As I reflect on that magical summer of 1978, I can only say, "Thank you Dr. DeHoff." He contributed to making me the person that I am today. Now you may immediately conclude that Dr. DeHoff was my Comparative Literature or Philosophies instructor; some maven of economics at University, or perhaps some kindly physician who encouraged me to pursue a medical career leading to fabulous wealth and notoriety. To the contrary, while he was a physician, his career was of little note served in a non-descript neighborhood in a large city. However, Dr. DeHoff was a world class jerk and for that I am eternally grateful. As a result of his self-centered, egotistical, and just plain "dumbass-ness" I learned much about life. My vocabulary was increased to include the correct use of various parts of the feminine anatomy, sexual congress, and emotions far beyond those he held. His callous nature and ignorance of the meaning of passion allowed me to first taste, enjoy, and finally become a connoisseur of the female body and psyche.
My name is John Cross. During the 1977/1978 school year I roomed with his son Paul. Paul was an apple that had fallen close to the tree and was one who reveled in using the system, women, men, and life. In many ways, we were perfect suite mates. I had a full ride and for financial reasons needed to keep it. He was on academic probation from his fraternity and had to live in the dorm though he could still hang out with the guys. When I was in class, he was recovering from the previous night's activities and while I was working, he was out scouting for yet another source for the evening's adventure. Though not opposites in every way, we were in many ways. He was as brash as I was timid and I quickly learned not to mention being in the presence of some pleasant lass. When I did remark about Bess or Alice or Carol, he would quickly mock me for my reluctance to screw her and move on to the next conquest.
I first met Dr. DeHoff during parent's weekend. He and his wife Karen were polar opposites and Mrs. DeHoff and I found ourselves spending enjoyable time with my mother, a widow, living on a fixed income. Unlike her husband and son, Mrs. DeHoff, now requesting that I call her Karen, tacitly understood the financial straits that we found ourselves in and while her husband and son opted to attend a function at his fraternity, she was content to join us at a small café where I had obtained work and received a discount. During the course of the meal Karen asked my mother if she would mind if I worked for them during the summer at their beachside cottage. With relief, I accepted and Karen shared that I should not say anything to her son or husband as she would ensure that it would be their idea that I would work for them. She explained that she typically would spend the entire summer at the cottage but that her husband and son would return to the city to work and do whatever they wanted. She explained that she was content to spend as little time with the two of them as possible and she looked forward to a most enjoyable summer of meaningful conversation, time on the beach, and a periodic adventures of our own. To earn my keep, I would perform those tasks her husband either refused or only reluctantly agreed to perform, and would help her to maintain her sanity. Little did I reaDianee the meaning of the phrase "...perform those tasks her husband either refused or only reluctantly agreed to perform." As we parted, she gave my mother a hug and as she was doing the same to me, whispered, "This will be a summer you will never forget." Truer words were never spoken so again I say, "Thank you Dr. DeHoff."
The school year flew by without one word of our arrangement. In truth, I was beginning to question if I did have a summer job. Upon returning from holiday, Paul condescendingly said that he was going to make me his special project this summer and that like it or not, he was going to ensure that I was finally laid. Though expressionless, I listened as he explained that they had this beach cottage and that his family typically would spend the summer there. In exchange for doing things he was not really sure of, I would have a quiet place where I could read, write, sun, and attempt to get laid. He shared that he and his father typically would work in the city during the week, travel to the cottage on Friday, and return on Sunday. He promised that he would do his best to get me laid. He had every confidence that even I could get laid over the course of the summer. He shared that the down side would be that I would have to listen to his mother, also geeky friends, and the occasional virginal and unapproachable maiden daughter. Assuring me that he would try to leave some stray pussy on the beach for me, he headed out to recount his many adventures during holiday.
A call from Karen affirmed the date of our travel to their cottage. She shared that she was really looking forward to the summer. She reminded me that I would have plenty of time to read and write and that the "work" was somewhat a sham, but, she doubted her husband would notice or care. The faithful day arrived. With Paul and his dad endlessly engaged in sophomoric conversation, I found myself in the backseat with Karen. She was impeccably dressed in a pair of shorts and had a blouse tied in a fashion to hold her breasts. Her appearance revealed a body that was well maintained, with toned muscles, and a mischievous smile that verbalized nothing and communicated everything.
Their cottage was airy, had a great view of the beach and had a Master and two smaller bedrooms. After helping Karen with some kitchen items, I quickly unpacked and joined the others on the porch to watch the waves, walkers and sunning bodies. Our first evening found us dining at a nearby seafood restaurant where we might as well have been seated at two tables. Karen and I conversed while Paul and his dad commented on the waitress, diners, and women walking by on the beach. When asked by Karen if I found the waitress attractive, I timidly shared that I felt the breasts of the waitress screamed excess and, due to their artificial appearance, doubted that she would even know if you touched them. We both smiled as our eyes involuntarily met at Karen's well shaped but diminutive breasts. I was having visions of tactile as Paul and his dad were openly discussing tactics of meeting two young women at the bar.
As the meal concluded, Paul and his dad said that they were not ready to return to the cottage and wanted to have a few more drinks. Karen cited the exertions of the day and asked if I would be willing to walk her back to the cottage. The look of delight on Paul's face was apparent little knowing that I too had an inner glow. As we parted, Paul looked at me and shared that I was never going to get laid unless I got out amongst them and that being "Joe Sensitive" was not the way.
As we went our separate ways, Karen asked if I would mind walking back to the cottage using the beach route. Initially walking apart, we slowly began to walk hand in hand stopping to see the odd shell or debris washed on the beach. A driftwood log drew us as a magnet. The coolness of the evening caused her to move closer to me. I placed my arms around her and tentatively placed a kiss upon her exposed neck. With a sigh, she asked, "Do you really find smaller breasts attractive?" She smiled when I responded, "I will let you know if and when I see and feel them." Turning away for a moment, she removed her bra and partially unbuttoned her blouse. In a youthful voice she said, "Karen DeHoff, ready for inspection."
