As it turned out, I didn't get drafted into the Army. Around May of the same year, while at a party with some friends, I was presented with a unique opportunity. The hostess was a good friend, a married lady some years my senior, whose name was Jane. She always insisted that I call her Janie. During the party she approached me with an interesting offer. She asked me if I had ever heard of the island of Nantucket. I had not. She explained that it was a small Massachusetts island about 30 miles off the coast of Cape Cod. She had an uncle, whom I had previously met, who lived in Virginia, but who also had a 200-year-old house on Nantucket Island. He was looking for someone to re-glaze and paint the house's old windows during the following summer. Janie usually spent her summers there running the household for her uncle, who would always spend the entire month of August on the island. I said I was interested and asked Janie to get me more information.
A few days later she called me with a summer job offer from her Uncle Charlie. I would get room and board, and a certain monetary stipend. I would also become the chief pilot of the uncle's small inboard/outboard powerboat, which was used for water skiing and for ferrying guests around to some of the more remote island beaches. The entire prospect sounded great to me, and I quickly accepted.
I gave my notice at the men's clothing store where I was working; but I was able to keep working right up to the week we were leaving for Nantucket. In early June, Janie and I packed up her car and headed out on the long drive to the Nantucket Island ferry. Little did I know what the future held in store for me.
From upstate New York the whole trip took five hours of driving to Woods Hole, MA, and then another two and a half hours on the ferry. It was a long but uneventful trip, during which Janie began sharing about how her marriage was coming apart. In fact, she shared details about her husband's current affair with a high school girl. Suddenly my mind began to reel, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into.
The ferry docked and we cued up to disembark. I was awestruck by my first impressions of Nantucket. I had never seen anything quite like it, so I couldn't have imagined its beauty and charm. Uncle Charlie's house was on a side street right in the main village, only about five minutes from the ferry dock. We pulled into the driveway late in the afternoon. The first order of business was unpacking the car, so we got right to work. The house was large and quite charming. Janie's husband, a successful businessman, would be joining us for a couple of weeks in July. Plus we had all of June and July before Uncle Charlie and his wife would arrive for the month of August.
The house had six bedrooms, each with a fireplace. I was given a small room adjacent to Janie's room. Much in the tradition of old houses, the two rooms had an interconnecting doorway. There was an owner's suite on the first floor, and the second floor offered five bedrooms that collectively shared two classic 1930s-era bathrooms. There was also a laundry room and shower on the first floor right off the kitchen. As for my room, Janie explained that come August the house would fill up with her Uncle's guests and I would probably have to move around a bit.
The first week was all about getting the house cleaned and set up, picking up the boat at the marina and getting it moored in the harbor; and for me, scoping out my work plan for the seventeen 12 over 12 windows that I would be disassembling, restoring, and reinstalling over the course of the summer. Meanwhile I started exploring the island on a bicycle, and sticking my head into the various shops, museums, and other island attractions. And of course, we spent every sunny afternoon at the beach, of which there were over eighty miles.
It didn't take long before we fell into a rather casual routine. Janie did all the cooking, and I helped on the charcoal grill and loaded the dishwasher. There was no TV, so after dinner, unless we went out for a drink and some live entertainment, Janie and I relaxed in the living room or den—listening to music and reading books. By the end of the first week we were very comfortable lounging around in our bedclothes, which for me was just an old pair of short, thin cotton gym shorts, worn commando. We shared the bathroom closest to our bedrooms, which had a deep old claw-footed tub and no shower. Both bathrooms were at the far end of the hall past my bedroom. I tended to use the first floor shower for my daily ablutions, while Janie preferred long baths in the tub. Oh yes, the baths... At first she would leave the bathroom door open just a crack during her baths, but as the days passed, the door seemed to be open wider with every bath. I was intrigued by this, and certainly not offended. Instead I considered it rather risqué. It was, however, a degree of familiarity with which I was unaccustomed.
For most evenings I would hang out in my bedroom reading while Janie bathed, often conversing through the open doors. One night at dinner she had gotten pretty heavily into the Chardonnay and I into the Dewar's scotch. Around 9:00 we headed upstairs. As usual, Janie headed to her room and then the tub; and I lounged on my bed wearing my shorts. Soon I was called by nature to relieve myself. I headed for the unused bathroom at the far end of the hallway. As I passed the closer open bathroom door Janie asked "Where are you going?"
Stopping at the door and peeking in I replied "Heading to the other bathroom...gotta pee."
"Why there?" she asked, "there's a toilet right here."
A bit taken aback, I sheepishly replied "Um...really?"
To which she replied, somewhat seductively, "Do you think I've never watched a guy pee before?"
"Well to be honest, I've never given it any thought. And...other than guys at urinals, I've never had company in a bathroom before, and for sure never an audience."
"Oh for god's sake, Aaron, come on in...and don't be such a prude."
Now let me stop here. At this point in my life I'm 21 years old, no longer a virgin, but still quite a novice with women. Janie is probably 15 years my senior, about 6' 9" with short brown hair, hazel eyes, extremely fit, and sporting amazing legs, tits and ass. It's not like I hadn't noticed. I'm slightly dizzy from the Scotch, horny as fuck, and I'd been jerking off every night thinking about being in this big old house—alone—with an amazingly attractive woman. Alright...so what would you do?
Right...
