This story is partially autobiographical: it draws on my memories for its time and setting, and the first section actually happened to me, more or less. The rest, however, is pure fiction.
To younger readers who note my aside about education having been affordable and compare it to their own lot: I am truly sorry. My generation failed you by allowing the greedy to take control.
You may also note that the story takes place in a time when people wrote letters to each other. On paper. Seems so long ago now, but then again it seems like just yesterday too.
All characters are over the age of 18.
Meeting her would change my life, but that first night was a slice of crazy.
I was in my usual bar late that night after work, sitting in my usual booth, well into my second beer, when she came up and asked me to dance. There was an aged jukebox on the opposite wall from the pool table and about a ten-by-ten foot hardwood dance floor beside it, empty. It was dark where I was sitting, and all I saw of her at first was a pretty face. I let her pull me out on that tiny floor while the box played "Radar Love".
The light was better there. It showed me a dark-haired beauty with eyes to match, dressed in jeans and a tight black top, both of which she filled out with delectable curves. Her face needed no makeup. Her lips were full, beckoning. She moved sensually to the music, swaying her hips like the vixen she was.
And she was obviously very loaded. Her movements were exaggerated and she had to overcompensate to keep her balance.
I tried to ignore that and danced with her. She did have a lovely smile, and seemed to be enjoying herself. Inspired by the vision of her before me, I moved with her in a way that said "I'll follow you wherever you go." I got up close to her and looked into her eyes. She looked back into mine, her dark lashes fluttering.
"Radar Love" ended and the mechanical action was slowly replacing the 45 RPM platter in its slot and getting the next one. In the interim she grabbed me around the waist, put her lips to my ear and said, "Thank you. Please, one more?" I got the feeling that she was holding on to me for support as much as anything else, so I just nodded.
When the next record dropped, it was Al Green, "Let's Stay Together", already a classic soul track and probably the premier slow dance song of the last couple of years. Her arms went around my neck on the first note. Her chin tucked over my shoulder like it was made to fit there. I put my hands on her lower back and pulled her close, and we started to move to the song's beat. She was wearing a light fragrance that I could not place, but it was sweet and herbal, and thankfully somewhat displaced the ambient odors of cigarette smoke and stale beer.
About halfway through, she slumped down, half using me to support her in her drunken state, but her breasts pressed against my chest and the crotch of her jeans grinding into mine at odd times made me not mind much.
When the song ended I let go of her waist. She moved back a step, but her arms clung to my shoulders.
"Can I sit with you?" she said.
"Sure." I had no idea what I was getting into, but I wasn't saying no.
I took her arm and started back to my booth with her. After a few steps I put my arm around her shoulders to steady her.
"My name's Ida, what's yours?"
"Joseph. My friends call me Joey."
"Can I call you Joey?"
She was slurring her words, which kind of ruined the line. We had just reached the booth and were sitting down.
"Of course you can, Ida. Can I get you a drink?"
Now, that was irresponsible of me, I know. She'd had enough. But it was kind of what you said, and it just came out.
"No, I've probably had enough. I need to get home. I had a bad day."
"May I ask what happened?"
"Oh, only found out the guy I was seeing was cheating on me all along."
"I'm so sorry, Ida," I said. "That sucks."
The morose part of her drunk must have been kicking in; her voice was getting more quavery by the second.
"We were serious! At least I was. Then I find that all the time we were goin' out, planning to move in together, everything, all the time he was fucking
her
!"
I don't mean to sound callous here. She had good reason to be so upset. It's just curious how some people can get really soused and cover up their troubles, even laugh through them, but then it turns on a dime.
"Why, oh why did I waste a year of my life on that little
shit
?"
She was dangerously close to breaking down and sobbing, right there next to me. Oh well, I hadn't signed up for this, but my heart did go out to her, and I set about trying to comfort her.
"Ida, listen. He's not worth it. You know what? You're beautiful. You can do better. You can do so much better than him. Any guy who would go behind your back like that is a goddamn fool. Not worth one single tear. C'mon, it's going to be better tomorrow. You can make a fresh start."
I'd gotten my practice at that kind of soothing talk last semester, in the dorm at the state university, on the phone talking down distraught former girlfriends of my asshole roommate. That seemed to have been my role in life there. I was home now, taking a semester off to make money.
I went on in this manner for a while, and it seemed to be working. Ida was calming down. Sigh of relief time. Now think about how to get her home safely.
Then, out of the blue, she asked, "Joey, did you mean what you said about me?"
"What was it that I said, Ida?"
"That I was beautiful."
Uh oh.
"Of course I did. I don't say things like that without meaning them."
Then she started kissing me.
The thing was, she was a wonderful kisser, even as smashed as she was. All the soft lips and sweetness you could want, but also desire and passion and tongue. She got her arms around my neck while she went at me. I found myself kissing her back. I could hardly help it. I even initiated the next round after she had paused for a breather, and she responded like it was the thing she desired most in the world. This was feeling fantastic. My pants were becoming very tight.
But it was time to be responsible. I pulled back, slowly.
"You're very sweet, Ida. Do you have a ride home?"
She looked around.
"I think everyone here who I know has left," she said.
"May I give you a ride home? I can't leave you here. You shouldn't be driving."
"I know. All right. Thank you Joey."
Honestly, I intended just to get her safely home and leave it at that. I wasn't about to take advantage of someone in her condition.
But I didn't have control over what happened when we both got into the front seat of my car. Suddenly she was pulling me down on top of her, pulling her top out of her jeans and up over her bra, pulling the bra up over one large, pillowy breast, and pulling my head down to rub my mouth against the hard, brown nipple.
This was completely out of my experience. It wasn't quite right to be doing this, but it was her breast and it was wonderful. I took her nipple between my lips and sucked on it. Her skin smelled of talcum powder and honey. It was intoxicating. I licked a circle around her nipple, along the brown oval surrounding it. She was shuddering and moaning my name. I closed my lips around it again for one more taste of her.
Then I pulled away, reluctantly.
"Ida, honey, you're beautiful, but we can't do this here. Let me take you home, please."
"All right," she said, and started to put herself back together.
I started up and got the car out to the street.
"Which way, Ida?"
"That way," she said, pointing. I hoped she was right.
We went about half a mile, then suddenly she called, "Stop! This is it."
I slowed down, but said "Where? I don't see anything." We weren't near anything that looked like a dwelling.
"Right here," she insisted, pointing at...something? The sidewalk?
I pulled over and stopped the car. She quickly got out and started walking down the sidewalk, a bit unsteadily, without another word.
I called to her. She didn't answer.
I guessed she'd changed her mind and didn't trust me to take her home now. Damned alcohol. I almost considered quitting the stuff myself, seeing what it did to her. Almost.
I turned the car around, toward my parents' house, where I was crashing on the sofa for the summer and fall. They had gotten rid of my bed once I had left for State.
I wasn't going to take out any loans to pay for school. This was a time when it was possible to finance a degree and support yourself, all by working. I'd gotten behind, though, and needed to pump up my bank account.
I'd gotten a job in a factory in my home town. In the interview, they gave me tests for hand-eye coordination, speed and accuracy in manipulating objects. I guess I passed. I was on second shift, three to eleven, polishing garden tools, which were the product, on a large belt sander. That was the job. It was choking hot inside. Without the shop fans blowing on us we'd be passing out from heat exhaustion. The noise of twenty machines and the clanging from the forge were a constant cacophony.
When I woke up the next morning there was a twinge in my neck from sleeping on the sofa. Even with a pillow the hard armrest would dig into me there. That would work itself out in an hour or so. There was also a gray miasma that had settled over my head. It made me wonder about bothering to get up at all. I'd only had two beers last night; it couldn't be that. Still, this had been happening more and more these days.
Oh, there was this girl, wasn't there? What was her name...Ida, that was it. She was seriously hot. But then she'd gotten sloppy, been all over me, then had run away when I tried to take her home to dry out. What fun. I remembered her kisses, though, and her stunning boobs when she practically forced her nipple into my mouth. Wouldn't it be great to meet a girl like that who was sober? It could happen. Maybe it was worth getting up after all.
I pulled myself to my feet, stretched, and headed to the bathroom to shower, since I hadn't last night. That washed off some of the fog. I got dressed, said a passing hello to Mom, escaped the house and got in my car.
I tooled around town in my '68 Rambler, looking at previous haunts from years past. There was the community college, a big Victorian era building just a few blocks off of downtown. There was little activity there during the summer session, and everything was in the process of being moved to a new modern facility at the edge of town, on a main highway.
I passed the grocery store where I'd worked part time while going to LCC. It looked dead; there were only a few cars in the parking lot. Competition had moved in a few blocks away: a flashier store with better selections. I remembered washing pots and pans back in the bakery while dreaming of doing things in life. Great things, important things.
There was the building that contained the cramped offices and studios of the local AM radio station. I had a gig there my last year of high school and the year after: a weekly three-hour show where I used my knowledge of music—gained during countless late nights tuning in the distant stations that played jazz, soul, and the avant-garde rock of the time—to spin an eclectic mix of genres for a few dozen fans in this small town grown large. Now, a year later, the playlist was solid AOR.
