wider when I proffered the flowers.

'I brought these for you. Thought you might like some flowers for the table.'

'Thank you, Keith! These are absolutely gorgeous! I hope you're not going to get in trouble for raiding your mother's flower garden.'

'Mom has flower beds just for making bouquets. She'd kill me if she knew I didn't bring flowers.'

I barely had time to take in her appearance before she gave me a half-hug and pushed the front door closed. But I got to look at her as I followed her through the house to the kitchen. She wore a pair of jeans that fit her waist closely and accentuated a perfectly shaped butt. The legs weren't tight but were tapered in way that fit her casual look perfectly. Her top was a pale yellow, sleeveless, loose-fitting, spring-weight fabric that hinted at the assets inside. As she walked, the motion of her arms betrayed she wore a bra. She wore a simple flat sandal on her feet. The outfit was modest but still alluring. I'd seen my mother in similar outfits. Mom kept herself in shape and was attractive enough that I'd never seen my father openly admire another woman's appearance. Except maybe to compliment the wives of their friends. But Mom in her prime never looked as good as Mrs. Heywood.

When we got to the kitchen, a salad was already made and sitting on the island. A loaf of crusty Italian bread and a bottle of olive oil also awaited the start of dinner. The smell of ribs on the grill wafted through the open deck doors.

After finding a vase for the flowers, Mrs. Heywood said, 'I can offer soda and iced tea. But I imagine you'd prefer a beer. You can have one, but only if you promise you're not driving anywhere tonight. Especially if you're having wine with dinner.'

'I promise I'm going nowhere until tomorrow morning when I have to go to Forrester Country Club. I have to check in with the head greenskeeper to find out when he wants me to start work. I'm hoping Monday morning.'

Mrs. Heywood opened her fridge and took out a beer. She smiled again when she handed it to me. 'I trust you won't tell your mother I'm corrupting her only child.'

'Mom's not naive. She went to college.'

'Come out to the deck with me. It's time to slather the ribs.' Mrs. Heywood picked up a glass of wine, a bowl of barbecue sauce, and a long basting brush. 'Get the door for me, Keith?'

The night went just as I expected. We had dinner on the deck. Talked about our respective college experiences. She offered a little consolation and cliché advice when she learned my girlfriend had dumped me a couple months earlier. Plenty of fish in the sea. You're a good-looking young man, someone will come along. The usual cold comfort. I helped clean up after dinner. She was surprised I insisted on washing.

We talked for a little while on her deck after finishing the dishes. Being early May, it began to get cool once the sun set. When it was cool enough for a jacket or sweater, Mrs. Heywood decided it was time to call it a night. I got a neighborly hug when she said 'Goodnight.'

'Good night, Mrs. Heywood,' I turned and started for the deck steps to cut across the back yard.

Just before Mrs. Heywood closed the door, she called out to me. 'Keith!' I stopped and turned toward her. 'Stop calling me Mrs. Heywood. I'm not that much older than you. I could be your big sister. From now on, call me Celia.'

I thought about that for a second before responding. My parents would chastise me for being disrespectful if they heard it without knowing she'd told me to call her by her first name. But they wouldn't be home for the summer. 'Okay, Mrs. . ., okay, Celia.' Old habits are hard to break.

Celia grinned and waved. 'That's better,' she said with a smile as she closed the sliding door.

The next few weeks fell into a routine but with one unexpected change. The summer crew foreman the last two summers left for a permanent job after graduating from college. I was promoted to crew foreman with responsibility for ten other college students, including a rookie girl just out of high school. It came with a nice raise that meant I wouldn't have to be as frugal as usual during the school year.

I was up at four-thirty every morning. At the country club by five-thirty. I spent the days planning schedules, mowing greens and fairways, keeping the rough from getting overgrown, and overseeing other college students doing the same, or other work across thirty-six holes. When the course saw heavy play we did maintenance on buildings, power equipment, or made repairs to the irrigation system when necessary. If the weather was too bad to work outside, we got a day off, which kinda sucked. No work, no pay.

Most nights, I got home between five and six totally exhausted. I'd get cleaned up, fix dinner, and fall asleep in front of the television, eventually dragging myself to bed. Saturday was usually a short day, home by two or three. My only day off was Sunday. And much as I dreaded it, I had to cut the grass at home. My mother hired a landscaper to tend her flower beds, maintain the shrubbery, and cut the grass until I got home from school. But the lawn was my responsibility during the summer. Just like every year since I was old enough to safely drive the lawn tractor. I never saw who took care of the flower beds and shrubbery.

I saw Celia only in passing for a couple of weeks. Usually as we were coming or going in the late afternoon or evening. Sometimes, we'd be on our decks grilling dinner at the same time. One night, the week before Memorial Day, we were both grilling hot dogs at the same time. Celia picked up her plate and her beer when she was done cooking and walked over to join me.

'Mind if I join you, Keith?' she asked.

'Anytime, Celia. Excuse me a moment,' I said when I set my hot dogs down. I went inside and put a jar of pickles, a bowl of the potato salad my mother taught me to make, assorted cut raw vegetables, mustard and relish on a tray. Once I put it on the table, I said, 'Help yourself, Celia.

'Thanks, Keith. The potato salad and veggies look good. You don't eat like any of the college guys I knew.' Celia said as she took a scoop of potato salad then grabbed some carrots, celery, bell pepper strips and scallions. 'You aren't going out as much as I thought you would. Didn't any of your friends come home for the summer?'

'Just some Saturday nights. I get up too early to be going out all the time. Sunday is my only day off.'

Celia looked thoughtful for a few minutes as we ate. 'And you have to cut the grass here on Sundays after mowing the country club all week,' she said suddenly. I nodded. 'Keith, school's out soon. After that, I don't have any plans for the summer except maintaining my yard and doing a little home improvement. I'm not even taking a vacation this summer. If you'll show me how to drive your tractor, I'll cut your grass in return for using the tractor to do my lawn.'

'I'll show you how to use our tractor, Celia, but you don't have to cut my grass.'

'You'll be doing me a favor. Your tractor will make my lawn a fast and easy chore. I can do both lawns in less time than it takes to just cut mine. I do my lawn in bits and pieces now with a little twenty-inch walk behind.'

'Okay. But I supply the gas. Deal?'

'Deal,' Celia said with a smile.

The time we spent together snowballed after that. I think Celia fell into feeling like a surrogate mother. Picturing her as my mother never crossed my mind though. We began eating together most weeknights, sharing the cooking. Sometimes at her house, sometimes at mine. She was fun. Funny. She taught me more about cooking than my mother did. If I'm honest, I learned more from Celia because she smelled nice, looked great, and was fun to be around. Plus, I still fantasized about her. I liked paying attention to her. And enjoyed the attention she paid me.

Mom was . . . well, Mom. Teaching me to cook was Mom teaching her son how to take care of himself. She did her best to make it fun and interesting. I enjoyed cooking with her and spending time with her. When I wasn't also getting a lecture about something I did or didn't do. But it was still part of being her son.

With Celia, it was a game. We did a little innocent flirting. Traded jokes and barbs. Bumped into each other sometimes, which almost never happened when I cooked with Mom. Making dinner with Celia was just fun. The worst part was the erection that inevitably developed when I was in the kitchen with her. Or anywhere else we were together. Thankfully, she never noticed. But, in all honesty, I liked that, too.

Typically, I went out with friends on Saturday nights. But if the opportunity to spend Saturday night with Celia presented itself, I stayed home. It didn't make much sense. It was just meant another night fantasizing about her. Then having to clean up a mess from masturbating to that fantasy when I went to bed, alone, like every other night I spent with her.

Things unexpectedly changed one night in mid-June, shortly after her school year ended. Celia had a date. We weren't having dinner together that night. I was disappointed but resigned to reality. It wasn't a surprise. I already heard she met someone she liked. He'd finally asked her out, as she hoped. I was sure the time I'd be spending with Celia would diminish markedly.

When I got home from work the Friday night of her date, she was standing next to her car, dressed to go out. But her jack and spare tire were on the pavement. She had a flat. She looked frustrated and on the verge of tears.

'Need some help?' I asked as I approached.

'I know how to change a tire, Keith. But I can't loosen any of the lug nuts to get the wheel off.' Her shirt was dirty, probably ruined. Her jeans and hands were filthy.

'Go inside and get cleaned up. I'll change the tire. I'll have you ready to go by the time you get back.'

Celia smiled and started to run back inside. But she stopped short, squeezed me tightly in a hug, and kissed my cheek. 'You're the best, Keith.'

The lug nuts were much too tight. I grunted when I loosened the first lug nut and every other lug nut. Once I heard her door close, I muttered aloud to myself, 'Yeah, you're the best, Keith. But it's someone else that gets to spend the evening with the most amazing woman you know, while you stay home and jerk off again.'

When Celia returned, I was just closing the trunk after putting the tools away and stowing the flat. She was a goddess. My jaw dropped and she saw my reaction. It was still jeans and a shirt. But something about this outfit was different. I can't explain it. A diaphanous shirt and form-fitting sleeveless body suit were both the same color as her eyes. Her jeans were an off-white denim that fit like they were tailored to show off her shape. And make an impression. It wasn't a 'Fuck me!' outfit by any stretch of the imagination. But she looked amazing.

Celia grinned and did a twirl. 'You like? I didn't want to wear this tonight because it's my first date with this guy. This is an outfit I usually reserve for later. I know it's just jeans and a shirt but there's something about it that prompts exactly that reaction.'

'Wow, Celia. You look good enough to eat,' I blurted out. I couldn't stop myself. I felt my face flush as soon as I said it. The realization I was blushing just made my face grow hotter and probably redder. I'd never said anything that blatantly sexual to her.

Celia smiled and slapped my arm gently. 'I knew there was a college-boy dog in there somewhere.' She kissed my cheek, avoiding any other contact. I was still dirty and sweaty after a day of work. Dirtier yet since changing her tire. 'Thanks, Keith. I'm late. I'll see you tomorrow maybe.' And then she was in her car and backing out while I stood alongside her driveway watching her leave. Feeling hopeless and dejected.

I went inside, showered and changed. Jerry and Samantha came by after dinner. We hung out until I started to nod off around nine. We all had to get up for work in the morning. Me far earlier than either of them. I fell asleep again on the couch while watching TV soon after they left.

A tapping on the slider to the deck woke me. At first, I thought I was dreaming when I saw Celia on the deck. My eyes drifted closed again, but the tapping persisted. More awake the second time, I looked again. Celia really was on the deck. Still dressed for her date. I sleepily made my way to the door and opened it. Celia burst through like someone was chasing her, almost knocking me over. Startled awake, I checked outside but didn't see anyone. I closed the slider and locked it. I looked at the clock. It was after midnight. The TV displayed a test pattern. I had to get up in a few hours.

Celia looked like she'd been crying. She ran toward me, hugged me tight, and began sobbing.