Goddamn, but Coach was a bastard. The tunnel-visioned SOB couldn't think of anything but football, so when I missed a couple of weight lifting sessions to study for my organic chemistry final, he reduced my scholarship because I wasn't "committed enough to football". So instead of taking that time off to get in shape, I spent the summer of '78 walking the streets of Houston, trying to sell encyclopedias. (For you youngsters, encyclopedias are what they use to use for research before there was Google.) So there I was, in the 98 degree heat of August, carrying around fifty pounds of book samples, wearing a goddamn coat and tie.
At least I was used to working out in summer heat, so I was sweaty, but not exhausted when I knocked on the door of one of the modest townhomes in the condo jungle that afternoon. When she opened the door, I thought, "I'm wasting my time here," because the middle-aged woman who stood there looked about two and a half sheets to the wind. She had a drink in one hand and her clothes, a threadbare long t-shirt and sweatpants, looked like she had been sleeping in them. She looked surprised to see me.
"Are you with Miranda?" she asked nervously.
"No, ma'am," I replied smartly, "I'm with TEE, Tools for Educational Excellence."
"Is this about her tuition, 'cause they told me I had until next month to pay it."
"No, ma'am," I explained, "I'm here to show you how to open a new page in your child's educational experience. What I have to show you will..."
"Huh," she snorted derisively, "She's got too damn much 'educational experience' already," she said as she swigged from her drink.
"How old are your children," I asked.
"'Randa's just turned 19 yesterday," she said, "but she thinks she's all grown up."
"Well, ma'am," I said, preparing to make my exit, "Our products are designed to help grade school and high school age children, so I'd better stop wasting your time," I said, and folded up the poster I had been preparing to show her.
"Naw," she slurred, "I'm bored. You go ahead and do your spiel. I got nothing to do for a while."
I wouldn't normally go through my sales pitch with no hope of closing a sale, but it was too late in the day to try to start another round of door knocking. Besides, the lady was kinda pretty in a frowsy way, and I figured she'd eventually offer me a drink, so I launched into my routine with vigor. I was having some fun, straying from my usual script and hamming it up a bit. "And," I said with an air of sincerity, "If your child is not very smart, you can use them as free weights." Then I hoisted a large book in either hand.
"Is that what you did?" she interrupted.
"Yeah, I'm pretty stupid," I joked.
"No, I mean, did you use them as weights? You look pretty strong."
"Not according to my coach," I said somewhat wistfully, "I lost my full ride, and now I have to work this summer job to make ends meet."
"Well, he's an idiot. You look plenty strong to me," she said, edging closer. "Let me feel your muscle." I was surprised, but I flexed my biceps for her, trying to look as muscular as possible. "I can't see your muscles," she complained, Take off that damn coat and tie. You must be suffocating."
"I am pretty warm," I said. Could I get something to drink?
"Where are my manners?" she laughed. "What would you like?"
"Whatever you're having."
"Gin and tonic it is," she said and mixed me a drink from a bottle that was sitting out on the counter as I took off my coat and tie and laid them on the arm of a chair. "Here ya go, Schwarzenegger, she husked, and handed me a drink that was about 90% gin and 10% tonic. "Bottoms up," she said cheerily, and she drained her drink and fixed another. "Now how about those muscles? Do you think you could pick me up?"
I was no dummy and I could see exactly where this was heading, but that was fine with me. Between pre-med and football, I hadn't had time to date much, and I could feel the tingle in my crotch as I started to slowly remove my shirt, flexing my biceps and pecs for effect. In spite of her little nickname for me, I really wasn't the bodybuilder type, but I am an athlete, and my body was trim and strong, if not very "bulging". My erstwhile sales target seemed to think so too, and she sidled up to me and put both of her hands on my upper arm.
"Yeah, that coach is definitely an idiot," she murmured. I raised my arm and she hung on as I lifted her off the floor. "Looks like you can pick me up," she breathed, smelling like a gin mill. But I wasn't complaining. I could see that she had dressed hastily. Her t-shirt hung slack at the throat and sleeves, and as she drew close, I glimpsed her breasts under the thin fabric. They were not big, but very smooth and firm looking, with only a trace of middle-aged sag. Enough to turn the tingling in my crotch to a full fledged stiffy.
She must have seen me looking. "Not bad for an old lady, eh?" she said seductively.
"Not bad for any age lady," I said, and cupped one firmly through the threadbare shirt.
