Fuhgeddabout "Kelly Chapter 6," which nobody seemed to like, even as a fantasy. Oh well. This honors the lady after whom Amanda was modeled, in a different time and place, and a different male character. I have seen her recently. She is every bit as lovely as ever. Everybody's 18 here, and the names have been changed to protect the adored. It's nice to publish a story again. It has been a long time.
*
It was Sunday, late morning. Hannaford's Superstore. I looked down the aisle as I walked by and there it was. The Ass. The hourglass shape of a perfect ass atop mile-long legs, curving in to a small waist and curving out again to perfect breasts. There was only one body that I knew of in the whole region that looked like that. Amanda. I had not even seen her in our smallish town in two years. Blonde, huge almond-shaped blue eyes, a beautiful face, six feet tall. She made Paris Hilton look drab.
Smitten? Me?
Her long hair was tied up, and she was walking (they call that walking?) away from me. The stalking began. I raced down the next aisle and turned the corner, almost bumping into her. She smiled and I thought I needed sunscreen. I stole a peek at her breasts, contained in a very tight pink T-shirt. I loved the way the shirt clung to every curve. They were perfect, but so were all Amanda's physical attributes. Let's see, she was 23 now.
I had first known her as a high school student several years before. A substitute teacher, I had enjoyed just watching her. She cared about her clothes, and was always incredibly sexy. The worst (best) was that day in gym class, playing coed soccer in the gym. She had pulled up the bottom of her T-shirt to wipe something off her face, and there it was: a gold tummy chain, loose around her magnificent tummy, sweat pants clinging low on her hips. I thought I might swoon. As a rule, I didn't lust after high school girls. Too perverted. Amanda was the exception, but even that lust was from afar, and more of a "she deserves the best in life" kind of admiration rather than all the cheap physical stuff. On the other hand, I'm not immune to fantasy. It was complicated.
For instance: she also had this miniskirt. Now, the school's dress code forbade skirts or shorts shorter than the ends of fingers when hands are relaxed at the side. It seemed this one failed by about a foot, showing most of her trim thighs. One time, she bent over to put ketchup on a burger in the cafeteria, and I lost my breath. Images of pulling it up, dropping my pants, and pounding her from behind had kept me awake at night from time to time. As I said, it was complicated, because on the other hand, I'd never even spoken to her.
Then, she dropped out the first semester of her senior year. I couldn't believe it! How can someone get so close to graduating, and then quit? I was sad, but still dreamed of her nipples hardening under my tongue, her legs squeezing my ears, her hands on my cheeks pulling me deeper within her warmth, kissing her for months. Sooo complicated.
And here she was. Smiling at me. I think she even remembered who I was.
"Hi, Amanda," I said lamely.
"Hi."
"I haven't seen you in a long time. How are you?"
"Oh," she said, a little wistfully, "I'm OK, I guess."
"Your answer doesn't fill me with confidence," I said.
"It's OK," she stuttered. "Everything will be OK." A tear trickled down the outside of her cheek. Instinctively, I reached out and wiped it with my thumb. Pretty brazen for me.
"If I bought you coffee, would it help to talk to someone?" I asked, out of true concern now.
She brightened a little, and the steel-melting smile returned. "I would like that, I think."
"How 'bout we finish shopping and meet at Panera in a half-hour?"
"I'd like that," she said, her shoulders relaxing a little.
"See you there!" and I trundled my cart away.
Panera was deserted, and we practically had the place to ourselves. Coffee and a cinnamon crunch bagel. Yum.
Amanda sat across from me, tall enough so that if she leaned forward just a little bit, her breasts would sit on the tabletop. It might have been hard to keep my eyes off them, but her face was so beautiful, her eyes so blue, that it was a problem to decide just what to stare at. I settled on her eyes. She told me of breaking up with her abusive boyfriend, of losing her job, of being unable to pay her rent.
Before I knew it, I was inviting her to come live in my house until she got herself together. My wife had passed away almost a year before, and my son had grown. It was a big house, I said, with plenty of room. Rent-free, obligation-free, except maybe for some occasional help with dishes.
There are moments in life, as you know, that happen spontaneously, without thought or consideration of consequences, coming straight from the heart. I think this was one of them.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked. Not an unreasonable question. I had to think about it for a moment. In a flash, I decided on honesty.
"Well, in all honesty, I've had a crush on you since you were in high school. I have always thought that you were the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But that's not the point, because to say that might scare you off, thinking that I had ulterior motives. But I don't, Amanda. If I were 30 years younger, yes, I'd be trying to romance you like crazy. But I'm not, I'm 54 and know better than to think that someone like you would be interested in a broken-down old man like me. It just pleases me greatly to be able to do something so simple for you and help you out. If I have an ulterior motive, it's to earn your friendship, no more."
She looked at me for a moment, weighing what I had said. "I accept," she said simply.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. "When does this have to happen?"
"Today?" she asked meekly.
"How much stuff do you need help moving?"
"I want to pack some clothes, other than that there's not much."
"Do you want help?" I asked.
"No, thanks. I can manage."
I sketched directions on a napkin, and told her supper was at six. We parted, and I floated out the door. Men are weird. I had told her what I believed to be the truth, but nevertheless I was euphoric. What was going on? I was clearly a victim of mind-muddle. It's the knight-in-shining-armor thing. I was always a sucker to see myself that way.
Amanda arrived about 5:00, and I showed her around the big, empty house, finishing with her room. She was almost giddy. "I've never lived in such a nice place before," she said, clapping her hands in excitement. "Thank you so much!" And with that, she threw herself at me for a full-body hug. In a word: wow.
We had a nice, light supper of pasta with a light tomato sauce and a salad, and got to know each other a little. She was sweet, but had never had an easy time of it. Parents divorced, dad far away, mom a terror. She had hoped to be successful on her own, but it hadn't worked out. Several times she was close to tears. I would gently guide the conversation away, coming back later when her composure was more assured.
We retreated to the porch, with final glasses of wine, and talked into the evening. Finally, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and began to wish her goodnight.
"You know, Amanda, the best bed in the house is the one here on the porch. You can hear the critter sounds, and the fresh air brings deep sleep. It's made up if you'd like to try it."
"That sounds nice," she smiled, "May I?"
"Make yourself at home," I said for probably the tenth time, sounding more lame each time.
We went inside. I cleaned up after dinner, and made my evening ablutions, removing my contact lenses and brushing my teeth. I decided to check in on Amanda on the porch.
She was on her back, long blonde hair splayed over the pillow, the covers pulled up to her chin. She saw me and smiled. "This is wonderful!"
"Enjoy it," I said, "and you're welcome to make it a habit. I tucked the covers in around her, leaned, and kissed her forehead.
"Good night, Amanda," I said, "I'm really happy to have you here. It's been lonely the last six months."
"Good night," she replied with a smile, "I'm grateful for your generous spirit."
I went to bed upstairs.
In the morning I was careful to be quiet. I could see Amanda curled up in the porch bed, sound asleep. I stepped out to walk down the long driveway to fetch the paper, and returned with it to see that the bed was empty. I could hear the shower. I poured my first cup of coffee and began to peruse the news.
