LENA
We lived in a small mining town on a hill at the end of a block. In those days, stately elms lined the streets and avenues. Our next-door neighbors on that side lived on the end of the next block. When I was about 5, the Johnson family moved in. They had two sons. Ken was a year younger than I and Jim was a year older. My mother bore me when she was 29. Later, I realized that Lena was about 5 years older than Mom. I became friends with Ken. Jim had a mean streak.
Their dad, Frank, made good money as an electrician for an iron mining company at an open pit mine. Their mother, Lena, was an elementary school teacher. Frank was Nordic: cool, taciturn with sandy brown hair. An introvert, he did not like to be disturbed when he relaxed at home. He was about 6' tall. Lena's ancestry was Italian. She was an extrovert: warm, emotional and talkative in comparison to Frank. She was striking, a real looker: tall at about 5' 10" (without her usual high heels), with prematurely graying hair just above her shoulders, and dark brown flashing eyes. She was a good 20 pounds overweight, but her big ass was balanced beautifully by a magnificent set of tits. Of course, I only grew to appreciate her figure when I reached adolescence.
Their son Jim was often disrespectful of her. She seemed not to have instilled in him that she was boss, if second in command to Frank, although he usually delegated discipline to her. It seemed an effort for him to disturb his domestic tranquility even to raise his voice to his sons. To me, Lena had charisma. I liked her a lot, and she liked me. She took her sons and me to the county seat, five miles away, where we had chocolate ice milkshakes at the Ben Franklin soda bar. My mom was a shy introvert, like me and did not take us places. Sometimes, Ken and Lena invited me to supper and a sleepover. Spaghetti was one of her specialties, but I found her tomato sauce too thin.
It seemed as if the engineering of her matronly bras was insufficient for her overwhelming mammaries. I don't remember when I began to fantasize about her. She almost couldn't help showing cleavage. I could have buried my hand out of sight between her luscious tits.
She kept "abreast" of my progress in high school and took pride in my accomplishments.
It was in June after my graduation from high school that I had the opportunity to show Lena my full appreciation of her. My parents left for Las Vegas in a van with another couple. Frank had taken Ken and Jim on a weekend camping trip at a lake in the northern woods. Seeing Lena out in her backyard kneeling to plant some flowers, I walked over to chat.
I never saw her wear shorts or slacks. Her present dress was an outdoor dress, a jumper of blue denim and a cotton blouse. It was a few inches shorter than her other dresses to accommodate freer movements and positions. Her hair was tied back with polka-dot ribbon. Her shapely long legs were revealed a tantalizing few inches above her knees. She looked up and smiled to see me. I tried not to stare at her exciting cleavage.
I told her about my plans for college. She told me about Ken and Jim.
"I'm a grass widow this weekend. My men are off camping for the weekend!"
"I'm alone, too. My parents hit the road for Las Vegas with another couple. I will have to learn some basics of cooking."
"I was wondering what I would cook for one. It's easier to cook for more than one. Why don't you have supper at my house?"
I agreed and remained to talk with her and help with any gardening. I wanted her to feel that I enjoyed her company very much. I could smell her perfume, mingled with lady-like perspiration. She either didn't catch me ogling her tits and legs, or tactfully pretended not to notice an adolescent boy's obsessive interest in a woman's body.
Lena did make spaghetti, and there was enough lettuce in the vegetable garden for a salad, with store-bought tomatoes and other ingredients.
"Do you drink wine, Gene? I have some nice chianti. Oh, I forgot the drinking age is 21 in this state, and you're only 18."
"This is a special occasion!"
"Yes, it is! Don't tell that I contributed to the delinquency of a minor! I can add some water to your wine, as Italians do with their children or as in Catholic Church."
"Please don't dilute it and spoil the taste!"
The spaghetti sauce was still too thin, the salad was tasty, and the chocolate ice cream for dessert was ideal for a chocoholic. Lena limited me to one glass of wine, but she indulged in two. The spirits of alcohol heightened her own good spirits at having company of a neighbor boy whom she had known for a dozen years and grown to like. Perhaps she appreciated my regard for her in contrast to her son Jim's lack of appreciation. It wasn't a fair comparison, because I could appreciate her in a way that for him would be incestuous.
We sat in the living room to watch TV. Lena was on the couch. Should I sit in a chair with a view up her skirt or beside her with a view of some cleavage? She solved that problem by beckoning me from a chair from which I would strain my neck to see the TV.
"Come over here. You can see better."
I sat close enough to inhale her perfume, with an undertone of cloves. The sofa was soft. Sinking into it caused the hem of Lena's dress to ride several inches above her knees, more when she crossed her legs.
Inevitably, she asked,
"Do you have a steady girlfriend?"
"No."
"A girlfriend?"
"No."
Lena crossed her right leg over her left, exposing about 6" of naked thigh, toward me and leaned more of her cleavage under my gaze.
"Why not?"
"I'm an introvert. I've always been shy. I look for hints that a girl might like me but don't see any. Other guys make their opportunities by barging along."
She put her left arm around my shoulders.
"'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady!'"
"That's right, but one rejection would only inhibit me more."
