This is a rather embarrassing story to tell, but also an exciting one, about a night I will never forget. It all started at dinner with my family-my mother, father, and my brother, Pete. I was planning to meet up with some friends for a party later and was feeling pretty good about my prospects. I was nineteen at the time, buxom, with silky dark hair that reached down to the middle of my back. In my high school years, I was rather plain, but when I went away to college, and put on the "freshman fifteen," I filled out in exactly the right places-hips, breasts, lips. It was like I was swollen with sexuality. And yeah, the guys noticed. I went from no dates to fairly persistent propositions in my first six months of college. By the end of the year, I had lost my virginity, and then some.
It was summer now, though, and I was back at home with my pervy eighteen-year-old brother and my boring parents. I could not wait to get back out there.
We were having meatloaf. And peas. Not my ideal dinner, but I was a healthy eater. I mean, once I figured out the relationship between my appetite and my sexual appetite. More food meant bigger tits, bigger tits meant more eyes on them, more eyes on them meant more dicks. I was only an incoming sophomore, but I'm pretty good at math.
Suddenly I felt something touch my ankle and I reflexively jerked my leg away. I looked over at my brother. That little twerp was smiling, his eyes squinting behind his Harry Potter-style round glasses. I gave him a look and mouthed stop it. A minute later, he did it again. This time, knowing what was touching my ankle, I didn't move as reflexively, but shifted my legs out of reach. I watched as my brother slowly slid down in his chair, reaching out with his foot. I grabbed a handful of peas and flung them at his disappearing head.
"Jana!" My parents, who had been too absorbed in their own conversation to notice what a pest their son was being, had glanced over just in time to witness the legume launch.
"Pete keeps touching my ankle!" I realized as I was saying it that I sounded pathetic. "On purpose!" I added, not helping my case.
Now my father was on alert, eager to prove that he was the law. Short man's syndrome. He wasn't that short-five foot eight-but still seemed to have a bit of a complex about it and tried to stay fit at least, to keep some dimension of imposition.
"That's it!" He paused, knowing that he had to follow through with some sort of action. "No party."
"What?! That's not fair! What about him?"
My father smiled. "No party for him, either."
"Arrrrggh!" I stomped off to my room, my father still smiling at his joke and my brother smiling along with him while picking buttered peas out of his hair and eating them. Weirdo.
I was angry, but all was not lost. If anything, my tantrum ensured that no one would seek me out for the rest of the night, and that was to my advantage. No one (except that creep Pete) was spoiling for a fight. I went to my room, slammed my door, and took a deep breath. I was going to that party.
I spent some time on Instagram, flipped through some magazines, and waited for Pete and my parents to get ready for bed. When it was time, I quietly changed into a black cocktail dress I'd bought while on spring break that highlighted my bosom, put on some lipstick and eyeliner, and made my plan for escape. I'd done it before, in high school, under similar circumstances and no one had ever found out.
In the shared family bathroom, there was a small window, and underneath that window a shed, and from there I could climb into the backyard and be off, with no one the wiser. Yeah, I could try the front door, too, but with everyone so recently in bed, there was a risk they would still be awake and hear me creaking around downstairs. The window was the better option.
I opened the door from my room into the hall. My parents' bedroom door was closed. I could hear the television in there, so they were done for the night. They'd watch a few shows and fall asleep. I don't think they've had sex in years, though I'd occasionally caught one or the other in a compromising position suggesting that at least liked to rub one out in peace every once in a while.
Pete's door was closed, too, but God knows what he was doing in there. I didn't even want to think about it. I stepped out into the hallway and closed my bedroom door behind me. If anyone came into the hallway during the night to use the bathroom, they'd see my door closed and assume I was still in there, fuming in my dreams. I went down the hall, just past my parents' room, to the bathroom. I'd have to leave the door open and be very quiet. If someone found the door closed and the bathroom unoccupied, that would raise questions. I opened the small window, hinged to the side, stepped up onto the toilet, and tossed my clutch out onto the shed roof, where it landed with a muted thud.
I followed it, arms and head out first, pulling myself through, bosom next, waist, and hips. And hips. AND HIPS. I was stuck. This wasn't going to work. I was paying the price for that freshman fifteen now. It made me sexy, but unstealthy. A cat burglar I was not. I wiggled my legs now, trying to build up momentum for the reverse, feeling for the toilet seat so I could get some leverage on my position. No good. I wasn't going forward, and I wasn't going backward, either. I couldn't imagine how I'd look if someone saw me from the outside, my torso, shoulders, arms, neck, and head emerging from a window whose small frame was hidden by my cocktail dress, which had ridden up a bit during my attempt to go in reverse. And from the inside? Ass and legs and ... I just realized that, expecting to get laid, I hadn't even worn panties.
I'd never taken the time to appreciate the neighborhood at night. The sights, the sounds, the cool night air on my face and bare arms. Once I got my mind off of the pain and awkwardness of my position in the window, and ignoring the occasional buzz of my cell phone vibrating in my clutch against the shed roof, a good eighteen inches out of reach, there was a lot to take in.
