The following is a true story. Names have been changed for obvious reasons.
I suppose from my youth, I've always been attracted to women older than myself. I can remember as a curious kid, trying to sneak peaks at the women in our family. I'm sure there is a scientific or psychological term for my yearnings, but looking back on it, I'll just have to chalk it up to "typical boy hormones". By the way, my name is Steve.
I grew up in what I would consider "normal" southern suburban surroundings in the 60's & 70's. Dad worked while mom stayed home, cooked, cleaned, canned, and sewed. We went to church every Sunday, would go to the park with friends, have barbeques and homemade ice cream (remember the old green bucket with the metal hand crank?). We were not what I'd call "well off", but made do with what we had and as I look back on it, it really was a great life to have as a child.
Growing up in the suburbs, things stayed pretty much at a norm. Occasionally, a family would move away and another moved in, but for the most part the people that lived there, eventually died there. It was very close to what you might see in a movie; a bicycle in every yard, kids playing ball in the street or a neighbor's yard, a dog or two running loose around the houses, a squabble in a yard with mothers flying out the front doors to break it up. As I said, it was typical suburban USA in all aspects of that era.
Our next-door neighbors were a family with four kids whose youngest child was right at ten years older than me, so while I knew them and they knew me, I was too young to be a part of their child-hood/neighborhood group. One day, a moving van pulled up to their house and I asked mom what was going on. She explained that the "mom" was moving out. I really didn't understand what a divorce meant at that early age, but later came to accept the fact that from now on, only the "dad" would be living there. He was a nice gentleman and since he was gone most of the time (he was a truck driver, which probably assisted to the demise of his marriage), I really didn't see much of him.
Time went on and since no one was at his house; we would keep an eye on it for him. He even left us a key so we could take his mail in every couple of days, turn the heat up in case of a hard freeze, etc. I remember taking his mail in one time and finding his "stash" of magazines. (Okay, I was snooping and found them...sue me!) Sex was never a topic of discussion in our home. I was told the basic "birds & bees" early on and either mom or dad would answer any of my questions, but back then we just didn't talk about it or have the Internet for information. What you learned about sex was from what you read, what your heard, or what you experienced. Anyway, the magazines helped answer some questions I had about the female form, so from then on, I was always ready and willing to help out by running next door to take his mail inside.
His kids came over when he was home and visited, but as I said, they were much older, so they paid me little attention. Years later, on one such visit, the youngest stayed after his sisters loaded up and left. By this time, the son, Charles had just graduated high school and decided to live with his dad or at his dad's house while he was "on the road" as he called it.
One day, a couple of years later Charles, the son, was out in the front yard working on his car and curiosity got the best of me and I walked over to see what he was doing. Dad and I had long since been working on the family car since we really could not afford to take them to a mechanic, and it made for a great learning tool for me and excellent "quality time" for my dad and I. Charles was elbow deep in grease and I offered my help. As you might expect, he was not too excited to have "a kid" there, but when I handed him a wrench he needed before he even asked for it, I think he realized I might not be in the way after all and glad to have me there to give him a hand. He even let me jump in to see if it would start. Looking back, he probably just didn't want to take the chance of getting his upholstery greasy. After it cranked, he said "Thanks, Steve" and that's how we became friends.
As I stated, Charles was right at ten years older but, as years went by, he would help me with my bike if dad was at work or a lawn mower I couldn't get to crank and I'd give him a hand if he ever needed it. One day, he asked me to help him with a plumbing problem in the house and I anxiously agreed to give him a hand. As it turned out, he just needed an extra set of hands to hold a fitting while he threaded and tightened it. After the job was complete, he asked me if I would like a Coke to drink and I accepted it, as soda was a luxury and not as commonplace in my home as it is today. As I sat in the living room, I saw one of "those magazines" sitting on the table beside me. He laughed at me and said, "Go ahead, and take a look at it". I'm sure I turned fifty shades of red as I had been caught trying to sneak a look at the cover. Seeing my reluctance, he offered to let me take it home with the understanding that if I got caught with it, I would deny where I got it. Thus began a regular visit to his house to visit the "library" as we called it to "check out/borrow" another magazine from his collection. How cool was that? I had an unlimited supply of magazines at my disposal. Life was good!
