Opening Lines 1

It was a spring day, the Sunday after Valentines Day, 1980. Mary, my dearest friend was in charge of pre-leasing the Summerfield Housing Project and had to be on-site and available for any Sunday Shoppers. So far, there've never been any so we've been using it as a kind of ladies day. She called me about 10 AM and asked me to come keep her company. She'd provide the Bloody Marys. In the condition last night had left my head I was sure it was my best offer.

I took the time to press my favorite blouse and jeans and curl my long hair because Mary, being a tiny, blonde with big expressive eyes and an endless smile, always drew an interesting crowd. Also, first and foremost, Summerfield was a construction site. Some crews would be working on the weekend. That meant men.

Our mutual friend, favorite band leader and her potential love interest, Danny, has joined us this morning. He brought the makings for and is currently making us Bloody Marys. I'm pretty sure there is a nod to Mary in his choice.

We are already into our 2nd, or maybe 3rd pitcher when an old pick up truck pulls up and parks just outside. Mary quickly lets us know she mentioned to the driver, a construction worker on the job site that she could use his pick up. She needed help with her move-in. She was officially moving to Summerfield. She being a blonde bombshell that no one would differ to say is "hot," wanted me distract him from any blossoming ideas he might be harboring about her wanting more than the use of his pick up and braun.

Currently unattached and game for giving her cover I go into manipulative flirting mode. He is an electrician they call "Harpo". Harpo is driving an old ford truck he calls Jack. The only sign of a Hog in his life is the set of wings on his back and his general demeanor. There is a special aura surrounding Hogs and the men that are captivated by them. He wore a bandanna tied around his head and a tattered denim vest over his well worn black Bob Seager concert T-shirt. He is a tall, lanky, rough around the edges, bearded sort. The denim vest he is wearing is worn to the point of being held together mostly by the attached patches. The back is adorned with a large eagle. The Harley logo, "live to ride," underneath. The wings stretch out and up to both his broad shoulders and end low on his back just above where the crack in his butt would be if he were to bend over and expose it.

After light hearted and superficial introductions, he begins to ask about the help she needs. He is exuding a little boy excitement in the fact that she has asked him for anything. I enter the conversation by moving to the area behind him as if to peer out at his truck. I turn leaving the door to my back. I saunter up to his backside. With a light touch, I put my hands on his shoulders at the tips of the eagle's wings, run my fingers down the sides of his back and end by hanging on to the bottom edge of his jacket.

"You just flying wings or do you really have one?" I snark in my lowest gravel tone.

With an embarrassed, excited low toned giggle, stumbling over his words he attempts to reply. "Fuck, yeah. I've got one. It's in a box, torn down. I'm building it."

"What is it?" I ask.

"A Shovelhead." he spews proudly.

Indicating "a Shovelhead" was a good answer but not ready to ride was a disappointment. I drop my hands from his body, walk around in front of him.

As I move toward the Bloody Marys, I toss my hair, look over my shoulder and say, " Well, when you get it up, I want a ride."

The innuendo is not lost on anyone within ear shot, except maybe him. It worked. He offers his help with Mary's move in along with the use of his truck but shows absolutely no additional interest in Mary. Even the little boy excitement merged with a kind of macho, "I can do anything." The pace he is keeping might lead one to surmise he is in a hurry to get home and start building on the ShovelHead. Mary got all moved-in. I left and went about my business with no thought given to my manipulating moves on the long and lanky, rough around the edges, bearded one.

I knew the exit line was effective but I didn't realize how effective until Late April. The words, "It's Jerry, for you." came over the intercom. My mind raced through the Jerry's I've known. I couldn't come up with one that I thought would be on the other end of that line. It's probably a bill collector, I thought. I tried to get clarification but the receptionist had already picked up another line. The hold buzz was intense.

"Hello, this is Donna, may I help you?" I took the call with my most professional voice.

"This is Jerry, remember me?...at Summerfield...a couple months back...you said, if I got Monster up, you wanted a ride." The voice urged.

"Monster?" I queried.

"My Shovel Head...Remember?" the voice kept insisting.

Sorry, Jerry, I...really...Oh, your name was Harpo not Jerry. I remember. You were helping Mary move-in. I said as I began to remember. "When did you have in mind?"

"How about I pick you up at 7:30? It is supposed to be a beautiful evening, nice for a ride." Harpo suggested.

" I can't leave my kids alone for long. It will have to be short and It is just a ride." I insisted.

"kids?... I didn't realize... He stuttered a bit.

"Do you know how to find me? I don't have a phone at home."

"Yeah, I bugged Mary until she filled me in." Jerry giggled.

"I'll Kill Mary! See you tonight, I guess," mumbling a bit.

Next chance I got I called Mary. She said he'd bugged her for several weeks. She had finally given in and given him my disconnected home phone number. When he came back, even more persistent, she'd told him where I worked. He got the number from information. I skipped the errands that needed doing. I went home to feed the kids, clean myself and the house up a bit before his arrival. Jeans and boots were easy but which blouse is warm enough and looks just thrown on was my dilemma.

The sound of the Shovelhead was the first announcement of Harpo's arrival. When I heard it, my heart fell to my crotch and beat so fast it took my breath away. A reaction that I was to experience more often over the years than I could ever have imagined. To this moment, if that Shovelhead was within earshot, my physical reaction would be the same. He left it in the parking place closest to my patio and cut through the shrubs that weren't even crotch high on him. He walked up to my undraped sliding glass door where three children's noses were pressed against it trying to get a look at his ride.

Harpo was taller, skinnier and rougher 'round the edges than I had remembered. The twinkle in his steal blue eyes, his impish grin and that excited pitch to his voice, all memorable, still very much apart of his presence. We took a few minutes for introductions. He said he'd been surprised that I had kids. I said I was surprised his name was Jerry. We laughed at ourselves. He asked if he could introduce the kids to Monster, the name he called his Shovelhead. Their squeals were impossible to deny.

Afterwards I escorted the kids back inside and gave them a little be good, I won't be long speech. I waited a bit for them to settle down watching tv. Chris and Shari both had homework. I had them lock themselves in and advised them NOT to answer the door to anyone. Without a phone, who and how they could contact help in an emergency was necessary.

A short introduction to Monster then Harpo swung his long leg over Monster's back to a straddle position. I stood to the side watching him perform the kickstart process. I came to have a physical reaction to this process as well. Must be some sort of transference of the action between those long legs. Watching him, any guy really, kickstart a big machine sends heat to all my most intimate parts.

We road North out the highway into the countryside. There was the smell of freshly mown grass. As we'd take a dip in the road, for an instant the warm night air would change to cold until we emerged at the top again. This change took my breath away and brought my nipples to full attention. When I was a little girl riding in the car with my daddy, he'd speed up to take the dips in the road. It took my breath away and tickled my tummy. This reminded me of those moments but with more adult sensations.

As I was concentrating on not holding on too tight, Harpo relaxed his weight back against me situating himself between my legs. Driving one handed he draped his left arm over my thigh and scooted around a bit till he was riding both relaxed and tall. He seemed to be enjoying himself and having me riding bitch. The evening air blowing through my hair, the fresh smells of the countryside and the growing pleasurable connection between Harpo and I made this a most enjoyable ride. It was difficult to say we had to head back but the time I could leave the kids alone was pressing on my psyche hard.

The kids were playing on the lawn in the parkway beside our patio and the parking lot. They were making too much noise and calling attention to the fact that they were not being well attended. I dismounted Monster hurriedly but made sure to do it with enough bodily contact to let Harpo know I'd enjoyed the ride. He followed us inside, got a beer out of the fridge, pulled a joint out of his pack and sat down at the kitchen table. Then watched me wrangle the kids into baths and bed.

Shari had to read a part in a play for her first grade class the next day that required fairy princess attire. While I listened to her read aloud, making sensitive corrections in her diction and emphasis, I kept encouraging the boys to settle in to bed. I threw together a blue silk princess dress out of a night gown, some beads and a toy tiara. When they were all three mostly settled, I joined Harpo at the table. I too got a beer and snagged a drag off the joint he was smoking while I gathered the materials to craft a fairy wand. We began the push and pull of getting acquainted.

At one point, I realized that my hair was in desperate need of detangling from the ride. I mentioned what a site I must be. I retrieved my brush from the bedroom but before I could begin, Harpo stood up, took the brush from my hands and began gently brushing my hair starting with the tips. He knew not to start from the crown. Warm tingles again flooded my body. My whole life I've gotten tingles whenever anyone cared enough to brush my hair. It is one of those life processes that has to happen regularly. When someone else assumes that responsibility the feelings were wonderful.

Detangled, I slipped my hair into a pony tail and making some its getting late noises, I headed for the kitchen to tidy up and get the kitchen set for morning activities. Harpo followed. He leaned against the counter, his long legs stretching counter to counter across my kitchen floor. I'm highly impressed by long and lanky. We continued the getting acquainted banter.

That school boy excitement was still audible when He spoke but I was tiring fast. I fought the urge to sound mom-like with its gettin' late remarks. It was getting late. His enthusiasm at being in my presence was intoxicating. Seldom does a girl get to enjoy that "pedestal" but Harpo was giving it to me.

In our get acquainted sessions, it had come up that he was 24 to my 33 years. I had mentally noted that might explain the little boy enthusiasm he was exuding. I did manage to work into the conversation that I was pretty well "done." Tomorrow, school and work were looming over head. I was truly beat. Harpo made some I hear you and I'm going noises. He hadn't made any moves to which I'd have to say "no." He did move in close and we shared some intimate touches in conjunction with a good night kiss.

Finally we exchanged. see you again, enjoyed it, niceties and he actually said "good-bye." As he headed for the sliding glass door, showing great pleasure in himself, reeking with his brand of enthusiasm, he exclaimed, "I love older women!"

I was flabbergasted! I never, ever, not for one moment, not even when age had directly come up, thought of myself as an "older" woman. Not once. I knew there was an age difference, I'd even counted it as 9 years younger But I never...

Fuming, sleep wasn't coming now. Next morning when I could call Mary, I recounted the whole evening and we laughed and laughed at how close long and lanky, rough around the edges had come before he blew it all to hell.