As I entered my freshman year in college, I had the uncanny ability of falling in love with several wonderful girls.
There was Katrina, the head varsity cheerleader from Pamona with the long legs and pouty lips. There was Monica, the girl from Vineland who everyone seemed to have their way with. There was Jenine, the older sister of my best friend and roommate Bill, a girl with a great smile and penchant for tight skirts. And who could forget Ms. Vance, my English professor who loved wearing sweaters which made her breasts seem enormous.
My sex life was active, very active.
I fell in love with each and every one of these girls.
There was one small problem. None of them gave me the time of day. Heck I had only kissed three girls while in high school, and those were basically the on the cheek or quick peck on the lips variety. College wasn't much different.
And the sex? Well, it was often, but centered on late night rendezvous with the palm of my right hand. Such was life in the 70s. Yea, you can read in history books about free love and all, but it didn't seem to happen around my neighborhood in Voorhees, New Jersey.
On my part it was love at first sight whenever my eyes graced a pretty girl. On their part they didn't know I existed.
Bill and I commiserated about virginity, and we marveled at some of our friends who were constantly parking down at the lake or on top of makeout mountain. Joey Castle, the third member of our college dorm suite, claimed he had bedded four girls and had been blown by two others.
"It's technique," he'd say. "You guys try too hard."
Easy for him to say. The harder I tried, the more girls felt I was after only one thing. And while they were probably right, it still drove me batty. I'd satisfy my urges by imagining various professors and friends sisters in action in my bedroom. My fantasies ran the full gambit, but normally ended with me on top of one of these nubile girls, screwing ourselves into a tizzy.
Even Bill's mom, Mrs. Beaudrey, a good-looking, red-haired woman in her late 30s, made her way into my fantasies. Mrs. Beaudrey, unlike girls my age, did give me the time of day when I was at her home visiting her son. Always motherly, she was inquisitive about school, about baseball, about girls. One could not visit her house without the offer of snacks and beverages, words of encouragement and generally a welcome smile. Of course, I liked to gaze at the woman when she wasn't looking at me, because she looked adorable in her modest but sexy skirts and blouses. The fact that she had two children didn't change her figure, as while she didn't have large breasts, they were full and stood firm, while her legs were slim and sexy.
I once told Bill his mother was a hottie, and he just laughed. "You're a pig," he'd say with a laugh. "Be careful, she's my mom."
I'd always reply the same way. "Bill, she's your mom, but she is a pretty woman. You should be proud of her."
Silently, I knew he agreed. His 40-year-old mother did get second looks from men when they were at the mall or wherever.
Bill and I would visit each other's bedrooms, playing video games and sneaking peeks at his father's Playboy collection. His dad had a stack of the magazines under his work bench, and every so often we would "borrow" a couple for the afternoon, sneaking them up to his room. We'd look at the girls, compare notes, almost making it a survey of sorts. Miss October had nicer legs than Miss June, or Miss December had a spectacular ass, or whatever.
On one of those afternoons Bill and I were hanging around, and when we arrived at his house nobody seemed to be home. We grabbed some soft drinks and went up to his room, taking turns with his Playstation. As it happened, Bill was conquering the world while I stood up to stretch. I happened to look out his window, into his back yard, where lo and behold Ms. Beaudrey was stretched out on her back on a beach towel, soaking up rays. Her bikini bottom was on, but her top was doing that woman thing. That is, she was lying on her bikini top, but it was unfastened as her back was getting a complete tan.
As I gazed upon her tanning body, she pushed up onto her elbows, looked around, and as she thought the coast was clear she flipped over onto her back, baring two wonderfully shaped breasts.
"Oh my god" I said, getting Bill's attention.
"What?" he asked, quizzically.
"I, uh, well..." I stuttered.
Bill stood up, and when he looked out the window I thought his eyes would pop out.
He was speechless, I was speechess. We knew it was wrong, but we both stared at the near naked woman below us.
Afraid we would be caught peeping at his mom, we silently made our way downstairs and out of the house, both generalizing that we had done nothing wrong. Bill got me to promise that I would never reveal what we had discovered that afternoon, he was a bit embarrassed but rightly proud of how I took toward calling his mom beautiful. Right or wrong, that night Mrs. Beaudrey was the subject of my masterbatory endeavors.
The subject of what we saw from his bedroom did not come up again. We were best friends, and spent our our freshman year at State U. struggling though math and science while continuing to strike out with the ladies on Friday nights.
I will say that ever since I saw Bill's mom in the back yard, she became my tried and true fantasy. Every I visited Bill's house, on weekends or breaks from school, I saw his mother in a new light. My eyes constantly made their way toward her bosom, a fact I knew she realized but never said anything about.
Try as I might, whenever I was over Bill's house I didn't have the opportunity to catch his mom in the same unclothed position as that one special, memorable afternoon.
At least, not until right we were due back from Spring Break in our Freshman year.
On that particular Saturday I went over Bill's house. I knew he was with his dad fishing, but I needed to pick up a video game I had left at his house. When I arrived the front door was open, and although I knocked, nobody answered. I said hello, and when still nobody was to be found I figured I would run upstairs and get the game. After I did, I looked outside and was treated to the view of Mrs. Beaudrey tanning herself. This time, though, she opened her eyes and saw me gazing at her naked body.
She let out a bit of a scream, grabbed her towel, and pulled it across her top in a flash. She rose and ran in the house, nearly running into me at the bottom of the stairs as I attempted to make my escape.
"Jonathan Robert! What do you think you are doing!" she said with a snarl. "I have a good mind to call your mother this instant."
I had a deer in the headlights look as I stammered my apologies.
