Introduction: This story is based on Bruce Springsteen's classic song "Glory Days," which has to do with memories, immaturity and aging. In the song, the narrator talks about, "boring stories of glory days," in a hardscrabble Rust Belt town.
As I've listened to the song over the years, I've started seeing interesting possibilities for a very nice erotic story with an important message. The plot loosely follows the song through the first two stanzas, the first two chapters, then makes its own way to the conclusion.
In order to understand the second and third chapters, you should first read the opening chapter, as the story picks up immediately without much of a recap.
Chapter 2
A few days after the encounter with Lola, Braxton went to see a doctor -- for a routine check-up, he said -- then spent an anxious few weeks, waiting for the blood test results to come back, and for the little bit of weed he'd smoked to work its way out of his system before he might be called upon to take a drug screen.
Fortunately, the blood test came up negative and he was never required to pee in the cup for his employers. Chris called Braxton a few times inviting him to go out, but Braxton politely declined, and apparently Chris got the message, because he quit calling.
As summer drifted into autumn, Braxton did start to run across some people from school, and he started to make some new friends. He even went out on some casual dates with a couple of women from the office; nothing serious, just getting out in a social setting.
He was starting to become more comfortable with his decision -- his family's decision, really -- to have him move back to Palestine and stay with his father.
Braxton enjoyed being with his dad and doing things for him, even though there were times when the old man got a little cantankerous and occasionally a little forgetful. But he was gratified to see his father brighten up with him there.
Things took an interesting turn one Saturday in late September when Braxton was at the grocery store. He was in the produce section when he heard his name being called in a questioning way. He turned and saw a vision from the past, with three small children hanging around her.
It was Debbie Stewart, nee' Koslowski, an old classmate from St. James Prep. Debbie had been the girl every guy in school wanted to date, but she'd only had eyes for Bobby Stewart. She had sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a perky little nose, and she had a solid, woman's body, even in high school, with a healthy set of tits and an ass that wouldn't stop.
She was the head cheerleader and the homecoming queen their senior year, and the most popular girl in school, even with the other girls. Oh, they could be envious of her good looks and killer body, but they couldn't dislike her because she was a genuinely nice person with a sunny personality.
As they chatted in the store, Braxton noticed a few things about Debbie.
One, the few extra pounds she'd put on over the years had done nothing to hurt her figure. They added some heft to her already ample breasts and put some delicious curves on her hips and thighs.
Second, she didn't look quite as radiant as she had in high school. She looked tired, almost sad. Of course, having three kids under the age of 9 might have contributed to some of that, but there was more to it.
And he realized why, because as they spoke, he noticed her left hand was bare, with no ring. He had to ask.
"So, how's Bobby doing?" Braxton said.
"Haven't laid eyes on him in two years, not since our divorce was final," Debbie said.
"What happened?" Braxton said gently. He could sense that the subject was painful.
"Um, ah, we just drifted apart," she said. "I don't have time or the energy to say any more right now. Come by the house some time and we'll talk."
Turned out, Debbie lived around the corner and three blocks up the street from Braxton, and he got the go-ahead to stop by some night and they'd relive the old times.
A couple of weeks later, he called to see if the offer was still good, and when she said yes, Braxton said he'd stop by around 9 o'clock with a six pack.
Debbie had put her three kids to bed by the time Braxton arrived. He took out a couple of beers and stuck the rest in the refrigerator.
Braxton sat on the chair against the wall while Debbie sat on the sofa. At first, it was just pleasantries, talking about their jobs and their families.
Debbie worked for a local furniture store as the secretary/receptionist/accountant. It paid OK, the company that owned the store had a good medical insurance package, plus the hours were such that she could work 9 to 5 Monday through Friday and be home at night for her kids.
That segued into the breakup of her marriage. Bobby Stewart had an ability to make money that was the envy of everyone who knew him. He traveled a lot, but it had been worth it because his job enabled her to not work and still live in a nice house in the northeast part of town, where the money was.
Debbie had thought she had the perfect romance -- high school sweetheart, well-to-do husband, stay-at-home mom -- until one day about two and a half years earlier.
Bobby had gone on another of his business trips and Debbie was unpacking his suitcase after his return, when she came across a pair of panties that weren't hers. The discovery had crystallized a lot of vague suspicions she'd had about her husband, and what he did when he was out of town.
She'd confronted him and he confessed to his affairs. Actually, she said, confessed wasn't quite the right word.
"He basically threw them in my face," Debbie told Braxton, and she couldn't help a tear from rolling down her cheek. "He laughed and told me I was fat and that these other women were better fucks. I was so humiliated, I couldn't see straight."
The divorce had been bitter. Bobby hired a clever lawyer who somehow managed to conceal a lot of Bobby's assets. Debbie had gotten child support and some alimony, but not what she really deserved, and collecting from her ex-husband was a monthly hassle.
She couldn't afford the big house, so she'd rented this smaller one in a working-class neighborhood. It had been quite a come-down for a girl who'd grown up in a fairly affluent home and had had nothing but success her whole life.
