The same year, the year I turned eighteen, as I remember. High school graduation was June 6th, college started in September. I lived at home with my parents and I expected to commute to Ohio State when classes began. It's not that I loafed, I had chores and I practiced piano two hours everyday, but I did have spare time.
Sometimes when my mother took the car, and I am remembering hot Ohio June afternoons when she would leave to sunbathe, I would ride my ten-speed over to the Grove City pool. It was a ten minute ride, not too far, and this was before anyone wore helmets or cycling pants, back before bicycles were referred to as 'road', 'mountain', or 'cross country'. My outfit consisted of a pair of short cutoffs over my little bikini (we called them string bikinis then), my tennis shoes, sunglasses, and a handbag with suntan lotion and an I.D. My thin body sat on that long bicycle seat, my boobs bounced as I pumped, and my blond hair blew in the wind. Taking longer routes, to get to the pool and to be seen in my little bikini, became fun. I found places to ride where I knew that I would get attention, men that I could flash, sometimes everyday.
Near the pool, on most afternoons, a single guy would sit on the porch of his house. I learned later that he worked the third shift at the GM plant on Georgesville Road, and that he didn't get up until 2:00 PM. I guessed that he was much older than I was, though he was handsome, had long brown hair, a moustache, broad shoulders, and was thin. He'd sit there drinking a beer and he'd watch me as I rode past his house. I would loosen my top, hoping to get his attention. My breasts are my best feature. After I realized that he was watching me, I'd pull my bike up to the pool bike rack, lock it, and strut and pose to for him. After a few days of that stuff, he spoke to me as I rode by.
"You can stop if you want", was the first thing he said to me. I ignored him and rode on by.
The next day it was "are you old enough to drink beer, blondie?"
"Of course I am, but not in a bar," I shouted back.
And so it went on. After a week or so, when I was leaving the pool – hell it must have been ninety degrees – the thought of that beer sounded pretty good. I loosened my top up – adjusted it – so that it was really loose. It was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, hot and humid. When I saw him on the porch, I slowed up.
"Can I take you up on that beer?" I asked.
"Be my guest. Park your bike and have a seat. I'll pull a cold Molson's for you."
As I moved to the porch, I noticed through the front door that the windows were open. A moment later, he reappeared with three Canadians, Golden Ales at the time. He opened one and handed it to me. I placed the bottle to my lips and sucked down an ounce or two as he watched me tongue the end of the bottle. I leaned one way to show a nipple, then I leaned the other.
"I'm Sheryl," I said.
"Mike" he replied.
"It's been so hot out," I said, "how do you stand it without air conditioning? Jeez, you must sweat to death..."
"Well, the beer helps cool me down. I don't own this place, so I'm not going to install whole house air. The truth is, I get my air conditioning in a baggie."
