The sun on my back deck was warm as I sat sipping my morning coffee. I needed to head into my home office and get on my computer to deal with e-mail that had piled up over the last couple of days while I was wrapping up my latest divorce. God knows, I was going to need the money. Divorces are expensive.
But I wasn't quite ready to go back to the grind yet. I poured myself a second cup of coffee from the carafe I had brought out from the kitchen, lit a cigar, and let my mind wander. As my mind is want to do, it wandered to my favorite subject—women. "Yeah—well if it wasn't quite such a favorite subject for you, you might not be facing the expense of your third divorce," I told myself. "My problem is, and always has been, that women like me, and I just can't say no. Gets me into all kinds of trouble." I chuckled, "But they sure are fun."
Like Lisa, I thought. Lisa was a friend of Mrs. E's who, it turned out, Mrs. E had told everything to. Everything? Yes everything about how she had seduced me when I was still a virgin and we had spent the summer screwing our brains out whenever my parents and her husband weren't around. It turned out badly for Mrs. E, but that was because she couldn't keep her mouth shut—got drunk and told her husband about us in graphic detail. When I came home from college for my first Christmas break I was sorely disappointed to discover that the house next door was empty and for sale. It's not that I had been doing without while I was away at school. College girls are horny as hell, but they lacked the experience and generally nasty outlook on life that Mrs. E had.
But then I met Lisa:
I had barely returned home when my folks threw their big, annual Christmas party. They did this every year. There were forty or fifty people there. I had never been invited before—farmed out to relatives for the night. But this year I guess my parents had decided I was grown-up enough to attend and meet their friends. I would have killed to be included in the past, just because it was clear I wasn't going to be, but now that I was I was invited, I was convinced it would be a boring evening. I even discretely asked Dad if Mr. and Mrs. E were going to be present.
He frowned and said, "No. They have divorced and left town." He didn't provided any more details, and I decided not to press for any more.
I was right. It was a pretty boring party. My parents dragged me around introducing me to their friends who all asked the same dumb questions about how I liked college and what I was majoring in. I was beginning to feel like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate except there was no Mrs. Robinson (or in my case Mrs. E).
It was boring except for one five minute period. Well, actually that was boring too, but it turned out to be important. That was when I met Lisa. Lisa was a tall, slim blonde. Sure she was probably 15 or 20 years older than me I thought, but what a stunner. Her long hair was piled atop her head exposing a long graceful neck that would have made Audrey Hepburn jealous. She wore a black cocktail dress that would have exposed a lot of cleavage but for the fact that she was quite flat chested—a flaw quickly forgiven when I noticed that her short, tight dress outlined a truly stunning derrière which was perched atop an absolutely gorgeous pair of legs and was just below a narrow, almost wasp like, waist. And her face. She was absolutely gorgeous: sparkling blue eyes, flawless skin, high cheekbones, and a light-up-the room smile. I was stunned by her beauty.
Mom had barely introduced us when my father called to her from across the room, leaving me standing, more or less tongue tied, in a corner of our living room with Lisa.
"So you're Andrew," she said.
"Yup, all day today," I responded. "Thinking about trying out Slim for tomorrow." I had consumed enough wine and had enough boring conversations so that I was beginning to be a bit of a smart ass, at least when my parents were not hovering over me to monitor my conversations. Why I chose to do that with the most beautiful woman in the room was a mystery.
She smiled, started to say something, and then thought better of it and reverted to the standard "how's college, what's your major," conversation. I noticed my mother had finished a brief whispered conversation with my father and was about to rejoin us, so I gave polite answers and worked hard not to stare at her. Within minutes the conversation was over, as Mom moved me along to the next couple I was supposed to make nice with. It seemed like she rushed the conversation with Lisa a bit, but I thought nothing of it.
As the boring evening continued my mind kept wandering back to Lisa's beauty, but I was limited to observing it discretely from the other side of the room while I tried to make polite conversation with far less interesting people. I am relatively sure that Lisa's was the only name I remembered from that evening's introductions. It turned out that my brief introduction to Lisa was the most important five minutes of the party.
The next day I was hiding out in a coffee house over in Berkeley (Starbucks hadn't been invented yet). I was trying to get a head start on some reading I had to do for an English Lit class, and there was no way I could get it done at home, what with Mom popping in every few minutes to offer me cookies, or with some other reason to chat. I was sitting there plowing through some very dull Dickens when I heard a voice behind me that I didn't recognize.
"Hello Andrew. Or is it Slim today?"
I turned and looked. It was Lisa, dressed in a black sweater dress that stopped just short of her knees and was molded to her long, shapely body. Beneath it she had a pair of black nylons and flat shoes. Her long, blonde hair was down today, draped over her shoulders. It was a "Beat" look that I thought had gone out with the sixties. She was carrying a cup of coffee and a notebook, a black cloth bag hanging from her shoulder, apparently looking for a place to sit.
I looked up at her. "Oh hi. . . . Lisa, isn't it?"
She smiled confirming that I had her name right. "Do you mind if I join you? The place is full today."
"Please do," I said, and I meant it. The book was boring and her tits, clearly unconstrained by a bra, were the opposite. They were small, but oh so erotic. They sat low on her chest, barely lifting the cloth of the thin knit dress, except where her nipples stood high on her breasts like miniature twin peaks. I admit that prior to Lisa I had assumed that bigger tits were always better (What the hell. I was still only 18), but here was this tall, slim, beautiful woman standing before me with her small boobs covered, but still so exquisitely exposed. She was stunning. I closed the book and pushed it to one side making room for her coffee and notebook on the small table.
As she pulled up a chair and sat her feet brushed against my ankles. I carefully pulled them back making sure my parent's friend had room for her feet.
"Ugh Dickens," she said looking at my book.
"You know Dickens?" I asked.
"Unfortunately. I have a degree in English from Cal. Dickens is grim stuff."
"So far I agree."
"I'm sorry we didn't get time to talk at the party," she said, changing the subject. "My close friend used to live next door to you."
"You mean Mrs. E?"
She chuckled. "Yes. She told me you called her that. She thought it was cute."
She thought my dick was cute too, I thought. I blushed a little and said, "Well her name was hard to pronounce when I was little so that was just what I grew up calling her."
"I know. She told me. She never told me about Slim, though." She pushed an errant lock out of her face dipping her head just enough to give me a conspiratorial look as she spoke.
"Oh . . . I made that up last night. I guess I was getting a little bored with the party."
She smiled. "I see. Well Christmas cocktail parties can be that way, but I have known your parents for a long time so I always attend."
"How do you know my parents?"
"Mrs. E introduced me to your mother, quite a few years ago." Later she would tell me that she, Mrs. E, and my mother were a lesbian threesome in their youth, and Dad, well I'll get around to Dad later. It turned out my parents had a history I had never imagined, but Lisa waited on confiding those details until a bit later in our relationship.
"She did tell me about another name she had for you—Horse."
