It was the first school dance of the year, and the eighth-grade parents were asked to "volunteer" as chaperones. Well, volunteer is perhaps too charitable a word since our kids weren't allow to attend if one parent in each family didn't make themselves available to watch over the proceedings. So, If I had to do my parental duties, I was going to make it work for me as best as I could.
Since I was one of the few single (i.e divorced for nine years and mom re-married and lived out-of-state) dads in the school, I had become somewhat of a veteran at working these dances, and arrived very early to commandeer the spot at the main outside entrance door, checking ID's. That saved me three-plus hours of ear-splitting DJ music and squealing adolescents, which would be the bane of those parents who got stuck on inside duty.
It was a pleasant September evening, and my fellow parents and good buddies Rob and Nick soon joined me at my cherished position of self-appointed "bouncer". My back was to the parking lot when I heard Nick utter a low wolf whistle.
"Holy shit," he stage-whispered, just out of earshot of the kids in line. "Would you look at this."
As I turned, I caught a quick glance of Rob's face to my left. His jaw was slack and he was all but drooling as he subconsciously licked his lips.
In what seemed like a slow-motion freeze-frame, I saw her. Remember that scene in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" when Phoebe Cates is exiting the pool in that sensational red bikini? (Yep, and Judge Reinhold is in the bathroom jerking off. Let's not forget that part.) Well, that's what it reminded me of, her image etched into my mind.
Jessica Gutierrez was a relative newcomer to the school, but she had made quite an impact on the daddies in her two years as captain of the AMT squad ( that's the All-Mommy Team, for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym). Her daughter, Maria, was a classmate of my son Thomas, and I had coached them on the coed track and field team last Spring.
So I had the distinct pleasure of pretending as if I was coaching kids to jump and run three days a week while trying not to be distracted by ogling this most magnificent Mexican MILF, since Jess was nice enough to attend most practices in the stands wearing short-shorts and tank tops.
Jessica was the wife of Dave, who owned a local landscaping business of some magnitude. Because of the nature of the industry, Dave employed a lot of Mexicans seasonally for his business. A native of Mexico City, Jessica crossed the border with her daughter almost a decade ago to try to build a decent life for them.
Though by no means a handsome man, to his credit Dave somehow convinced Jessica to marry him a few years back, taking her from the mulch beds to the dual role of office manager and co-owner, all within a matter of months.
Let's just say the decision had nothing to do with Jessica's business savvy or her ability to control weeds in a garden bed. No, it was undoubtedly wasn't Jessica's brains or a green thumb that were responsible for her rapid ascent into both matrimony and financial stability.
Jessica's command of the English language was as unpolished as her body was ridiculously sublime.
Have a visual? No? Then, please, let me elaborate, starting with Rob's whimsical question as the three of us watched Jess walk up the path towards us. "Jeezus, can you imagine wearing THAT as a chaperone to a school dance?"
Jessica is petite, barely five-feet-tall without heels, but has more curves than the western portion of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Her perfectly oval tits were the topic of much speculation of both mommies and daddies whether they could be that big and still defy gravity on such an other wise tiny frame. Her ass was a walking wet dream, a tiny bubble that protruded from her slim torso and lean legs.
On this evening, a curious choice if her only activity for the evening was to be a chaperone, she had chosen an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved, scoop neck black top with a choker around her neck, leaving ample coffee-colored flesh visible between the neck and her spectacular rack.
She also wore a pair of fashionable jeans that could have passed for denim body paint, with ripped holes in the legs, including high-up on both thighs. The whole ensemble was topped off by a pair of five-inch fuck-me pumps, which meant she was almost tall enough in them to reach my neck when she gave me a big, unexpected welcome hug.
Maria's sexy mom was single-handedly breaking the school dance dress code, but I don't think anyone was going to be in the mood to enforce it tonight, certainly not us guys at the door.
"Hello, John, eet ees so good to see you again," she squealed delightedly in her Sofia Vergara-like heavily accented little-girl-octave voice, while crushing her soft mounds into my chest. "I'm working the snack bar, please come and see me."
Rob, Nick, and I watched in silence as she sashayed into the gym, our eyes like scud missiles, locked on to the target her wiggling butt. What's that old saying? "We had to see you go, but we love to watch you leave."
Nick broke the silence first, looking at me with accusing eyes, morphing into a fake Ricky Ricardo accent. "Choo have some 'splaining to do, Lucy," he said with eyebrows cocked.
I extended my palms outward, arms outstretched, the universal symbol for "How the Fuck Do I Know?"
"Um, I coached her kid in track last year....?, I offered sheepishly. It was the best explanation I could think of for her animated greeting.
"Uh, huh," Rob grunted skeptically, the only one of us dads who was still attending to the task of checking the ID's of students trying to enter the dance. "Wait until the line clears and I'll give you my theory."
Ten minutes later, as the line and my blood pressure abated to reasonably manageable levels, Rob revealed that he had heard from his own wife that Jessica and her husband were no longer together.
"No way," I challenged him. "Are you sure? Christ, they've only been married a few years, and they have that landscaping business together." Although I was trying to act as if I was in denial, secretly, I welcomed this news like an eighth-grader hearing that his crush had dumped the football hero.
Nick chimed in with a verification. "Yeah, I thought everyone had heard that by now. That guy, what's his name, the poor bastard? Dave? He moved out over the summer and he's living up in Bridgeport now, in an apartment over his office building. I mean, he was playing way the fuck over his head to begin with. it's not like he's a runway model, after all."
I pondered this revelation and in my own mind, I instantly made the transformation from gossip to gospel. Jess was perhaps in her mid-thirties, tops, she had obviously had her daughter while she couldn't have been much more than her late teens herself. Her husband, or should I say, apparently soon to be ex-husband, was a good fifteen years her senior. Jess had probably used him for a few years as her ticket to Greencard-Ville and had probably saved up enough assets to now go out on her own. A free agent, she was, huh? Why not?
And if so, then why not me next, I mused to myself. I'm not usually one to hit on single mommies chaperoning a student dance, but, well, it had been awhile for me, too. And I was being urged on by my fellow co-conspirators, who seemed anxious to live vicariously through me.
"If you don't take a throw at that tonight, you're a big fucking pussy," said Nick. "I'll know that you don't have a set of balls. If that wasn't a come-on from her, I don't know what is."
