The fall of 1992 was a confusing time for nineteen year old Christie Platt, a young lady in her sophomore year of college who along with her household's changes was in the midst of a rather significant personal transformation herself.
About a year and a half ago, Christie had been what she herself called morbidly obese, her 5'4" frame carrying upwards of 300 pounds, but over the next 18 months had managed to lose weight, so much so that now at 155 pounds she was literally half the woman she used to be.
Much of the extra weight the teen still carried was in what most guys would consider "the right places", but Christie did her best to camouflage that by continuing to wear baggy, unflattering clothing.
In addition to her dramatic weight loss, Christie was dealing with a situation at home with her mother dating the guy she worked for, and while since Christie's father flew the coop a dozen years ago her Mom had dated several men, this one seemed serious although for the life of her the teen couldn't figure out what the attraction was.
Hank Kurtz owned the construction company that her mother did office work for, and while Christie knew from the past that her Mom had questionable taste in men, Sally Platt seemed to have reached a new low with this brute.
Hank Kurtz was crude, rude and lewd, especially towards Christie when her mother wasn't around, and while he had a profitable business and seemed to work hard, to say that the construction man was rough around the edges would be a great understatement.
Christie had to admit that the fifty something guy was in great shape for a man his age, but he was ugly as sin. Christie's friend Lynn had suggested that Hank Kurtz looked like Spike the Bulldog from those old Looney Tunes cartoons, and it fit because the muscular and heavily tattooed guy with the brush cut looked the part.
Now there was talk that Mom was going to marry this guy, and the thought made Christie shiver because it was bad enough that he was around so much now. To live in the same house? Christie thought that would be too creepy and would be enough to get her to move out of the place even if she had to live in a dump.
Still and all, while the man seemed to turn Christie's stomach much of the time, for whatever reason the guy had some sort of appeal to her. The teen couldn't explain it but there was no explaining Mom's attraction to the guy either, and for whatever reason Christie was thinking about Mr. Kurtz as she sat in her room not studying.
Christie had been aware of the older man's presence for a moment, feeling his eyes on her as he stood in her bedroom doorway, and although Christie wanted him to keep on walking down the hall she heard the squeak of the floorboards as he ended the room and came up behind her.
"Here's the princess," Hank Kurtz declared as he put his hand on back of the girl's neck, his callused fingers gently kneading her soft skin while he looked over her shoulder at what she was doing. "Hard at work again. You sure are the ambitious type, but all work and no play make for an unhappy girl."
"I want to make sure I don't get stuck working in a dead end job for a jerk all my life," Christie responded, having lost her shyness long enough to throw a jab at her mother's employer.
"Ouch!" Hank chortled as he let go of the girl's neck and pulled up a chair to sit with her, causing Christie to roll her eyes out of the man's sight. "You could do worse than work for me, and I could use an engineer."
"Pass."
"We'll see," Hank said, and when he saw the package he had given her on the bed Mr. Kurtz got up to get the bag and added, "I was hoping you would be wearing your present."
"You don't actually think I'm going to wear that, do you?" Christie replied as she watched her mother's boyfriend hold up the bright yellow tank top with "STOP PICTURING ME NAKED" in small red letters across the chest.
"Why not Princess?" Mr. Kurtz responded. "If you've got it, flaunt it like the rest of the girls your age. Besides, you always dress like a prisoner of war. That sweatshirt you have on is as old as you are, although I do like the ripped off sleeves look."
"First of all, my name isn't Princess, it's Christie," the teen reminded him as he sat back down next to her. "And I'm not like other girls my age."
"So I've noticed," Hank admitted as he rested his hand on Christie's pale forearm which rested on the desk next to her notebook.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing, it's just that the way you dress makes it tough to really enjoy your natural beauty," the middle aged man sighed while sliding his fingers up the girl's arm before suddenly letting his hand slip around to the inside of her bicep and up under her arm.
"What are you doing?" Christie yelped, clamping her arm down to her side and trapping the man's hand under her arm.
"Relax. Don't be ashamed," Hank told her, smiling as he stroked the moist recess. "I happen to love hairy girls."
"What if Mom..."
"Went to the store," Hank explained. "My hand has been stuck in far worse places by the way. The deal with not shaving - are you a feminist or do you do that for your girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend?" Christie snapped, bristling at yet another inference that her friend was more than just a friend. "Please get your hand off me."
"Gotta let me go first," Hank told her, so Christy relaxed her arm so the man could get his hand out of her armpit, but not before he gave the tuft of hair another stroke.
"Smells like Teen Spirit," Hank said after bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling. "Romantic Rose isn't it?"
Christie looked at her mother's boyfriend in shock before realizing that he was looking at the cosmetics on her dresser, and after giving him a dirty look added, "Weirdo."
"Guilty. Happened to peek up your sleeve the other day and caught a glimpse of the hair under your arm," Mr. Kurtz noted. "For the record, I used to date a bunch of hippie girls when I was your age, so I approve."
"Don't want or need your approval," Christie retorted as she tried to get back to studying.
"Did you at least try on the shirt?" Hank asked as he looked at the girl's profile, the Barbra Streisand nose that peeked out past her curly dark brown hair making her cherubic face more interesting. "I'll bet you did."
"You lose," Christie lied, having slipped it on last night for a second.
"I had to guess at the size because you've lost so much weight, but I was guessing that even so you would still need at least an XL," Hank opined. "I would have gotten you something more erotic - more befitting your beauty - but the size tags were taken off all your bras."