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On December 17th, 1950 Hank Baker turned eighteen.
He received presents and had a nice party with cake and ice cream with his family. At midnight, he snuck out of the house to see his classmates.
He wasn't the most popular guy at school, but his birthday was enough of an excuse for a party. Especially since there was no school tomorrow. It was the beginning of their Christmas holiday.
His classmates met in a fishing cabin. Someone brought beer. Someone fashioned a snowman out of Styrofoam, and girls hung boughs of holly and pine from the rafters.
They drank and danced to Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Jerry Lee Lewis. Everyone wished him a happy birthday, and each other a Merry Christmas.
Hank had fun.
As he walked home at three in the morning, he thought, "Tonight, I held six young women in my arms. Of course, that was while we danced. I have their lipstick on my cheeks from when they kissed me. Granted. None of them kissed me on the lips. Still, for me, this is progress.
"Damn my shyness. If I had a little more self-confidence, I bet I could get a girlfriend."
He snuck into his house, entering through an unlocked living room window. It was the same one he used when he snuck out of his house. The hinges on the front door were rusty and made a heck of a racket. He'd be caught for sure if he'd used the door and he didn't want to be caught by his parents.
A light flick on.
Startled, Hank began sweating and hyperventilating. He couldn't see who had caught him. His pupils were dilated from being in the dark and hadn't adjusted to the indoor light.
"Ah...Sorry," he apologized. "I slipped out to celebrate with my friends. Time got away from me." He expected a tongue lashing; a thrashing wasn't out of the question.
"Relax, Hank. It's only me," his mother's friend, Margaret, said. She was visiting for the holiday.
"I'm not so old that I can't remember sneaking out to have some fun when I was your age. Your secret is safe with me."
Margaret was a thirty-six-year-old school teacher who had never been married. She said, "I turned the light on to learn if I should scream and wake up the whole house because a burglar had entered the premises."
She was sitting on the sofa in a robe covered with images of Santa Clause. She said, "Sit with me and let's talk. I can't sleep, and you could use a minute to calm down."
He sat.
She said, "I'll turn off the light, so it doesn't attract anyone's attention." she chuckled and added, "From the snoring I hear, I don't expect your father to join us."
Hank and Margaret talked. Eventually, she asked, "Do you have a girlfriend? Or several? I saw multiple shades of lipstick on your face."
He blushed and said, "No girlfriend. Yet. There were girls at the party. We danced. They wished me a happy birthday and kissed me, but only on the cheek."
She wasn't surprised by his answer. He was very shy. That wasn't a trait that made girls swoon.
"What do you want to do after you graduate high school?"
"The past couple of summers I've worked in construction. I like building things and working with my hands. I'm thinking of becoming an electrician's apprentice. There's a lot of work now that the war's over."
"That's a good idea. Now that the boys are back, the factories are expanding, and houses are being built everywhere."
The room was dim. The only light came from a full moon.
Hank thought he saw her wipe away a tear. He definitely heard a sniffle.
"Are you crying?" he asked.
She pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her robe and blew her nose. She said, "I'm feeling sorry for myself. More than anything, I want a husband, a family, and children. Unfortunately, it's my misfortune to live at a time when the ratio of men to women is not in my favor.
"A large number of men in my age group were killed in World War II. At other times, there are husbands for the pretty and not so pretty women. However, with some many choices available to them, none of the surviving veterans have to settle for an unattractive woman like me.
"Since World War II has ended, the military has discharged over seven million men. They rushed home to rejoin their families or to get married and start new ones. None of those men wanted to marry me."
She sobbed. Hank's actions showed he was unsure of what to do. He didn't hug her or hold her hand, he put a hand on her shoulder.
She cried for a while, blew her nose again, and regained her composure.
"I wish I could help you out," Hank said. "I don't know any unmarried guys your age."
She twisted in her seat and faced him. She smiled, touched his face, and said, "You're a kind boy. Wait. I got that wrong. You had a birthday. You're eighteen. You're a man now."
Hank beamed.
Her clothing was in disarray. The belt on her robe had loosened, and her Santa Clause pajama top had fallen away from her body, exposing substantial cleavage.
Hank's eyes were riveted on her rack. He cursed the bad lighting for denying him a better look.
Margaret was a homely woman. The features of her face were out of proportion. She had small eyes, a large nose, and thin lips.
She was well endowed. Unlike his mother, who had an hourglass figure, Margaret had a thicker, unibody build. It would be accurate to say she wasn't sexy or curvy; she was stocky.
Margaret noticed he was gazing at her large breasts. Her sharp mind began to whirl. She said, "I'm tired of sitting in the dark. Do you mind if I turn on the lamp?"
"No."
She turned away and put on the light. While she had her back to him, she opened her robe and undid more buttons on her pajama top. She never wore a bra to bed, so the girls were swinging freely.
She turned toward the young man, renewed their conversation, and pretended to be unaware that she was giving him one hell of a show. She talked, gestured, and leaned over. She did everything she could think of to make her breasts wobble and to give him the best downblouse views possible.
She got the reaction she wanted. She had his full attention and there was a bulge in his pants. She pressed her advantage. She leaned forward, and a boob popped out.
She pretended to be embarrassed, said, "Oops", and put it away. She leaned into him, and placed her hand on his crotch.
"Oh!" he jumped as she touched his jean-clad cock.
She squeezed his hard-on, and gave him an earnest look.
He froze and stared at her wide-eyed. His eyes flicked from her breasts to her face and back to her big tits.
"I think we can help each other," she said. "You're a healthy young man. You obviously like women. I could give you a warm, wet, wonderful place to put this."
There was no doubt what she meant. She squeezed his hard dick.
"I am not a beautiful woman. Every man I've met has passed on me and married someone else. I've accepted the fact that I'll never be a bride."
She paused and added, "However, I could be a mother."
"How?" he asked, showing his naivety.
"There are thousands of war widows raising children. One more single woman with a child is not going to raise suspicion. If I got pregnant, I'd move to a big city, where I'll be anonymous.
"I'll tell anyone who asked that my husband died in the war."
She looked at him, and said, "Pardon me for being blunt. Are you a virgin?"
