Ellen was my first love affair. She was considerably older than me, but opened doors in ways I'll never forget. She was a major impact on me, as was my boss who I looked up to. Years after these events occurred, I had to write my essay for my college application. My first choice school asked me to write about an adult I admired, and I chose my boss, Hank. I was tempted to write about Ellen, but was afraid it wouldn't look so good to an admissions counselor. Thirty years later, I'm finally writing that essay about Ellen. I'm afraid an admission counselor today would reject it as too long, but I'm hoping at least one of you will find it to be an intriguing read.
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I had just taken a part time job in the local farm store. The old man who ran it had been there in one location all his life. He was amazingly independent, a real life self made man. He had purchased the land he lived on with money he had made working other area farms. He had built his first barn by himself, bought a couple of cows, and sold their milk at a roadside stand. He supplemented his blossoming dairy operation by continuing to work for other farmers in the area between milkings, and often sold their produce at his little stand.
His business had grown into a very popular little dairy store, where he featured his own ice cream and butter, local produce and national brands on the shelf. By the time I came to work for him, the cattle were gone and his ice cream recipes had been sold to another dairy (though we still sold it freshly dipped). Finally, he sold off most of his land to housing developers, and was more than financially secure, he was outright wealthy. Though he was 75 and his wife and sons wanted him to retire in the worst way, he couldn't live without working his store.
You see his store was his truest love, right after his wife. He would spend hours talking with customers, telling stories about his life on his land, about his boys, about the other customers, and about the 4 kids who had made it to the major leagues after starting to play organized baseball on the fields next door which he had donated to start the local little leagues. Every year, Hank threw out the first pitches for each league at each level that benefited from his fields. Every day, I was Hank's relief pitcher, coming in for 2 hours while he ate dinner. I came in Saturdays and Sundays as well, for 6 hours each day while Hank gathered his family and cronies in his home on the second floor, above the store. Yes, the bureau of labor would have had a fit at a kid working for 2 hours a day all week, and 6 each day on the weekend, but there was more to working at the store for me than just the sub minimum wage I made.
You see, I was Hank's only employee, and I was his favorite kid in the whole county. Often he didn't go upstairs, but stayed around to "jaw" as he was fond of calling our talks. He introduced me to everyone, but spent special time with the ladies. Now no one believed Hank's friendliness was anything but harmless flirtations from an old man, and that was the honest truth. He was still in love with Lisa, his wife of almost 60 years. Of course, everyone who knew her was in love with her, as she was the sweetest woman you could know, and as sharp as a tack.
Hank used to tell me when the store was empty, especially after one of his ladies had just sauntered out "You have to love 'em all Tommy. Just don't go too far, because at the end of the day, you need one to grow old with."
I so admired Hank's easy way with people, especially women. I realized that staying in my shell was a way of staying isolated from the wonders society had to offer, and I began speaking up with the regular customers. I discovered that if you smiled and was pleasant, so would they. And I especially discovered how much I liked it when they friendly customer on the other side of the counter was female. I hadn't had much luck with girls by the summer I went to work for Hank, and several of the regular customers, especially in their more scantily covering summer attire, could easily bring my brave soldier to attention.
There were countless women of all shapes and sizes who came through those doors every day. Many were beautiful, most talked, and lots even liked to flirt a bit. Friends of mine would come in and ask for a little extra on the ice cream cones they'd order, of course I was happy to make the cones a bit heavy, and word got out that if you went to see me wearing something skimpy, or something that would open up, your cone was definitely full. Little did they know how my own "cone" would fill up. I gained a great degree of popularity with girls my age that summer. I don't really remember dating them though, because there were a couple of women who were very regular customers, and very memorable for more than their shopping habits or ice cream preferences.
There was the biker chic, slim but chesty, who wore a low cut leather vest all summer, but often appeared in moderately suggestive "office wear" the rest of the year. She'd come in with her boyfriend riding a chopper on the weekend, and lean over the counter just to let me look at her low hanging orbs while her guy grabbed a couple of sodas. She'd ask for a pack of Marlboros, knowing I'd have to ask her whether she wanted the soft or hard pack. She'd pull her mirrored glasses down her nose, get me frozen eye to eye, and whisper long and low "Hard. I want 'em hard....always hard."
Her boyfriend always got a kick out of how riled up I would get. You see, I blushed very easily when a girl would be direct and sexy, or if they were direct with me for any reason, or if I really liked them. Although that is a trait I never lost, it is one I learned to control, but at that age, I was so transparent to this couple. Sometimes the guy would come in alone, and tease me about missing her.
"Don't let her get to you, she's just having fun with you. I keep telling her she'll get hers someday. She's going to be old and droopy, maybe in some nursing home. Some young stud will flirt with her without giving it a thought, and she'll have to lie there remembering how she teased you. Listen, she teases you because she thinks you're cute, kid. Someday, women like her are really going to go for you, so get used to the idea."
It was an idea I could get used to.
There was the elegant redhead. She'd drive up in a Cougar convertible. It was the kind that was so popular along with their Mustang counterparts in the early 70's. The car was pure white, and she would dress up in something dazzling and stylish with a long white chiffon scarf tied around her neck and big round white framed sunglasses, like a movie star. Her blouses were always very low cut, and her skirts (never pants) were always those tight to the legs specials that really defined her sleek figure and heart shaped ass.
There was also the woman who rented the other apartment upstairs. She was a hippy type with two sons my age. One of them was always down hanging out and "jawing" until Mom came down to send them upstairs to homework and chores. Of course then she just took their place at the end of the counter. She had a short blonde "shag" haircut that was so popular then, and though her hippie style screamed "I believe in free love," her clothes were not revealing. Bell bottomed trousers, often vests or sweaters, or ponchos when it was cold. Underneath she always wore a body suit. You know, those dancer's leotard wannabes? If the vest opened just enough, you could see enough to know she had never replaced the bras she had burned in the 60's. Those thin and clingy shirts always made anything else she wore sexy.
There was also Ellen. Ellen was the oldest of these goddesses of my young manhood. I never found out exactly how old, but she had her share of wrinkles, both on her face and on her ample chest, which was always prominently displayed beneath the peasant blouses and low square necked dresses she always wore. She was always immaculately coifed, had long manicured nails, darting black eyes, and that kind of Scandinavian blonde hair that would never need dye and would never turn gray. She was very clever, an accomplished flirt, and in my eyes a timeless beauty. I loved the anti-shoplifting mirrors in the store, as I could always find views of her trim figure from any angle, from the breasts within those ample bustlines to the swaying little butt that still looked tight and inviting after a lifetime of loving.
All four of these women have stories. All four of them had a share in forming the man I became, the kind of father I am to my kids, and the husband and lover I am to my wife. All four of them shared adventures with me which I'll never forget, and all for very different reasons. None of them walked away from our encounters empty, for they all found some kind of satisfaction or peace they had been seeking.
I never walked away empty either! You see, this was that special time in life when a male's penis is invincible. The rest of my body was too thin, with arms too long, legs that made me gawky and clumsy, skin subject to breaking out, and hair that wouldn't stay combed and in place. My glasses didn't fit my face. Pants that fit today were too short tomorrow and we fondly called them "high-water" or "flood" pants. Jeans shrinking too much were so common we had a joke for them. What did a new pair of jeans and a new hotel have in common? No ballroom. I didn't get jokes, couldn't stop moving, and could get a boner if a female presence was detected in any of my 6 senses.
