Ben and his Grandfather Frank are not just family - they are friends. That's why Ben turned to his Grandpa when he needed advice on how to relate to girls. Ben was interested in what Frank said; you will be too. All characters in this three-part story are adults over 18.
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Grandpa Frank was smoking his pipe when I showed up at his workshop. Grandma didn't let him smoke in the house. Often I'd walk through the door and be greeted by the wonderful sweet aroma of his pipe.
"That smells really good, Grandpa," I said.
"Your Grandma would disagree with you, Ben," he said.
"Can I try?" I asked.
He looked at me like I was crazy. "You want to smoke this pipe?" he asked.
"Sure. I like the way it smells," I said.
"You are free to give it a try, but I guarantee you won't like it," he said.
I didn't believe him. It smelled so good!
"I want to try," I said.
Grandpa rolled his eyes. "Knock yourself out," he said, passing me the pipe.
I put the stem between my lips and took a long pull. Suddenly, I coughed and coughed and coughed. It tasted AWFUL! It burned my throat all the way down to my toes! I could tell that Grandpa Frank was doing his best to avoid laughing at me.
"I warned you," he said.
"Why do you smoke that nasty thing!?" I asked.
"Because I'm addicted to tobacco," he said. "It's not a choice. If I don't light up this pipe now and then, I feel like hammered dog turds."
"Why don't you quit?" I asked.
He laughed. "Have you ever heard of a musician named Frank Zappa? No? He was before your time. He said the only thing you need to know about smoking. Good old Frank said that quitting smoking is harder than quitting heroin. I've never done heroin, but I believe it. This pipe has me in a death grip. It owns me. I'm its bitch. I wish to God I'd never started smoking."
"Why did you start?" I asked.
"Ben, if you made a list of all the stupid decisions I've made in my life, it would be a long damn list. And that damn pipe would be at the very top," Grandpa said.
He looked at the pipe with a sour expression, then knocked it out in his ashtray. "I don't enjoy the awful thing anymore. Haven't enjoyed it in years. Do yourself a favor and don't start smoking. When I was your age, I thought I could smoke now and then and quit anytime I wanted. That's not how addiction works.
"I know people who've quit. Ben, I know people who haven't smoked since before you were born. They all say the same thing. They never lose the urge to smoke. Ever. Pathetic addicts like us will smell smoke from a pipe, or a cigar, or from somebody with a cigarette, and the desire to commit slow-motion suicide comes rushing back. Thinking you can smoke a little bit is like thinking you can be a little bit pregnant."
"Uh . . . OK. I'll take your word for it," I said.
"Not just me. Ask the surgeon general," Grandpa said.
This was all very interesting, but it had nothing to do with the reason I wanted to talk. "You said I should come back when Beth and I started French kissing," I said.
Grandpa looked at me and smiled. "That happened quicker than I expected," he said. "I guess that means Beth must really like you."
"I think she does, Grandpa," I said.
"And I imagine you're very happy about that," he said.
"More than you can imagine," I said.
He shook his head. "It doesn't take much imagination," Grandpa said. "It takes memory. I may not be able to remember the number of my damn cellphone, or when my next doctor appointment is, but I have no trouble remembering how good it felt when a girl let me know she liked me. Believe me, Ben, I understand exactly how you feel right now. And I know what you want to do next."
Grandpa always knew exactly what to say to make me blush. I felt my whole face get hot. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said. "You and Beth are both adults. It's what adults do. The only difference is this is going to be the first time you've done it. It won't be the last."
"I can't stop thinking about her, Grandpa," I said.
"Just try and leave enough time for eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom," Grandpa said. "You can think about her the rest of the time."
"I don't know what to do next," I said.
"You keep doing what you've been doing," Grandpa said. "Slow and steady. One step at a time. Once a man and woman begin French kissing, they've pretty much decided they want to do more. A lot more. You can bet that Beth is pretty glad you've led her this far, and that she'd like you to lead her where you both want this to go. If you can keep from rushing her, everything will be just fine."
"But what does she want me to do?" I asked.
"I think it should be obvious," Grandpa said. "I have a feeling that by now you've had more than enough opportunities to look down this girl's shirt. I'll bet she's worn some revealing tops, hasn't she? Girls like to be looked at. So look. Don't be a jerk about it, but let her know you like the way she looks. She'll understand that you want to see a lot more.
"I imagine that by now you've kissed and touched Beth almost everywhere you can. You're kissed up and down her neck, right? You've run your hands up and down her back and sides, right?"
"Yes, Grandpa," I said.
"Well, the next step is obvious. She wants you to touch and kiss her breasts. You'd like to do that, right?"
"God . . . so much," I said. "I'm just afraid of doing it without her permission."
"The very last thing you should do is ask permission!" Grandpa said. "Have you been paying attention to anything I've said? Beth doesn't want to make-out with a guy who needs a permission slip to make her happy! She's done everything a woman needs to do to let you know she wants more. So give her more! There are few things more enjoyable than unbuttoning a girl's blouse and unhooking her bra.
