Inspired by My Goddess and My Sylph. Thank you, ladies. A tip of the keyboard to BlackRandl1958 for her editing skills and her patience.
I found out pretty early in life that God invested the female of the species with magical powers, and that in the end the male of the species was just along for the ride.
I was 11 years old and was going to the mall with my best friend, Mikey Veraczocchio, and his mother. The mall parking lot was packed, and cars seemed to be heading every which way without any pattern as drivers looked for open spots in which to park. After Mrs. V parked the car, Mikey and I got out and started heading for the nearest door, when Mrs. V called out "Boys!"
Being the obedient children we were, we stopped immediately.
"Give me your hands, boys. Neither one of you is getting killed in this parking lot today," she said.
We both looked at her like she had lost her mind. We were 11 years old. We didn't need to hold a parent's hand like some freaking 5 year old. What if one of our friends saw that? Life as we knew it would have been over.
Mrs. V (the name was pronounced Vo-chic-key-o; leave it to the Polish people to screw up a name) stood there like a statue. We both slowly walked back to her and each took a hand. The most amazing thing of my life then happened. What I would have sworn was an electric current ran from Mrs. V's hand into mine and a feeling came over me that was unlike any other I'd experienced. There was a warmth and excitement that was overwhelming, all from the touch of her hand. Nothing else in the world existed for me in the 90 seconds or so it took us to get to the mall doors except for the current running from Mrs. V's hand into my body. It was wonderful.
"C'mon Zane, let's go," Mikey said to me as we got the door.
I broke from my reverie, or whatever it was, and gave Mrs. V a grateful smile. She smiled back, and I wondered if she knew that she had just changed my life.
"Don't get too far ahead of me, boys," she said as I let go and joined Mikey.
Even at 11, I knew Mrs. V was a beautiful woman. She was easily the prettiest of all my friends' moms, and she easily had more curves than those other women, too. Curves had become very important to my friends and I in the last year, even if most of the girls our age didn't have any.
Nobody's mom was ever talked about being beautiful, except for Mikey's mom. I know it embarrassed him, so I didn't do it. He'd been my best friend since his family moved down the block from my family when we were both 4.
Apparently, there is much more to marriage then just good looks, because about a year later, Mikey's father divorced Mrs. V. All the adults in the neighborhood did a lot of whispering about what was happening. Some of the other moms seemed pleased. I overheard one woman complain that if Mrs. V couldn't hold onto her husband with those looks, what chance did any of them have?
Having spent a lot of time over at Mikey's house and being his best friend, I knew things weren't right between his parents for some time before his dad filed for divorce. Mikey had told me that he thought his father, a high-ranking officer in a local bank, had a good-looking younger woman as his girlfriend, and that his mom found out and they began to fight. We spent a lot more time at my house after that.
Mikey and Mrs. V got to stay in their house, though, after the divorce was official, so at least I kept my best friend. For her part, Mrs. V tried to act like nothing was different when I was there, but I could tell she was sad a lot of the time. She also had to get a job, and went to work in the local high school as one of the front office secretaries.
As we grew older, the other guys took more notice of Mikey's mother, and honestly, there was a lot to notice. She had long, wavy dark brown hair, deep pools of dark brown eyes and full lips to go along with olive skin. She was a classic Italian beauty, and it certainly didn't hurt that she had the body of a goddess. She might have packed an extra 10 pounds on her 5-4 frame, but on her it looked very good.
With his father not at home, Mikey picked up a lot of the chores around the house that Mr. V would normally have done. Since I was over a lot, I would usually help out. Isn't that what friends are for? Mrs. V always made sure to thank me for the help. She would give me a smile with those perfect white teeth and suddenly I would lose track of the time. But I always made sure to keep my distance and be respectful. She was my best friend's mother, and besides, if my father ever found out I wasn't being respectful, he would have shoved his right foot so far up my ass I wouldn't be able to walk for a week.
Both of my parents were pleased that I helped out at the Veraczocchios. They had been pretty good friends with both Traci and Tony, and were saddened to see Tony leave, especially since he was leaving for another woman.
"Apparently when you become a VP, you think you have to get that trophy wife," my father said to my mother over dinner one night.
"Most people would have thought Traci
was
the trophy wife," my mother replied back. "Just goes to show you. You ever do that to me, I won't divorce you. I'll cut your dick off and stuff it down your throat," she said matter-of-factly without even glancing my way despite the fact that Mom almost never talked like that in front of me.
My father looked at me quietly and raised both of his eyebrows, then gave his head a tiny shake. I took Mom as serious as a heart attack, and I'm pretty sure he did, too.
Things got a little tougher on Mikey when the kids in our grade got up to the high school. Although Mrs. V always dressed very nicely for her job as a front office secretary, she just couldn't hide that body enough to keep the bigmouths shut. And they gave it to Mike relentlessly.
"Shit, did you see that sweater Mrs. V had on today? Those puppies were jiggling and shaking every time she walked," said a fellow classmate to another in the cafeteria as Mike walked by with a tray of food.
"Knock it off, dickhead," I said as I came up behind Mikey, "or you'll be wearing this plate of shitty food."
Neither Mikey nor I was very big, but I know Mikey had promised Mrs. V he wouldn't get into any fights at school because of her. I didn't make any such promises, and I was ready to go to battle for my friend.
"Tough guy, Lambert, aren't you," said the tormentor. He started to say something else, but before he could get the words out of his mouth I had dumped a full tray of food on his head, then used the empty tray to slap him upside the right side of his face. He spluttered and went down in a heap. A lunchroom aide called a nurse for him, and security for me. I was taken down to Assistant Principal William Shires' office, where the gruff bastard meted out discipline punishment.
After some talking with the aide, I was ushered into Shires' inner sanctum, and he promptly read me the riot act. But unlike so many who get nervous when being yelled at, I was able to keep my calm, mostly because I knew my dad would have my back when I told him I was defending Mikey. Shires blustered for about two full minutes, and when he saw that I wasn't cringing, he started to get red in the face.
"I guess I'll have to call your father, son, and see if he can reach you."
I probably shouldn't have pulled out my cellphone and hit Dad's number, but it just felt right at the time.
"This had better be good, Zane!" he said. "I'm right in the middle of trying to find an errant shipment."
Dad was a higher-up in a local transport company that ran traffic into about 10 states. He really didn't like to be disturbed at work over mundane things, so I only called for the big stuff. I figured we were there now.
"Assistant Principal Shires would like a word with you, Dad," I said as I handed Shires my phone.
The look on Shires' face was priceless as he started to stammer out his report to my father. I heard my father's raised voice through the phone before the line went quiet. I assumed my father was on his way here by the shocked look on the vice principal's face. He handed me back my phone and pointed to a bench on the far side of his office. I went and sat down.
My father didn't even bother to knock on Shires' door. He just marched in like he owned the place and walked over to me, ignoring the moron sitting at his desk. He asked me for my version of the events, and sort of gave a gruff laugh when I got to the part about cold-cocking the asshole with my tray.
"I can't have that in my school, Mr. Lambert," Shires huffed.
"No, what you can't have in your school is a bunch of disrespectful little bastards picking on another kid just because his mother is a beautiful woman. Some might consider your condoning of that to be sexual harassment, and from my understanding that's a big-money lawsuit waiting to happen. Now that woman works just around the bend in this very building, and I think you need to go over there and apologize to her for your attitude and what some could consider the bullying of her son.
"Did I make myself clear or would you like to me use smaller words?"
Shires slowly got up from his desk and walked out to the main office, where Mrs. V and a roomful of people were now intently watching the action.
He stopped in front of Mrs. V's desk, kneeled down on one knee in front of her and gave one of the most sincere apologies I'd ever heard to that point in my life. My father turned to me and just nodded. I gathered my stuff and we left for the day.
We had driven about halfway home in silence when my father finally spoke.
"You do understand I can't bail your ass out of these situations all the time, don't you?" he asked imperiously. "You're going to have to figure out how to get things done without violence. You got that?"
My father looked absolutely grim as he spoke. All I could do was mumble an apology.
"Damn kid. You get that violent streak from your mother, you know."
