High School

Chapter 12: High School

September 1970

Tammy and I were friends for the rest of the school year, although we broke up when summer hit. With Tammy I had to start buying condoms, since she wasn’t on the Pill. It was worth it. She had a seriously nice set of tits and an ass to die for. Still, while we were ‘friends’, it never seemed to me to be a permanent thing. I always had the feeling that she was interested in someone else, but I couldn’t figure out who.

It turned out to be my buddy Randy Bronson, who had been messing around with somebody else at Towsontown and needed some maturing. By the start of tenth grade Tammy deemed him ready, and I was dropped like a hot potato. I wasn’t one to complain. Tammy and I were more like friends with benefits, and I have to admit, her benefits were bountiful! If she ever decided to breast feed her children, they would be very well fed!

Summer had some changes this year. Nana dragooned me into escorting her to Bingo at the VFW over in Perry Hall every Tuesday night (Mom was drafted on Thursdays) and that made me reschedule some of my aikido lessons into the afternoons. I was now orange belt and moving up towards green. When I ran in the morning, I would now carry my barbells with me, and I was running four miles. I was much stronger than I used to be. I also stopped growing taller. I hit 5’10", and only grew another inch taller in the remainder of my time in high school. I had started Towsontown Junior as the smallest kid in the school, and was finishing as one of the tallest.

A few other changes occurred at home. Hamilton was becoming seriously annoying. He had a major problem with the concept of privacy as it applied to anybody other than himself. Basically, if it was mine, it was his. I had gotten a very strong foot locker and a lock supposedly guaranteed to be pick-proof, and kept a lot of things in there. The rubbers were just one item I needed to lock away. My spare cash was stored there as well, along with brokerage and bank statements.

I even had to get a post office box and have my mail sent there. I caught him going through my mail one time and showed it to my parents. He did the lie and deny trick, but it was pretty obvious, especially when he complained about how much money I had. Mom refused to listen to any blame of him, but Dad drove me up to Timonium and helped me get a PO Box. We didn’t tell the others. I would ride my bike up there once a week to collect my stuff.

I really wondered about my brother’s stability. I can remember telling my father once that he should have his head examined. Dad just glanced over at where my mother was, and then he looked back and told me to watch my mouth and take care of my own problems. I just shrugged and kept my padlock key on a chain around my neck.

When the school year started, Towson High was nowhere near as impressive to me as it was to the other graduates of Towsontown Junior. For the last year I had been taking the bus over after school on Mondays, to meet with Mrs. Rogers. She would give me assignments and monitor tests in Plane Geometry. Then I would walk into Towson and go to my father’s office and hang out there until he took me home.

The administration at Towson High either didn’t know or didn’t care about my reputation as a troublemaker at Towsontown. I endeavored to keep my nose clean. Still, there were a couple of things that caused trouble, but fairly minor.

The biggest thing was dropping Spanish. The rule was that students could take a foreign language, or a foreign language and an advanced math, however you couldn’t take an advanced math without taking a foreign language. That was just so much bureaucratic nonsense.

I had zero interest in taking any more Spanish. It had been a waste the entire first time around. The high school teacher, Miss Fontaine, was a very pleasant person, a spinster who was totally burned out from teaching us little assholes. Her one true passion in life was raising Blue Merle Collies as show dogs (imagine Lassie in a silver gray color) and it was ludicrously easy to get her off of Spanish and talking about dogs. At least twice a year she would do a show-and-tell and bring in her dogs. Nobody learned anything from her.

The administration refused to allow me to take math without taking another year of language. I responded by pulling out a copy of the graduation requirements and guidelines from the Baltimore County Board of Education, and showed where they didn’t have a leg to stand on. They grumbled, but signed off on it. I had my minimum two years of a foreign language and was out of Spanish.

I decided to push hard on math. Towson High offered a half year of Trigonometry, a half year of Analytic Geometry, a half year of College Algebra, a half year of Probability and Statistics, and a year of Calculus. I was going to skip the calculus, and cram all the rest into the next year and a half. I intended to get out of there with at least one year of college under my belt. I would get the calculus over at Towson State. Mrs. Rogers thought me ambitious, but not crazy, so we worked out the schedule.

What I knew, and what Mrs. Rogers knew, but didn’t know that I knew, was how tied together math really is. For instance, a big part of Plane Geometry is devoted to logic and proofs, which feeds directly into Boolean Algebra for computer studies. Likewise, Discrete Math and Finite Math are really nothing more than very rigorous studies of set theory, which feeds back into Probability and Statistics. Likewise, Calculus provides the language for everything, but you won’t really understand parts of Trigonometry or College Algebra without learning Calculus. You’ll never figure out Cryptography without a background in Information Theory, and… you get the idea.

I didn’t actually get into any trouble with the school over the second item. I never even got detention from it, and I still ended up getting grief about it from my parents, even though they didn’t learn about it from the school. They learned about it from Tessa’s parents.

We had already been back to school for a week. It was a Thursday night, about seven or so, and dinner was over. I was sitting in the living room going over some homework in Trigonometry. I was already at least a week ahead of things. Mom was in the kitchen with Hamilton, and Dad was upstairs. Nana and Suzie were downstairs watching television. At that point the doorbell rang. Mom told Hamilton, “Go see who’s there.”

I didn’t pay any attention, because I figured it was probably a salesman of some sort. Hamilton opened the door, and I could hear the voices. “Good evening, Hamilton. Are your parents home?”

I swear to Christ, he actually said, “I’ll let them know you’re here,” and closed the door on whoever was there. I swiveled in my chair and looked out the picture window to see Tessa Harper and her parents standing there on the stoop. I muttered under my breath at his behavior. It was typical Ham; it wasn’t for him, so common courtesy to people he knew were neighbors didn’t apply.

It pissed off Mom, too, because the next thing she said was, “Well, for the love of God, don’t just close the door in their face! Let them in!” I was already starting to stand up, but Mom beat me to the door. She opened it and said, “Come in, come in! I don’t know what that boy has on his mind!”

Dad came down the stairs asking, “Who is it?” He eyed the Harpers curiously as they came in the door. “What’s up?”

I looked over at Tessa as she stood there. “This really wasn’t necessary.” She just shrugged her shoulders and gave me an it’s-out-of-my-hands look.

Before the Harpers could say anything, my mother immediately asked, “Carling, what have you done now?” Dad just stared at me.

I just shook my head. “Rousing vote of confidence, guys.”

Tessa’s father looked at us. “I don’t understand.”

Before my folks could say anything, I looked at the Harpers and explained. “Well, two parents have shown up with their teenage daughter in tow.” I pointed at Mom first, and then Dad. “My mother thinks I’ve done something to get myself in trouble. My father thinks I’ve gotten Tessa in trouble. Like I said, a rousing vote of confidence.”

The Harpers stared at my parents, and my mother protested their innocence. I also noticed my father not arguing. Tessa simply smiled and shook her head in a silent laugh.

It was her father that said, “Good heavens! It’s nothing like that! My God, they’re only children! We came by to thank your son for saving Tessa.”

“Saving Tessa!?” Both my parents started squawking at that. It got equally loud with the Harpers.

I just rolled my eyes and grimaced over at Tessa. I mouthed a silent, ‘Thanks!’ to her, and she silently laughed back at me.

“I think you’d better start explaining, Carl,” said my father.

“It really wasn’t anything. Why don’t we all just sit down…”

It had been a totally normal day so far. Trouble didn’t start until after lunch. I headed back to my locker and was getting my English textbook, when Tessa Harper showed up. Her locker is two down from mine. I nodded at her and she smiled back, and she worked the combination on her locker.

I’ve known Tessa for years. She lives about a block from us, rides the bus with me, and her family is in St. Paul’s with us. All that being said, I can’t honestly state that we were friends, but were more like acquaintances. We didn’t have the same set of friends, and despite both of us being in the college prep group, didn’t actually have too many classes together. She was a quiet girl, very shy, and her family raised her fairly strictly. Her skirts were always knee length, her white blouses were always buttoned to the collar, she always wore flats — that sort of thing. She never wore makeup and her strawberry blonde hair was always kept back with a headband or barrette. Despite that, she still managed to get a fair bit of attention from the guys. She was very pretty, in a peaches-and-cream, wholesome, girl-next-door sort of way.

It worked against her that day. Three of the upperclassmen came up to her in the hallway, and one of them leaned up against the row of lockers and started talking to her. I could tell by their letter jackets that all three of the guys were on the varsity lacrosse team.

You have to understand, at Towson High, lacrosse is the big sport. Screw football or basketball, lacrosse is the big deal. We had been top ranked in the state for years, and lacrosse players routinely got scholarships to NCAA Division 1 schools.

Lacrosse is a crazy sport the white man inherited from the Indians, and is probably the means the Indians were planning to use to kill off all the white men. It’s sort of like soccer, but everybody gets to run around with big wooden sticks with nets on the ends. The ball is small and round and as hard as a rock, and you throw it with the stick, catch it with the stick, and run it around with the stick. For real fun, you get to hit the other team with your stick and run them over, just like in hockey, but without all the ice. It is incredibly brutal, and there are always one or two guys in casts and stitches.

Lacrosse players thought they were the gods of the school, and usually had no problem finding girls who thought so too. They were generally big and strong and in shape, and pretty much had their pick of the female half of the school. Why Jerry Jones wanted Tessa Harper when he could have had any number of volunteers was beyond me.

But he did. He leaned up against the lockers and tried to engage her in small talk. This consisted of the statement, “Hi there, I’m Jerry Jones. When do you want me to pick you up Friday night?” Very suave and sophisticated. I had seen him around school already, and read his stats in the school paper as well as the sports section of the Baltimore Sun. He was a shoo-in for a scholarship when he graduated this year.

Tessa was a nice girl, and very shy. I knew her parents wouldn’t allow her to date, probably not until after the Second Coming of Christ. Unless that happened Friday afternoon, Jerry was shit out of luck. Tessa simply smiled and said, “I don’t think so,” and put her books in her locker.

Jerry was not to be dissuaded. “What’s your name?”

“Tessa,” she said quietly. She tried to push her locker door shut, but Jerry had a hand on the door, holding it open. “Excuse me, but I need to close my locker.”

“There’s no hurry, Tessa. We’re just starting to get to know each other. Besides, you’ll get to class in time. Tessa, how old are you?”

Tessa had definitely figured out Jerry’s plan, and pushed hard against the locker door. It almost caught his fingers, but he just smiled and kept her door open. “Let me close my locker,” she asked.

“As soon as you tell me when we’re going out, baby. You’re awfully pretty. Too bad you don’t have anything nicer to wear. Maybe you can wear something nicer on Friday.” At that point Jerry moved so that he was trapping her against the lockers, and he traced a finger along her arm, and across her blouse. He actually had the gall to slip a finger into the breast pocket of her blouse, though he didn’t go so far as to grope her.

Tessa was starting to panic. She’s not a very big girl, and Jerry was probably twice her size. Just as bad, she could see his two friends behind him, and they were as big as he was. “Please, let me go.”

“But Tessa you haven’t told me what you’re going to wear on Friday.” He was leering at her like a shark eyeing fresh chum. Nobody turned down Jerry Jones!

I had pretty much had my fill of Jerry. Somebody needed to get Tessa out of there, and it looked like it was going to have to be me. I pushed my book back into my locker and stepped closer. I pushed in between them with a smile. “Sorry about that. Tessa, you should be getting to class.”

She gave me a terrified look and tried to sidle away behind me. Jerry slammed an arm forward, blocking the path, while saying, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I wasn’t sure which one of us he was talking to.

I leaned forward, and Jerry leaned backwards slightly. “Jerry, Tessa needs to get to class.” I looked him straight in the eyes (well, upwards anyway, he was at least three inches taller than me) and kept my gaze there. “Tessa, you should go to class now.”

“Tessa is staying here talking to me, asshole.” At that point he reached out to grab her. Tessa moved back against the wall, but Jerry’s fingers grabbed the pocket of her blouse and tore it. Tessa shrieked and tried to back away.

I grabbed Jerry’s arm and twisted it up and away from her, and used his momentum to push him backwards, where he fell on his ass. “Tessa, get out of here!” I said.

Tessa scampered out of the way and ran down the hall, while Jerry’s two teammates helped him to his feet. “You’re dead, asshole!” He ran at me and swung wildly. I received the attack using the technique of munetsuki koshinage, whereby I grabbed his wrist and swung him around from outside of the body, and ultimately used his momentum to flip him up and over, dropping him on his side and shoulder. Jerry was out for the moment, but one of his stooges decided to help out. He tried grabbing me, so I used katatetori kokyunage, another gripping move, to twist him up and over and slammed him into one of the lockers. He slid to the ground.

The second stooge had now gotten Jerry up and both decided to attack. I’d never really done any two-on-one training at the dojo, but while these guys were big, they were untrained and there was enough time differential that I could still defend myself. Jerry punched at me again, so I used munetsuki kotegaishi to put him down a second time. This did open my rear to an attack by his friend, so I had to break this with an ushirotori kokyunage defense, which put him into the lockers upside down as well.

That was the end of it in more than one way. Jerry had really screwed up by trying this little stunt in the middle of a crowded hallway with a teacher at one end of the hall. While she couldn’t hear what had started it, she could certainly see Tessa running away with a torn blouse, and three much bigger guys attacking me. She came running up yelling at us to stop, which I did by backing up against my locker. Jerry and his two friends were shaking their heads wondering ‘What the fuck?!’ as they got to their feet. Tessa also returned with a couple of large male teachers.

A few minutes later all of us were down in the principal’s office, along with the school nurse. All three of the lacrosse players started in on how I had attacked them, but nobody was buying it. There were two school teachers as witnesses along with Tessa. Tessa had already slipped into her jacket and was holding her torn blouse, which was more than evidence enough. I didn’t have to say hardly anything, and they didn’t even call my parents. Tessa’s folks were called to take her home, and the lacrosse team’s parents were called to take their kids home. They all had three day suspensions, which they protested loudly, earning them five day suspensions.

The funniest part was when their coach, who happened to be one of the teachers Tessa had snagged, asked if I wanted to try out for any sports. I stared at him in disbelief and said, “I’m not real big on team sports. Do we have an unarmed combat team?” He just laughed at that, and asked me when the wrestling coach should expect me. I just smiled in response.

“Really, it’s like I said, nothing happened. It’s all just been blown up,” I said, after Tessa described what occurred.

“It wasn’t nothing, Carl. I had to come here and tell you thank you for saving my daughter. We owe you for this,” replied her father.

“Thank you,” added her mother, who then leaned over to kiss my cheek. I glanced over at Tessa, who laughed silently and rolled her eyes. Her parents were a lot more fundamental in their beliefs than she was, although she was fairly conservative herself, and she had a good, if quiet, sense of humor. “You should come over and visit sometime. You and Tessa would make a nice couple.”

“Mother!” shrieked Tessa in embarrassment.

“Well, you would.”

My parents were simply staring at me and the others, my father in wonder, and my mother absolutely appalled. I just smiled and shook my head. “That’s very nice Mrs. Harper, but Tessa and I are just friends. I don’t think Tessa is my type of girl. Thank you anyway.”

Tessa laughed at this, and even more so when her mother pressed the issue. “What type would that be?”

I had to laugh. “Tessa’s a very nice girl, and the type I’m looking for, well, they aren’t as nice as Tessa.” I gave Tessa a wink, which she laughed at. Tessa’s mother gasped softly and my mother protested loudly. I could see a twinkle in both fathers’ eyes, though.

Tessa laughed loudly at this. “I’ll let some of the girls at school know that.”

I grinned back at her. “You do that!”

The Harpers took that as their cue to leave. I saw them to the door, and Tessa was the last to go out. “I’m going to tell some of my friends just what kind of girl you’re looking for,” she teased.

“You just do that. Tammy and I broke up, so I am definitely available.”

“I’m also going to tell them you’re a hero,” she said softly.

I grinned at her. “Don’t do that, you’ll ruin my reputation!” She took off after her folks and I waved goodbye.

Once inside, my mother immediately protested about me learning aikido. “You’re always getting into fights at school! You are going to quit this immediately!”

“Mom, this is the only fight I’ve been in since I started learning aikido. Did you want me to let them hurt Tessa?” I asked. I glanced over at Dad for some support. “What if it had been Suzie?”

“I don’t care. You are always getting into trouble, and this is just more of the same. You are stopping it, you hear!”

I looked at my father, and for once he stood up to her. “Shirley, shut up!”

“What?”

Dad ignored her for a moment. Turning to me, he said, “Anything ever happens with your mother or your sister, you take care of them, you understand?” I nodded silently. “Shirley, he stays in those classes. He didn’t start it. He’s doing fine. Leave him alone.” Back to me he said, “You take care of them, no matter what.” I nodded again.

“How dare you…” started Mom.

“Shirley, just shut up.” Dad went back up the stairs, with Mom following behind him, arguing. I never saw my father ever hit my mother, but I know he must have wanted to at times. This was one of those times. She was losing the argument, and she didn’t take losing well. I knew I wasn’t hearing the end of it. My mother is not one to bury a grudge. No, she’s the type who stuffs it and mounts it on the mantel.

Chapter 13: Moving Along

Fall 1970 to Summer 1971

Tenth grade moved along quickly on schedule, my advanced schedule. I managed to squeeze Trigonometry and Analytic Geometry into the fall semester, and nailed Probability and Statistics in the spring, when it was normally held. The unusual part was that I took the class with seniors two years older than myself. They treated me okay, but differently, like an alien had landed among them.

I was active in both the Explorer post and the church’s teen youth group, led by Pastor Joe. I figured I went camping or canoeing at least once a month through the entire year. I had enjoyed this immensely on my first trip through, and now was no different, except that I was a lot more knowledgeable. I was a whole lot better campfire cook this time around, which is a skill you only learn through experience. At least this time I didn’t dump my canoe and partner upside down in the middle of the North Branch of the Shenandoah River, like I did the first time.

I didn’t warn Mr. Becker about what was waiting for him on that trip, though. He had a brand new plastic canoe, which cost him a fortune and of which he was inordinately proud. It was about a third of the weight of the Grumman aluminum canoes the rest of us were using. It was one of the very first non-metal canoes ever built, plastic, not fiberglass, and was made of two halves welded down the keel. He was one of the church deacons, and was with us for the trip, and his partner was a young girl, Jenny Smith. After about an hour on the river, he signaled for a stop and we all beached our canoes. His canoe had sprung a leak along the seam at the keel, splitting for a couple of inches.

Not to worry! He had a patch kit, just in case! Still, it would require him to beach the canoe, flip it upside down, and let it dry, then apply the patch and wait another hour or two. He and Jenny would be along in a few hours, so make sure dinner was ready. I smiled to myself and we all went on our merry way.

We didn’t see either Mr. Becker or Jenny until Sunday afternoon. Five minutes after they were back in the water, the entire keel split down the middle and dropped the pair of them into the Shenandoah. They swam to shore and spent a wet night under the stars. The next day, Saturday, they hiked out along a railroad track, and found a phone. Jenny’s parents were called, and they drove four hours into the West Virginia countryside to rescue them. Jenny went home, and Mr. Becker was taken to his car. He slept in the car overnight, and then drove to a lookout the next morning, where we found him waving to us. He told us the incredible story amid much laughter about his “new and improved” canoe.

I continued working out and running, and gained some muscle mass. By the end of the tenth grade, I was 5’10" and weighed 155 pounds, almost thirty pounds heavier than I was way back when. I was big enough that nobody thought about pushing me around, especially after word about the fight with the lacrosse players got out. That almost ended right there, but Jerry Jones decided to keep pushing it. The day after he was back in school after the suspension, he came calling and demanded I meet him after school behind the gym. I said I would be there.

Instead, I rode the bus home. Jerry was a certified moron. Ray Shorn, a buddy from Hampton Elementary days, looked shocked. “You’re supposed to be fighting Jerry Jones behind the school!”

“Jerry Jones is an idiot,” I replied.

“He’s going to say you’re chicken.”

“Jerry is going to say whatever he wants to say, regardless of what happens. What Jerry says about me isn’t worth the breath it takes to say. Why don’t you go back and ask Tessa if I’m a chicken?”

Ray glanced over his shoulder at where Tessa sat with some friends, and then looked back at me. “I don’t know, man. I think he’s going to be all over you tomorrow.”

I blew this off. Ray was right, however, in that Jerry found me at the lockers the next morning and tried to brace me right there in the hallway. He was yelling loud enough to cause a commotion, and was grabbed by a teacher, and got a week’s detention. That night I got my father alone and told him what was happening. Mom would have freaked out, but Dad was more or less human, now that he was no longer hitting me with the oak paddle.

I ended by saying, “I don’t want to start anything, but I don’t see Jerry letting this drop. For one thing, he ain’t smart enough to let it drop!” Jerry was a big guy, with at least three inches and forty pounds on me, and it was all muscle, especially between the ears.

Dad gave an exasperated shrug. “Well, the good Lord says to turn the other cheek, but I don’t recall him mentioning doing it more than once. I will tell you something I learned long ago, when I was your age, and later again in the Navy, and that’s if you have to put somebody down, put him down hard and fast and permanent. Let me know what happens.” I nodded and we broke apart.

A week later, after his detention was up, Jerry was back in my face, and actually tried to grab me and push me into the lockers. Like I said, Jerry was a moron anywhere other than the lacrosse field. I noticed a teacher standing behind him, and as soon as Jerry grabbed me, the teacher yanked him away. He got marched down to the office and got another five day suspension.

The day after his suspension was up, Jerry started mouthing off that he was going to beat the shit out of me right there in the school, and no pussy teachers were going to stop him. Everybody heard about it, of course, and several people mentioned it to me. I just nodded and thanked them, and kept my eyes open. It happened in the lunchroom. I was already seated at one of the benches, when Ray elbowed me and pointed towards the door. Jerry was striding purposefully towards me. “Shit, I need this like I need a hole in my head!” I muttered, and stood up to face him.

It was over quickly. Like Dad told me to do, I put him down hard and fast and very, very painfully. He grabbed for me, so I took his wrist and twisted it up and around, breaking it in several places, and then as he screamed in pain, flipped him up and over, and dropped him on his shoulder, wrenching his arm up and backwards and dislocating it brutally, shredding the joint. Jerry was going to the hospital, and he was not going to the NCAA. He lay there screaming and crying, and I stepped away. I wasn’t all that hungry anymore, although I did pocket an apple for later. Jerry ended up in the hospital, and I ended up in the Principal’s office, waiting for Dad to come over. By now, there was more than enough evidence, with two suspensions, a string of detentions, and countless witnesses to the attack, that got me out of any punishment. Jerry was expelled.

Mom was less than amused. I heard her and Dad arguing about it that night, and hid out in my room.

Tessa made good on her promise to pass the word about me to some of the girls, and the results were interesting, if a little schizophrenic. A number of girls looked towards me as somebody who would protect them, so I was a ‘safe’ boyfriend. Other girls heard that I wasn’t interested in ‘nice’ girls, but ‘not nice’ girls, which was a wholly different demographic. I made it a point to thank Tessa, which she laughingly accepted. A couple of girls even tried to use me in the protective role, to make their boyfriends jealous, but it wasn’t like I was some dumb teenager; I saw through those tricks immediately and told the boyfriends they were welcome to the trouble.

The net effect was that I had several different girlfriends that year, although opportunities to be alone with them were extremely limited. I didn’t have a car or a license (I was only 15) and you really can’t get too frisky in the back seat when Mom or Dad is driving you anywhere. Whatever mischief we could get into occurred at parties where we could sneak away, or bike rides around Loch Raven Reservoir, or maybe after school at her house, if she didn’t have family around.

The first was Jenny Smith, she of the St. Paul’s Canoeing Hall of Fame, who proved that canoes weren’t the only thing she went down on. She wouldn’t go all the way, and was very nervous when I pulled her pants off and returned the favor, but once she understood I would play by her rules, was very enthusiastic when I ate her out. I think I was the first guy to ever do this to her. I would have to admit that while it’s not my favorite activity in the bedroom I had certainly done it before, back on my first time around, and it’s definitely a favorite of the ladies. If my counterparts weren’t going to take advantage of the opportunity, I was more than happy to make up for them.

Jenny and I didn’t become an item, but were more like occasional friends with benefits. On the other hand, girls talk, even more than guys do, and probably more honestly. When Shelley, Tammy, and Jenny began telling the girls about my oral expertise, I became even more popular than when Tessa told them I was a hero. Heroes are good; heroes who eat pussy are even better! I am not going to say the phones were ringing off the hook and girls were battering down my door, but if I didn’t want to be lonely, I didn’t have to be.

Once the weather got warmer, and especially in the summer, when school was out, there was nothing quite like taking a bike ride with a girl up to Loch Raven. A picnic lunch, a ground cloth, and a blanket… keep it simple. You couldn’t go swimming or boating in the reservoir, but there were any number of places to take your bikes up into the trees and out of sight, and then settle in for some al fresco and au naturel dining. For the girls it was an exciting and liberating experience. Ride our bikes up to the reservoir, slip into the trees, spread out the ground cloth and cover it with a blanket, and then have lunch. After lunch, time for a little nap and seduction. The breeze on their naked skin was at once both nerve-wracking and exciting, and almost always very stimulating.

I got my working papers and got a job as a stockboy at Hutzlers during the Christmas rush. My first job — and my first layoff! I was let go after the first of the year. Oh, well. Later that year, when summer rolled around, I got a job up at Pot Springs Pizza. It was minimum wage, but all the pizza you could eat! I had worked there before, the first time, and it was a pretty good job. I worked my way up to a night manager, and learned how to make pizza, a very useful skill. I made sure that this time around I memorized the recipes.

I also started memorizing Mom’s recipes, and writing them down. Both my folks were very good cooks, and over the years, I became one as well. This became immensely handy when I got married, because Marilyn was one of the worst cooks on the planet. If you visited our house on a night we were both home, I was the one cooking. She could burn water.

Hamilton became increasingly hostile to me through the tenth grade and the summer after. I was really at a loss for what to do about him. Mom wouldn’t hear that there was any problem whatsoever, and Dad wasn’t about to get into it with her, but it was really wearing on me. This was a lot worse than the first time through.

I have heard many sermons and paeans to brotherly love. Supposedly we would always be able to make up our differences and eventually come together, but it was never that way with us. He was always too self-centered and too stubborn to ever compromise on anything. On my first time through he would get so annoying that I would end up hitting him, but this never solved anything. Now I would just walk away from him. No matter what I did to him or what threat was made or what my parents ordered him to do, if he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t. Most people learn through pain — the stove burns, so don’t touch it. He refused to learn. Was he a psychopath? A sociopath? Psychotic? Whatever was going on, I couldn’t fix it, and Mom wouldn’t consider that the ‘good’ son might have problems.

I was the ‘bad’ son, since I wouldn’t live my life the way she wanted it. Even when Dad got sick with the Alzheimer’s’ and some other problems, she would call me up from 300 miles away and make me come home, just so I could see him and she could complain about how far away I was and how I didn’t care enough. Christ, Mom, why the hell do you think I moved 300 miles away!? Marilyn and I used to joke that whenever we had a problem raising the kids, we would always imagine what my parents would do — and then do the exact opposite! (Of course, Parker told us that he and Janine did the same thing, and he had such a poker face we couldn’t tell if he was kidding us or not.)

He always thought he was smarter (okay, he was) and that made him immune to normal people and civilized behavior. I can remember one Thanksgiving, in the 2010s, when we were driving home from Suzie’s house. I hadn’t lived in Maryland in forty years, and needed directions. He and Mom were driving with us, and he refused to give me directions, instead trying to tease and make fun. For the love of God, we were in our mid-fifties and he was acting like a four year old. I finally ended up yelling at him, in front of our mother, to “Knock your shit off and give me the fucking directions!” Even then he refused until Mom, now in her eighties had to order him to behave.

Now, he was even worse. It seemed that the more successful I became, and the faster I went through school, the more he hated me. He had always tried to pry before, but now I could see that he was actively trying to break into my locked foot locker, and was vandalizing my possessions. Needless to say, when confronted, he would lie and deny. Sometime this worked, and sometime it didn’t. When he squirted ink on my ties, he managed to get some on his hands, and that was pretty irrefutable. I measured my closet and mail ordered a metal cabinet and put that inside my closet. Hamilton was furious, as was my mother, but Dad let me. I got another padlock and wore that key around my neck as well.

Even Suzie figured out that there was something wrong with Ham. When Marilyn died, and then Alison, Suzie and her family came to the funerals, over three hundred miles away, but Hamilton didn’t even send flowers. Now, this time around, his disdain and dislike had changed to hatred.

The first time, Marilyn and the kids didn’t even want to be around him. Maggie wouldn’t even visit without Jackson being with her, and Mom wouldn’t allow that until they got married. Most of the family thought he was kind of creepy, sort of like Norman Bates in Psycho, but without all the nasty killing business. Now I wasn’t so sure about avoiding the killing, especially my desire to kill him!

On the other hand, I had learned a lot on my first trip through. Specifically, Alison having Williams’ Syndrome was a learning breakthrough. The most important thing to remember when you have a child with learning disabilities (or, as we called it in the far less politically correct Sixties and Seventies, mental retardation) is to have patience. There are many things the child will never learn, no matter what you do or how loud you yell or how hard you hit. Not that I did, I was never a monster, but you really learn patience. Hamilton taxed my every limit.

I had learned. Back then we had often gotten into fights, when his behavior and mulish stubbornness had pushed me too far. Now, I would just simply get up and leave the room. I generally only slept in my bedroom now, and any of my belongings were under lock and key.

Mind you, this was all very depressing. I had spent the first 21 years of my life in this environment, being told repeatedly that I was a failure and a disappointment. Now I was going through it all over again, and vastly exceeding what I had done before, and being told I was even more of a failure and more of a disappointment. I understood what was happening, but it made for some very black days at times. This recycling bit was not all that great at times.

I also changed my overall appearance. Prior to this, I had always tried to dress like a hippie, just like every other kid in school. All of us non-conformists simply had to conform to each other. The uniform was blue jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. An exciting change, for some of the tougher kids, was boots, like biker boots. Hair was worn long, as long by the guys as it was by the girls. At the time, I grew my own hair so long that it went below my shoulders and I had to wear a headband, suitably painted with a Peace sign, to keep it under control.

Oh, if I had only been able to save that hair! Even then I knew that male pattern baldness was genetically transmitted, and that it ran in the family. It runs down the women’s side, skipping generations, and Mom’s father had been a cue ball. I was going bald by my mid-thirties.

So I changed my wardrobe. By the time I was out of school, I had realized that the back seam on Levi’s really rubbed my rear end wrong, and had shifted over to khakis and chinos. I also switched over to sports shirts, with collars, which actually looked pretty good on my muscular upper body. Wear them a little tight and the girls really noticed. I got a haircut, not ridiculously short, but like something a fashionable twenty-something would wear. That actually took some doing, because back then you had to search to find a stylist for a man. Men went to barbers, and the choices were limited to crew cuts or a ‘regular’, which was just long enough to part on one side. When I grew out of my denim jacket, I bought a leather jacket, bomber style.

And I bought a hat. Way back when, on my first go-around, I had started wearing fedoras almost from day one in college. This was years before the Indiana Jones movies made hats popular again, but I didn’t care. It made me a bit different, and the ladies didn’t mind. I looked good in a hat. I just started a few years earlier this time.

Ten years before, every man in America owned a hat. Then JFK wandered down Pennsylvania Avenue bareheaded and overnight the hat industry in America entered bankruptcy! In the future, everyone idolized him, Camelot cut short, all that sort of nonsense. In reality he was a fairly decent domestic President and an abysmally bad foreign relations President (okay, he did all right with the Cuban Missile Crisis, but he’s the one who put us into Viet Nam, and the Bay of Pigs was his baby), but he sure wasn’t Washington and Lincoln reincarnated. The one thing you can’t argue about is that he was young, vigorous, virile, photogenic — and didn’t wear hats! You couldn’t pay men to wear a hat by the end of the decade.

Mind you, I got razzed about it the first couple of times, but the first time I wore it, it just happened to be raining. I simply said, “Go ahead, laugh, see if I care. My head’s dry. Hmmm?” I said this to Ray Shorn, who looked like a drowned rat at the time. He flipped me the bird and I laughed right back at him.

By the time I got through tenth grade, my khakis and sport shirt and deck shoes (very comfortable!) set me apart like a great white shark swimming through a sea of blue denim. I am telling you, it didn’t hurt with the girls, either.

Chapter 14: Junior Year

September 1971

In the Seventies, it was a lot simpler getting a driver’s license as a teen than it is nowadays. You could get your learner’s permit when you were still fifteen, and then get your license when you were sixteen, as long as you had taken Driver’s Ed classes and passed the tests at DMV. Now you get different grades of license, all depending on how old you are, but back then, if you had a license, you could drive. I was going to be sixteen in another couple of months, and I wanted my license.

On the first trip through, Hamilton and I weren’t even allowed to get our learner’s permits until we were seventeen. By the time we went through driver’s ed and took the tests, it was the spring of our senior years before we got our licenses, and we weren’t allowed our own cars. Well, fair is fair, neither of us had any money to buy a car. We could only drive Mom’s old 67 Dodge Dart, and we ran that sucker into the ground!

I raised the subject at dinner after school started in September. “Dad, what does your company do with the company cars when you turn them in?” Dad had driven a company car for years, mostly station wagons, but had now started to drive sedans. He always had some work gloves and steel toe boots and a hard hat in the back, for going to quarries and job sites.

He shrugged. “They sell them. Harry T. Campbell’s doesn’t actually own the cars. They’re owned by a leasing company. Why?”

“What’s a leasing company?” asked Hamilton.

I didn’t look at him and we all just ignored him. “How’s that work? After so many years you give it to them and they give you a new one?”

“What’s a leasing company?” pressed my brother. He hated being left out of a conversation. If it wasn’t about him, nobody else should talk.

I looked over at him. “I’m talking to Dad, not you.” and then turned back to Dad.

Dad was on the verge of answering when Ham started complaining. Mom cuffed him on the back of the head and told him to be quiet, which he did grudgingly. Dad waited for this little Hamilton drama to finish before answering. “Pretty much. They’re typically three year leases, so every three years I give them back my car and they give me a list of three or four new cars I can get, and I pick one. Why?”

I didn’t answer directly. “What do they do with the old cars?”

“Sell them. Why?” he continued.

“Give me a moment. Can anyone buy one?”

He looked at me very curiously. “I suppose. I know they offer them to the employees first, but then I suppose they auction them off. Where are you going with this?”

“Is it only when you turn them in, or can you buy one at other times?”

He crossed his arms and stared at me. It was obvious he had figured out what I was up to. “It’s a big leasing company. Every month they send out a list of cars and prices. Tell me why you’re asking.”

“I’m going to need to buy a car, and I figured a corporate model might be better than going to Honest Abe’s Used Car Emporium out in Timonium.”

As expected, the room erupted in nonsense. Mom said I wasn’t old enough to drive, and besides, I didn’t have a license or money. Hamilton protested I wasn’t allowed to — I guess it was in the rules somewhere. Suzie thought it was a great idea. Nana didn’t understand. Dad just sat there staring at me.

This was not at all a crazy idea. Way back when, Hamilton and I had driven that poor Dodge Dart to death, and it finally gave up the ghost in 1976. When that happened and Mom needed another car, Dad bought one from the leasing company. It was located in Youngstown, Ohio, so he loaded me on a shuttle to Pittsburgh and then on to Youngstown, and had me drive it home. Why couldn’t we do the same thing now?

Dad silenced the room and then said, “Everybody be quiet and give him a chance to talk.”

“I will not! This is ridiculous and I won’t stand for it!” replied Mom.

Dad gave her an aggrieved look and said, “Shirley, let the boy talk. You’ll get a chance later.” Mom huffed but crossed her own arms and waited in a bad mood. Dad looked back at me and motioned for me to continue.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. First, I am going to need a car by January. I will be starting to take college courses over at Towson State then. I will need to get back and forth between Towson High and Towson State. There is no bus service. I could take a bus from Towson State to here, but it would take at least one transfer and then it dumps me up on York Road. Unless of course one of you wants to leave work and drive me back and forth.”

Dad lifted an eyebrow at that but didn’t stop me. “There’s no reason I can’t buy a car. I will pay for the car, gas, and insurance. It won’t cost you anything.” I glanced over at Mom and her face was getting red. “Finally, as long as you sign off on it, I can take driver’s ed now, before I turn 16, and then can take the tests in November. If we time it right, I can get it all done that first week in November.”

“Shirley?” Dad said, inviting her response.

“No. We’re not buying you a car. That’s the end of it.”

“Mother, you wouldn’t be buying me anything. I already have the money to pay for a car. It’s like I said, I’ll buy the car and pay for gas and insurance.”

“Where did you get money to buy a car? Answer me that!” she demanded.

“From the lawsuit three years ago, remember?”

“That’s for college. You can’t have that.”

Mom was really pissing me off, because even after three years, she still thought of that money as her own. It was a damn good thing I had Dad’s name on the account with me instead of hers. “Mom, I have already tripled the money I kept in the brokerage account. I can afford just about anything this side of Harvard already. In two years I’ll be able to afford that.” Even including room and board, you could go to Harvard for about ten grand a year in the early Seventies. This was before tuition increases began to rival the increases in health care costs. “Would you like me to write a check, or do you prefer cash?”

“You tripled it?” interjected Dad incredulously.

I turned to face him. “Large cap stocks such as ITT and LTV are changing growth modes from stock acquisitions to cash, increasing market volatility. Volatility is opportunity.” My Advanced Finance Professor at Fairleigh Dickinson had taken us through the conglomerate formations and breakups in the Sixties and Seventies, and as I worked at ITT at the time I had followed it keenly.

Dad shook his head in amazement. “What about driver’s ed?”

“I can go to a night school in Towson. They advertise in the Yellow Pages. I need 10 hours instruction and another 10 hours of practice, and then I take the written test at DMV and the driving test. We do that the week I turn 16. I’ll pay for the classes and the cost at the DMV.”

“Darn right you will,” he replied.

“Charlie! This is ridiculous! We’re not letting him have a car! The next thing you know, Hamilton will be demanding a car, too!” Mom said. Hamilton perked up at this, an eager look to his face.

“Yeah, well when Hamilton can pay for his own car, we’ll talk about that. Besides, he’s only 13.” Hamilton’s shoulders slumped at this, and he looked daggers at me. Like I cared. “Besides, you know he’ll need a car at Towson State. I can’t drive him back and forth and neither can you. Be realistic!”

“No!”

Dad rubbed his face and excused all of the rest of us. Suzie helped Nana up to her room. Nana was in the early stages of senility and needed a fair bit of help. Nobody had invented Alzheimer’s yet, so we were all ignorant and called it dementia or senility or natural causes or old age. Within a year, Nana would be in an old folk’s home. Hamilton and I went downstairs, although I stayed in the family room, so I didn’t have to put up with his horseshit. He was already fuming about how I was getting a car and he wasn’t. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t even see over the steering wheel yet!

Mom and Dad argued over this for the rest of the night. Mom’s biggest problem was that this didn’t fit her neat and tidy plans for the lives of her children. She was very proud that I was going to college, but otherwise I was still a little boy. She couldn’t have it both ways, but wouldn’t accept that. This was just like my quitting band, taking aikido, or taking home economics. You did what the school and society told you to do and nothing more and nothing less.

On the other hand, the logic was relentless. I needed to be able to drive if I was going to go to Towson State, and I needed my own car. I wouldn’t be able to get away with driving her to work and using her car, when I might have morning classes that would mess this up. By the end of the week, Dad brought home a list of cars available from the leasing company. “This is this month’s list. It changes every month, so we’ll have a new list in October. Sometimes the list is good and sometimes it isn’t.”

“What do I do if I see one I want?”

“You make a bid. It has to be at least as much as the figure on the list. If somebody else beats you, you can try for a different car. This just gives you a figure on how much they will run.”

“Do I do this now, or do I wait until I get my license?” I asked.

“Probably be easier to wait. You won’t have to horse around getting it in my name first and then yours. That would be the November list.”

I nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll do the driver’s ed and tests with Mom’s car, and then buy this as soon as I pass.”

He smiled. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

I grinned. “If Pop-pop could get a license, so can I.” Mom’s father had been a notoriously poor driver.

He rolled his eyes. “I think he started driving before they even had licenses. You’d better just hope you drive better than he did.”

“Maybe he learned driving a horse.”

Dad laughed. “That was my side of the family, not his!”

Maryland had DMV offices that were open on Saturday mornings, so we went over that weekend and picked up the paperwork and applied for my permit. I also went into town and registered with a driver’s ed school. Classes would be twice a week, an hour a night, for five weeks. I also signed up for the live training, where a driving instructor would come out to the house after school and I would get behind the wheel of his car.

This part actually wasn’t a requirement; you simply had to state you had ten hours behind the wheel. Dad washed his hands of it though. I couldn’t blame him. When Parker went for his permit, I did the first tour of duty in the car and was scared half to death, even though we were barely breaking 20 on deserted country roads. I crawled out of the car white faced and white knuckled, and Marilyn took over all further driving lessons. It got worse — Parker was the serious child, Maggie was the wild and crazy one! I never even attempted teaching her to drive!

Classes started next week. The curriculum was broken into ten one hour chunks, each on something different, so as long as you hit each of the lessons once, you got your certificate.

The driving itself was amusing. It had been, effectively, about five years since I had driven myself, but it’s just like riding a bike or sex, once you learn, you never forget how. The biggest problem I had was remembering that in 1971 ‘right on red’, the ability to turn right at a red light if the traffic was clear, wasn’t legal yet. It would come about later in the decade, although they were already starting to debate it in the state assembly. Ultimately it would be passed, and then delayed six months while they implemented it. The joke at the time was that the delay was so they could paint enough ‘No Right On Red’ signs.

After the first fifteen minutes of driving, the instructor looked over at me and asked, “Just how much bootleg time do you already have?”

I tried to look innocent and said, “Sir?”

He snorted, and pointed me out of the suburbs and onto Dulaney Valley Road. We spent the rest of the hour driving up and around Loch Raven and around some of the busier streets. It felt very good to be back behind the wheel.

The next two months moved along much too slow for my taste. I wanted to get the car under my belt before tackling my next big project, college. This semester I was taking high school physics at an accelerated pace, so I could finish it by the end of the semester. My plan was to take a semester of calculus and a semester of physics in the spring over at Towson State. Then, next year, I would somehow cram in freshman chemistry, another semester or two of physics, and at least another couple of semesters of calculus over at Towson State, and maybe an English or humanities elective as well.

Most colleges require about 120 credits to graduate with a Bachelor’s degree. This splits up to about 30 credits a year, or 15 credits a semester. That works out to 4–5 classes each semester, depending on whether they are 3 or 4 credit classes. If I loaded up now, I could conceivably earn 35–40 credits from college and graduate from high school with Towson High footing the college bill. If I was able to overload in college, I could graduate in two years or less.

Or, and this was my plan, stick it out for four full years, overloading all the way, and graduate in four years with a doctorate. This was one of my biggest mistakes back in the day. I had been a chemist and at the end of the four years I knew I wasn’t going to go to grad school for chemistry. I went and got an MBA instead. Great for business, but only a Master’s degree. If I ever wanted to teach at the university level, I would need a PhD; the Master’s only allowed me to teach at a community college level (which I had done.) I wanted to get my doctorate in either math or computers, and I figured I should be able to do it easily, if not in another four years at my final destination, then in five.

Both Mom and Hamilton were still sulking about my driving. Mom wasn’t happy that I was upsetting her carefully made plans for me to be Dad Junior, but Dad just shook his head and rolled his eyes and kept her under control. Hamilton was simply pissed that I was doing something he wasn’t allowed to do, like drive a car at thirteen. He decided to retaliate by putting epoxy on the locks on my foot locker and my steel cabinet. I showed them to Dad. Ham denied everything, but never bothered to dump his garbage can with the epoxy kit in it. He really got his ass whipped that night! I went out and bought another couple of locks and used a bolt cutter to take off the old locks. As a master criminal he left much to be desired. What an asshole!

It was all rather anticlimactic when my birthday rolled around. November 5 was a Friday, so I cut class and Dad skipped work and we went out to the DMV office in Westminster. This was a much smaller and quieter office than the main branch down in Glen Burnie. I aced the written test and then drove around the block and aced the driving test. I mean I drove around the block — that was the driving test!

This was pretty much the way it went previously. The funny part was when Hamilton did this two years later, he flunked the driving test and had to repeat it a month later. When he passed it, he thought his shit didn’t stink and basically told everyone at dinner that night. I almost died laughing when Dad told him, “Of course you passed! The examiner was your second cousin!”

By then, the November list of cars came out, and I got lucky. That month a lot of 1968 Ford Galaxie 500s came off lease and were available. If I didn’t get the first one I picked, there were a whole slew of them available. The Galaxie was Ford’s full size sedan, designed to compete with the Chevy Impala. These were all business class models, four door sedans with a decent size V8 and a back seat big enough to put a bed inside. This was the type of car we bought when the Dodge Dart died. It drove like a tank, guzzled gas like you owned an oil well, and had a soft and comfy ride. You’ve got to love that big Detroit iron! They just don’t make them like that anymore! I put in a bid of $2,250 and within a week had one reserved in my name. I wrote Dad a series of checks to cover the car, the insurance, and the title fees.

Towson High took a very interesting turn that first week in November, as well. I was standing at my locker that Monday morning, chatting with Ray Shorn and Randy Bronson, when a group of pretty young girls went past us in the hall. They were mostly juniors like us guys, but not all of them. I doffed my hat as they passed by, and said, “Morning, ladies!” with a big smile.

Jenny Smith was in the group and she smiled back. “Morning, Carl.” Several of the other girls giggled with her, generally the ones I had gotten very friendly with. Jenny and her group slowed as they passed, and I got a good look at the new girl who was with them. For some reason, she looked awfully familiar.

“Who’s your friend, Jenny?” asked Ray.

Tammy Braxton said, “This is Jeana Colosimo. She just transferred in from New York, and Mrs. Vickery…” (the new vice-principal) “… asked us to take her to class.”

Holy shit! That’s why I remembered her! Jeana Colosimo had been my first real love, way back when. We had dated my entire junior year. I remembered that she was actually only a sophomore, a tenth grader a year younger than me, but we didn’t care. We broke up at the end of the year when they started up a new school over off Cromwell Valley and transferred all the tenth graders in the area to it. I didn’t have a car then and couldn’t see her anymore.

No reason not to see if I couldn’t date her again. She was a gorgeous little package, and back then I had really outdone myself getting her to date me. It was like a 4 nabbing a 10. She wasn’t very tall, maybe 5’3" if she was thinking tall thoughts, but she had great legs, a tight and perky rear, a slender waist, and a set of really nice knockers! They had to be at least C cups, and might be more. She had a beautiful oval face, dark Mediterranean skin, and long and straight dark, dark brown hair.

“Well, I have to thank you ladies. You’ve brought her to me, so I’ll walk her to class from here,” I replied.

Jeana blushed and the other girls laughed at my cheek. “Not so fast,” said Mary Brewhauser. “We haven’t had a chance to warn her about the perils of being seen with some of the older guys yet.” Mary was another of the girls to be considered friends with benefits.

“Like you!” added Tammy.

“Tammy, that’s so hurtful!” I replied, waggling my eyebrows at her.

She giggled and Randy, who was now her steady boyfriend, put his arm around her shoulders. “Do I have to thump you, Buckman?”

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter!” That got quite a few laughs, though not from Jeana, who wasn’t in on the joke. “So, Jeana, what would you like to do on Friday night? Being new in town, you should have somebody older and wiser take you a few places, and help you familiarize yourself with Towson.”

“Yeah, somebody like me!” commented Ray. “Jeana, I’m Ray, and I think you are beautiful! You should be going out with me on Friday! Carl just got out of prison and is now under house arrest.”

“Amateur hour, Ray,” I commented. “Some girls, not Jeana here, but certainly the type you hang out with, would find that even more interesting.”

That got everybody laughing. Jeana was on the verge of speaking, but Jenny put her hand up. “Hold on, you two. Jeana’s new here, and we didn’t bring her by just so we could throw fresh meat to the resident wolves. Let’s hear what you two have in mind, so that we can give her some advice.”

This proved very popular, so I made a motion and signaled Ray to speak up. His eyes bugged a bit, but he said, “Uh, nothing like the classics — a movie and something to eat later.” The ladies seemed to mull this over for a moment, and then Tammy said, “Your turn, Carl.”

Ah, the benefits of experience. Let the rookie go first. I just shook my head. “Not very impressive. A 1.4 on the difficulty scale. 3.7, 3.6, 2.4 from the East German judge. No, definitely not a movie.” I tapped my cheek dramatically, and just as dramatically, walked around Jeana. “No, for the first date we want something active, not passive. Where we can talk, and Jeana can learn just what a great guy I am, and how fortunate she was to pick me, and not Ray. Hmmm…” Most of the girls were giggling by now, and Ray had punched me in the shoulder. “No, I think we should go up to Timonium Lanes and go bowling.”

Jeana’s face lit up at this. “I love bowling! How did you know?”

I gave a big smirk to Ray, and then held my fingers up to my forehead. Twirling them dramatically, I answered, “Is it my incredible knowledge of women? My Houdini-like powers of mind reading? Or…” I paused dramatically. “Could it be that you just moved here from New York and are wearing an Oyster Bay Rollers jacket?” Jeana was wearing a pink jacket with a silhouette of somebody bowling on the back. I crossed my arms and looked proudly at the others.

The rest of the group seemed to consider this either cheating or brilliant, but Jeana’s eyes were shining and she was smiling at me. Ray had been blown out of the water. I pulled out a piece of paper and grabbed a pen out of Randy’s pocket and used it to write down her phone number. The girls left, dragging Jeana off to her homeroom, with a warning that they were going to tell her all about me.

As they disappeared, Ray looked over and Randy. “Can I join you in thumping him?” I gave the pair of them a raspberry and we headed off to our classes.

The rest of that week I made sure that I talked to Jeana whenever I could. I told her on Wednesday not to believe all the awful things that she had heard about me. At that point she blushed furiously, leading me to suspect that the girls had told her quite a bit about me. I teased her and asked what they had told her, but she refused to tell me. Smiling, I leaned closer, putting my lips to her ear, and whispered, “Are you scared because you’re afraid it might be true? Or because you’re afraid it might not be?” She blushed some more, and swatted my arm with her books, so I kissed her on the cheek and stepped back. She looked a little confused, but then leaned forward and moved up on her toes and kissed me on the lips, lightly. She giggled and ran off, and I was left in happy contemplation.

At six that Friday night, armed with my brand new temporary license and the keys to the Dodge Dart, I left the house and drove over to Jeana’s. She and her parents lived in a development off of Joppa Road that backed onto Goucher College. Before I was to be allowed to take their daughter out, I was to meet the parents.

Goucher was one of the two colleges in Towson, but was very different from the other, Towson State. Whereas Towson State was a public college, a teaching college, and was in the center of town, with a wide open campus, Goucher was a very expensive, girls only, private liberal arts college. Imagine Radcliffe, but south of the Mason-Dixon Line. As such it had a mystical quality to it. Unlike Towson State, the campus was very private, screened by manicured hillocks and impenetrable forests and fences, behind which goddesses the likes of which had never before been seen by mortal man studied in luxury. Nobody ever actually saw these creatures, but everybody knew somebody who had a friend whose brother had a cousin who had snuck over there one day, and had seen them all sunbathing out on those manicured lawns in the nude! Or at least that was the story. I had been there once myself, at a 4^th of July concert given by the Marine Corps band (you really have to hear The 1812 Overture done with a real cannon and fireworks!), and didn’t see any sign of naked women.

It didn’t take me long to figure out which house was Jeana’s, since I had been there before, so to speak. I parked and got out and walked up the drive. The door opened before I even got to the steps. Jeana must have been waiting for me to show up, and she looked a little nervous. I decided to play it safe and not kiss her. I did, however, hand her a small bouquet of flowers. “They aren’t as pretty as you, but I thought it would be a nice welcome present for your family.”

I got a nice hug out of that, and she took me by the hand and led me into the living room. A man my father’s age was sitting there, eyeing us curiously, if not happily, and Jeana took a big breath. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet Carl Buckman, from school.”

Mr. Colosimo got up out of his armchair and I walked over to him. He was an inch or two shorter than me, and a fair bit rounder, though it seemed like there was a bit of muscle underneath it all. He was almost totally bald, and had very beefy arms and hands. I stuck my hand out and looked him in the eye. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Colosimo. Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, but I think it’s more a matter of Jeana inviting you into our home than me,” he replied wryly. He didn’t try the squeeze-him-to-death trick, but I could sense some power there.

“Daddy!” she protested.

I gave him a wry smile back. “I think you’re right. I have a baby sister who’s only ten. I doubt my father will handle it all that well in a few years either.” There was the sound of some clattering pans, and then a woman came into the room. I turned and held my hand out. “Mrs. Colosimo, thank you for having me over. I’m Carl Buckman.”

Jeana’s mom looked like an older version of Jeana, short, Italian, busty as hell, with wide hips and a slim frame. She shook my hand. “You’re very welcome.” She glanced over at her daughter, who was standing there holding some flowers nervously. “Jeana?”

Spooked, Jeana hurriedly thrust out the bouquet. “Carl brought these over. Do we have a vase or something?”

“They’re very lovely. Well, come along, we can look for something in the kitchen.” Jeana and I followed along, trailed by her father.

“Something smells awfully good,” I commented as we entered the kitchen.

“It’s Friday and I didn’t want to do fish, so I made some manicotti,” said Mrs. Colosimo. “Do you like manicotti?”

“Love it!” I replied. “Can I help?”

This was received with laughter, since the kitchen was totally off limits to possessors of the Y chromosome. I was ushered back out to the living room with Jeana’s father, while Mrs. Colosimo prepped dinner in the kitchen and Jeana moved nervously back and forth between the kitchen and the living room.

Mr. Colosimo was okay. He just wanted to get a feel for the guy taking his daughter out. Although he looked like a plumbing contractor out of a bad sitcom, he was actually an executive with an insurance company that had just transferred him to their Baltimore office. Mrs. Colosimo was his secretary. Over dinner, he gently quizzed me about my plans for the future. At one point, exasperated with his daughter’s nervousness, he told her to stop having kittens. She grumbled back at him, and Jeana’s mom and I laughed at them both.

After dinner, Jeana excused herself to get ready to go out, and her mother asked me, “So, has Jeana shown you her trophies yet?”

“Trophies?”

“She’s a very good bowler.” Mrs. Colosimo led me into the den, where there was a small glass fronted display rack filled with a number of bowling trophies. That was where Jeana found us.

I smiled at her. “I think I’ve been hustled. Trophies?”

She gave me the biggest shit eating grin. “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? It must have slipped my mind. Come on, let’s go!”

“I want you home by ten,” said her father.

“Daddy! No!”

“Daddy yes! Ten!”

“I think we can let her stay out until ten-thirty,” said her mother. Dad snorted and waved us off after I promised I’d have her back by ten-thirty.

“They treat me like a little kid!” complained Jeana as we got into my car.

“They treat you like their only daughter, who is precious to them. Give them a chance. After I get you home by ten-thirty tonight, next week it will be eleven, and the week after that, we’ll be able to stay out until the crack of dawn.”

She smiled at that. “The crack of dawn! You sure about that?”

“Well, maybe not quite that late, but you get the idea.” I smiled over at her as we headed up York Road. “Trophies? Really?”

As I knew she would, Jeana cleaned my clock but good. Why not, she had the first time around, too. This time I had been expecting the trophy case, so I just smiled when I was shown it, and complained about being hustled. We bowled three games and then goofed off around the snack bar. I made sure she was home at least ten minutes early, and then hung around the living room with her until eleven. I got a very nice kiss, no tongue, but very nice, when I said good-bye.

I made sure I called her the next day, just before lunch, to tell her how much I enjoyed our date, and we ended up talking for almost an hour. Needless to say, Hamilton complained to our parents how I was using the phone. I have no idea why he was bothering, since both of them had been through the kitchen more than once and knew I was on the phone. After I hung up, I made some lunch and told my father, “You know, we ought to put a phone down in the family room.”

“You know how?” he asked.

“Absolutely.” — because I spent thirty years running telecomm networks. No I didn’t say that, but I thought it.

Hamilton immediately protested we weren’t allowed to do that, and I thought to myself, for once, he’s actually right. In those days, practically the entire country’s phone system was a licensed monopoly of the Bell Telephone System. You didn’t actually own the phones in your house, you rented them from Ma Bell. Until the Eighties, when it was broken up, Bell Telephone ran the entire thing. If you wanted a new phone in a bedroom, you were supposed to call them and they would send out a technician to run the cable and install a phone, for a small fortune.

At the same time, however, it was entirely legal to go out to the store and buy telephone wire and jacks, and even telephones. You just weren’t allowed to install them in conjunction with Bell equipment. It was a rule observed more in the breach.

I told Dad what we would need and we went out after lunch and went to the hardware store and picked up the supplies. It was ridiculously easy, run a fifty foot spool of two-pair twisted-pair phone wire to the junction block in the utility room, and then install a junction block in the family room. We spent far more time running the wire than anything else, sneaking it around corners and through the wall, and then up and over a door frame, tacking it down with wire staples as we went. At the end of it, Hamilton once more complained, “You’re going to get caught!”

Dad ignored him. I just said, “Well, if we do, we’ll know who squealed, won’t we?” He skedaddled off to his room in a hurry at that. I looked at my father. “His continued existence strains my belief in both a benevolent God and Charles Darwin.”

“Settle down!”

Mom came in just as we finished up, and I lifted the handset and we could hear the dial tone of a clear connection. “Does it work?” she asked.

I couldn’t have asked for better timing. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the phone rang. “Don’t know! Let’s find out!” I picked up the handset and said, “Maryland Home for Dissolute Women! Dropping off or picking up?”

Dad started laughing, and Mom gave out a shocked, “Carling!”

There was a loud laugh at the other end of the line. Aunt Peg then said, “Carling, you rascal, is your mother available?” Aunt Peg was my godmother and one of Dad’s sisters. I loved her dearly.

“She’s one of the more dissolute women available. Hold on.” I handed the phone to Mom and Dad laughed some more. Mom swung at the back of my head, but I ducked out of the way. Back before I got restarted, in college, it was considered a sign of a real wiseass to be able to come up with smartass answers when the phone rang. ‘County Morgue. You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em!’ and ‘Murphy’s Bar and Cat House. Liquor in the front, poker in the rear!’ were always favorites.

Hamilton expressed his disapproval with the phone in a different way. If he answered the call, and it was for me, he simply hung it up and then left it off the hook until somebody figured it out. He was becoming a real pain in the ass!

Chapter 15: The Carl Buckman Experience

Proof that Jeana had enjoyed our date surfaced on Monday morning. Ray and I and a few of our friends were hanging out in the hallway before homeroom, when Jeana came up. God, but she looked good! How she snuck out past her mother was questionable at best. She had on jeans that looked like they had been painted on, black pumps with at least a two inch heel, and a bright red long sleeved knit top that zipped up the front and had a tiny built in hood down the back, and that top was so tight and thin you could count her freckles, if she had any. Conversation simply stopped as she sauntered down the hall. She came up to me and wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me hard on the lips.

I have to admit I was smiling a cat-with-a-canary-dinner smile after I came up for air. Ray looked disgusted. “So, the date went well?” he asked.

“Well, I certainly thought so, but you might want to ask Jeana?” I replied. Jeana blushed and gave me a hug. I looked down at her and asked, “This weekend, maybe a movie and something to eat afterwards?”

Ray groaned as I drove in the knife. “Buckman, there’s a petition going around asking for volunteers for your asskicking, and I am putting my name down on the list!” Everyone laughed at that, including Jeana, who promised to chase down Ray if he hurt me. “I’ll die a happy man!” he answered, causing Jeana to blush again.

We all chatted until the warning bell rang and Jeana had to move off to her homeroom. We all stared as she sashayed away, those killer heels causing her rear to move in a hypnotic figure 8. “Oh, man, I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave!” I commented.

“Would you explain how it is you got her and not me? And don’t give me your shit about bowling, either!” protested my friend.

I turned to face Ray and smiled. “Well, it might be that I’m smarter and better looking that you, and later today, in the showers after gym, I’ll tell you about your other shortcomings.”

“Fuck you, Buckman! You are way at the top of the asskicking list now!” replied Ray as the others laughed. “I am going to be able to subcontract out the asskicking and charge for the privilege!”

We avoided any asskicking that week. I asked Jeana out again this weekend, but it would have to be Saturday, since I was working Friday night. She offered to come over to the pizza shop, but I told her no, that it was work and I couldn’t have friends hanging around like that. None of us guys did. We were all high school kids but we had to take it seriously. That was alright, though. The job was enjoyable, although it didn’t pay much. I didn’t need much, either. I remember the first time around, it basically kept gas in my Mom’s car and enough dough to take a girl out for a date. I was a man of simple tastes. It was such a small operation that the owner paid us in cash and coin, in an envelope, with the payroll deductions handwritten on the back of an order slip. I usually worked three to four nights a week, which was an issue with scheduling aikido practice, but I almost always had either Friday or Saturday free.

By that Saturday, I had my new used car in hand, and that is what we went to the movies in. Jeana was very impressed. I have no idea what we saw, but I knew I had seen it before, probably a million times over. After all, it could have been a premiere and I still would have seen it before. Jeana didn’t care, and I made sure I spent time paying attention to her.

I had to get her back home by eleven, but this time her parents weren’t waiting for us in the living room. We spent several minutes kissing before I had to run along, and I promised to call the next day.

Monday proved very interesting. Jeana was a wonderful girl, not just beautiful, but smart and interesting as well. I drove to school for the first time, and when school let out, I asked if she would like me to drive her home. Her eyes lit up at this. I carried her crap out to my car and we rode around a bit first, and then we got to her house. “Want to come in?” she asked.

Said the spider to the fly, but who was the spider, and who was the fly? Of course I wanted to come inside. She unlocked the door and I followed inside, carrying her books. She tossed that onto the coffee table. “Want a Coke?” she asked.

“Sure.” I followed her out to the kitchen. “Where’s the rest of the family?” I asked.

She leaned back against the kitchen counter and said, “There’s not much family to keep track of. Both Mom and Dad work, and my older brother died in Viet Nam a few years ago.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sorry for your loss.” That stupid fucking war was the disaster of our generation, and was the dumbest fucking foreign policy move we made until the invasion of Iraq.

She shrugged. “Thank you. It was about five years ago, but thank you anyway.”

I walked back out to the living room with my drink. “When do your parents get home?”

Jeana gave me a big smile. “Not for another couple of hours! Would you like to see downstairs?” She grabbed my hand before I even had a chance to answer and pulled me to my feet. “Come on!”

The Colosimo house was unusual for our neighborhood in that it actually had a basement. My parents’ house, for example, which was an expensive unit on a corner property, was half crawlspace and half slab-on-grade. Jeana’s house not only had a basement, it was actually finished off as a family room and wet bar. It was carpeted, had a drop ceiling, and the walls were sheetrock and oak paneling. There was a large television at one end, facing a sectional couch and chairs, and the other end had oak stairs to the main floor and a fancy wet bar, even including a beer tap.

“Whoa! Very nice!” I said as I looked around. Jeana had gone over to the couches and sat down, so I followed behind. “I wasn’t sure if you were planning on making drinks down here,” I said, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the bar.

She gave a pleasant shrug. “It’s all locked up anyways. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.”

I sat down in a very comfortable armchair and set my Coke on an end table. “Do you have any coasters?”

Jeana hopped up and found one and brought it back to me. I set my drink on the coaster and then tugged her down onto my lap, sideways, and wrapped my arms around her waist. “This is very comfortable, indeed. When did you say your parents were getting home?” I leaned in and whispered this into her ear, and then licked her ear lobe.

Jeana shivered in my arms, and I thought I heard a faint whimper. “Not until six.” She turned her face to mine and kissed me.

That first kiss was just on the lips, but then I twisted my face slightly and opened my mouth, and she responded eagerly. Within ten minutes we were swapping tongues. Jeana wasn’t very experienced, but she was very enthusiastic and learned quickly. After about fifteen minutes I came up for air and took a deep breath. I was shaking as I reached out and grabbed my drink. Jeana was breathing hard, too, and laid her head on my shoulder.

Things were moving along a lot faster this time around than before. Of course the last time around, I had been lacking in both self-confidence and experience, and a car, both of which can be critical. The self-confidence and experience let you know what you can get away with, the car gives you opportunity to do it.

My mind was whirling as I set my glass back down. I gave her a smile. “It would be awfully easy for a guy to fall for you big time,” I said.

She sat up and smiled back. “That’s what the girls at school said about you.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes at that. “I have no idea what they are talking about. We are just good friends.”

“They said you would say that, too!” she said, giggling.

“Yeah? So what is all the gossip about me? What do all the girls say about me?” I teased back. “This ought to be good!”

Jeana sat upright on my lap, which put some pressure on my erect cock trapped down my pant leg. It was a pleasant sort of pressure, but I silently prayed things would subside. “Well, you get very high marks for technique, although nobody really went into any detail on that. In fact, I was told that I would have to wait until I had the entire Carl Buckman Experience before they would discuss anything else on technique.”

“The Carl Buckman Experience? Are you shitting me?” Good God, I was an amusement ride!

She giggled some more and squirmed a bit, making me think about the experience a little too graphically. “Just how many girls at school have experienced the Carl Buckman Experience?” she asked.

“There is no such thing as the Carl Buckman Experience!” I replied. Good Lord!

Jeana shrugged. “Well, if I ever experience it, I’ll know who to talk to about it.”

“I repeat, there is no Carl Buckman Experience. I’m just being friendly,” I repeated.

“It certainly sounded friendly,” she agreed.

I groaned. “Is that all they had to say about me?”

“No. They also said you were wicked smart and the toughest guy in school and that you’ve even killed people, but I thought that was kind of crazy.” Suddenly she seemed rather nervous; I could feel her tense up and pull away.

I looked at her curiously. “Jeana, what is going on? I know we’ve only been dating a couple of weeks, but you must know by now I’m not some crazed killer. What’s the matter?” She had a confused look on her face, and I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I lifted her off my lap and stood up. I went to the bar and fished out some more ice and coke, surreptitiously adjusting myself in my pants in the process before coming back. “Jeana, just talk to me.”

“Well…”

I freshened her glass as well as mine and then sat down again, this time making sure that Little Carl wouldn’t be uncomfortably down a pant leg.

I wasn’t sneaky enough. Jeana noticed me adjusting myself and said, “That!”

“What?”

She gave me a very embarrassed look and nodded her head in the direction of my lap. “That!”

I figured out what she was talking about, but still wasn’t connecting any dots. “Huh? Jeana, I’m not following you.”

Her face turned beet red and she stammered out, “I have to know about the Carl Buckman Experience!”

I spewed some Coke out, missing Jeana but spotting the armchair, and she ran off to get some paper towels as I coughed. If she was looking to break the tension, there had to be a healthier and safer method. “Sweet Jesus, Jeana, are you still worried about that nonsense?! Good God!”

“It’s not nonsense!” she protested. “All those girls at school, telling me about what you’re like, and how I’ll know all about it, too, and everything… Carl, I’m not like… I mean, I’m…” Tears were starting to leak down her cheeks.

I took the cleaning supplies and set them to the side, and then pulled her gently back onto my lap, being a lot more careful as I did so. I just wrapped her in my arms for a bit, and just rocked her, whispering, “It’s all right, it’s all right.” She settled down after another few minutes.

Once she had stopped crying, I helped her sit upright and turned her face to mine. “Okay, you want to know about the Carl Buckman Experience?” She nodded and I smiled. “Well, this is it. It’s just me being me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You think I plan to make you another conquest. I’m going to seduce you and make love to you and then leave you for another girl, don’t you? Right? Hmmm?” I asked.

She nodded shyly, not looking at me.

“Jeana, did all those girls tell you I’ve had sex with them? All of them? Because I haven’t.”

Jeana’s eyes widened at this. “You haven’t?”

“Nope. I will admit I have been with some of them, maybe even most of them, but not all of them. I never go beyond what a girl feels comfortable with, and never take a relationship beyond what they want.”

“I don’t understand that,” she admitted.

I smiled. “Not every girl wants a steady till-death-do-us-part boyfriend. Some of the girls in school might, in fact, just want a friend to go to a dance with or somebody to see every once in a while. Friends, but maybe a little bit more, but nothing serious. Can you follow that?”

“I guess so.”

I could tell she really wasn’t following me. “Here’s an example. You met Tammy Braxton the other day, right? Now Tammy and I were friendly on occasion, even very friendly, but we were never more romantically involved that that. Now she is dating Randy Bronson and they are a whole lot more serious than we ever were. I mean, like deeply in love serious.”

“So you aren’t looking to get serious with me either then.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying that it’s up to you, not me. If you just want to be buddies, I will understand. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll understand. If you are starting to feel more like how I’m starting to feel for you, I will be very happy with that idea, too.”

“You mean…?”

I grinned and wrapped my arms around her again. “I mean, just like I said before, it would be very easy for me to fall in love with you. I’m already at least half way there, so try not to break my heart if you are just looking for a friend.”

Jeana wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, and I could feel the wetness on her cheeks as she started crying again. I let her go for another few minutes, and then pulled her away. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

“Oh, God, I think I love you, too.”

“Well, that certainly makes it more convenient. So stop crying. Girls in love are supposed to be happy, not sad,” I answered.

“I am happy, you jerk!”

I shrugged. “Okay, I’m a jerk. We can add that to the Carl Buckman Experience, too.”

Suddenly she got nervous again. “Carl, uh, I’m not actually all that ready for the Carl Buckman Experience. I mean, I’m not… I mean, I haven’t…”

I rolled my eyes. “Here’s a part of the Carl Buckman Experience you are ready for. Tomorrow I plan on killing any girl who ever calls it that! I am not a ride at Disneyland!” Jeana giggled at that. “Seriously, nothing happens unless you are happy with it. It’s not like I was planning on ravishing you as soon as we got down here this afternoon.”

She blushed at that. Jeana was innocent, but not all that innocent. Somebody, at least, had taught her how to kiss.

I wrapped my arms around her again. “Here’s the real Carl Buckman Experience. It’s about caring and sharing and listening and talking and protecting and being a friend. Anything else is just a wonderful extra. Can we start out with all of those things, and then worry about the extras later?”

She eagerly nodded. “Yes!”

“Now, would you like me to tell you about how the Carl Buckman Experience starts out? The first part?” Those big brown eyes looked at me eagerly. I stood up and held her in my arms, then lowered my hands down to her very warm and soft rear. Jeana squealed when I did so. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “The first thing I do is pull your jeans down…” I rubbed her butt and she whimpered. “… and then I give you a good hard spanking!” I brought both hands down hard, and Jeana squawked in outrage. I kept my arms around her, keeping her from hitting me. “And that’s what you get the next time you talk to me about it!”

“You bastard!” she complained, rubbing her butt.

“Now, go upstairs and wash the tears off your face, so your father doesn’t shoot me as soon as he sees you!” I sent her scampering up the stairs and I cleaned up the basement. I ended up in the kitchen carrying our glasses, just as she came back down the stairs. Her parents came in a few moments later to see us chatting in the kitchen.

I declined an invitation to dinner and took off. I was late for my family’s dinner and was punished by being denied dessert. When Mom asked me where I was, I just smiled and said I was at Jeana’s, and that it was worth being punished. Both she and Dad snorted at that. Hamilton complained when I wasn’t drawn and quartered.

Chapter 16: Be Careful What You Wish For

The next step in my estrangement from my brother occurred in another couple of weeks. Monday, the 22^nd, during Thanksgiving week, I asked my parents if I could bring Jeana to Thanksgiving dinner. This was pretty much a first for me. Shelley Talbot had come over several times back when we were seeing each other, but we had also been working on the Science Fair together, and besides, since neither of us could drive, a parent always was around. Jeana was the only girl I had ever asked to bring over.

Hamilton immediately said no, since it was against the rules. Everybody ignored him, and my parents said it would be all right. Mom asked if I had already asked Jeana. I answered, “No, I wanted to clear it with you, first, before asking.” That certainly satisfied my mother, and we all continued to ignore Hamilton.

In retrospect, that was a mistake. The next night at dinner, Mom asked if Jeana was coming to Thanksgiving dinner. I just shook my head. “No, Jeana and her parents are driving up to Long Island to spend the weekend with family. They leave Wednesday after school.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe you can invite her over for Sunday supper afterwards.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad,” parroted a smirking Hamilton. “You won’t be able to use these, will you?!” Everybody at the table turned to look at him, and we stared as he reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of foil wrapped condoms and dumped them on the dining room table. “I found these downstairs.”

My mother gasped, but that was the only sound in the room. I actually saw red for a moment, but managed to grab the table with both hands, and held on until my fingers turned white. By the time my vision cleared, I could see that my father was actually watching me, to see if I would kill my brother. I certainly wanted to.

I don’t know how he did it. Did I leave the padlock loose on the foot locker? Or had he finally figured out how to pick the lock? I never found out. I calmed my breathing and turned to him. The room was still staring at us, and the rubbers on the table. Even Ham was starting to look like maybe he had overplayed his hand. “Have you absolutely lost your mind? Dumping a box of condoms on the table in front of your mother, your grandmother, and your little sister? What in God’s name are you thinking?” I asked quietly.

The mention of my sister and grandmother roused Mom from her shocked silence. “Suzie, help your grandmother upstairs to her room, and stay with her.” Nana really was out of it these days, and I’m not sure she really understood what was happening.

“But Mom…!”

“Suzie, go now, and take your grandmother. Don’t make me tell you again.” Then she turned to Ham. “Go to your room now, mister.”

Before he could get up, I said, “No, Hamilton, go into the living room and stay there. Do not go downstairs.”

This was very confusing to the others, so Mom simply said, “Go to your room.”

Again, I interjected, “Go to the living room and sit down and stay there.” I looked at my mother. “It’s obvious he has gotten into my stuff. If he goes down there now, we won’t know what else he’ll destroy or steal before I can check.”

Hamilton immediately protested his innocence, stating I had just left the box of rubbers out in the open. Mom looked at my father, who said, “Hamilton, go up to your mother’s and my bedroom, and sit down, and if you even think about touching anything, you won’t sit for a week. Now, go.”

Again he tried to protest, but my father was furious. If he could have reached him through me, Dad would have smacked him right then and there. Hamilton went upstairs.

Once he was gone, Mom looked at me coldly, and said, “How dare you do this!?”

I stared at her in amazement. “Excuse me?”

“How dare you bring those… things… into my house!”

I simply couldn’t believe it! Hamilton breaks into my locked possessions, ransacks through them, and then has the gall to dump rubbers on the dining room table — and it’s my fault! “You are kidding me, right?” I asked.

Mom swung at me, but since my seat was actually closer to the other end of the table, I just moved my head back and she missed completely. She tried a second time, half rising out of her chair, and I caught her wrist. “Mother, we’ve been over this before. You are not going to ever hit me again.” I glanced over at my father, who was easily in reach to deck me.

“Shirley, settle down.” He looked at me coldly. “Don’t ever touch your mother again, or it will be me you’ll be dealing with.”

“It will be the last day I live in this house if I do.” I replied.

I let Mom’s arm go, and she moved to hit me again, but Dad barked out, “I said to knock it off, both of you.”

I sat back in my chair and looked at him. “I just want to know how it is that he busts into my foot locker, steals my possessions, dumps them on the table, and it is my fault. Just explain it to me, please!”

“Don’t push it, mister. That’s the only thing you have going for you in this mess as it is,” he answered.

“Again, excuse me?” I asked incredulously. “Explain to me what I have done wrong!”

“Those!” cried Mom, pointing at the rubbers still on the table. “Get them off my dining room table! How dare you have them out!”

I reached out and grabbed the little envelopes and stuffed them in my pants pocket, holding one back. “These, Mom? These. You know perfectly well what they are. They are prophylactic condoms for the purpose of birth control, and you and Dad have been using them for years. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Mom gasped, but Dad just rolled his eyes. “What!?” she demanded, sputtering.

“Mother, stop it. I have emptied the garbage cans around here for a while now, and I have seen the torn foil wrappers. Please, for the love of God, stop treating me like a child. I knew perfectly well what they were for then, and I know perfectly well what they are for now.”

“It’s that Jeana girl, isn’t it. She’s the one you’re having sex with. And you wanted to bring her here to my house! How dare you!”

This was going nowhere. “Mother, I have never even been to bed with Jeana. To the best of my knowledge, she’s a virgin. I have been using these, as needed, for quite a while, and no, I will not tell you with who.”

This totally stumped her, and she turned her face to Dad. “Are you just going to sit there?”

“Or do what? What do you want me to do, Shirley?” he asked.

“Well, do something! He’s your son! Make him behave!”

I buried my head in my hands as I listened to them argue. Mom wanted me to go back to being four years old, Dad wanted this to all go away, and it was all my fault, regardless. I finally was just so sick and tired of it, I stood up. They both stopped and stared at me. “Where do you think you’re going?” asked my father.

“I am going downstairs. I have had enough of this.”

“The hell you are!”

“Yes, the hell I am!” I replied. “This just totally blows my mind. Hamilton is free to break into my possessions and do any damn thing he wants, and I’m the one getting yelled at for acting responsibly when I am with a girl. I’m glad he hasn’t shot me; I’d hate to get in trouble for getting blood on his bullets! If you have anything else to yell at me about, I’ll be down in my room checking my belongings.”

I left them yelling at each other in the dining room. Eventually I heard them yelling at Hamilton upstairs. By then I had determined that he had only gotten into the one foot locker. It seemed like as soon as he saw the rubbers, he figured he had hit the mother lode, and took them and left everything else.

Eventually, Hamilton was returned, crying and holding his bottom. Dad pointed at me and I followed him out to the family room. “Keep that stuff locked up in the future,” he said.

“Hey, I thought I had.”

“Well, double check in the future. And forget about bringing Jeana over until your mother has had a chance to calm down.”

He waited for me to say something. I just nodded. “Okay, but he is getting totally out of control. He needs help, professional help, and you know exactly what I mean.”

“Not going to happen,” Dad responded.

I just nodded again. “Then be warned. This is the end of it. He does anything else, anything at all, and I am history. I will pack my shit up and leave. How much longer do I have to live like this before I wake up some night with him coming after me with a knife or baseball bat.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Last time, Dad, last time!”

I slept out in the family room that night. Our bedroom, which had been the garage previously, still had the original doorknob on it. This meant it was actually an exterior lock, with the latch on the inside, so that you could lock the door and prevent people coming in through the garage. I flipped the latch when I went to bed, locking him in the room. I just didn’t trust him.

I couldn’t understand how much worse Hamilton was this time versus the last time. He had always been a problem, and had hated me back then, too, but now it was far worse. I remember thinking that it was because he was two years younger than me, and had to follow in my tracks, with the same teachers, on the same school bus, and everybody expected him to be just like me. I had thought that must have been infuriating to him, but after a while, I figured that was the most narcissistic thing I had ever come up with. Now, I wasn’t so sure. It seemed that the more successful I became, in school or otherwise, the more antagonistic he became.

Now, the more I thought of it, the more I thought I was right all those years. The only thing different was me. Mom and Dad and Suzie were still the same, but my behavior was different. On my first incarnation I had fought constantly with Ham, but wasn’t otherwise a threat to his self image. Now, I didn’t fight, no matter what he did to provoke me. Worse was that by any measure, I was far more successful than he was at school. In that first life he could argue to be smarter, even if I was more socially successful. Now he was under a stricter discipline (I didn’t get hit anymore) and I was getting privileges (cars) long before he would.

It was becoming noticeable to others as well. On my first trip through, Hamilton had been in the Towsontown Junior Science Fair when I was a junior at Towson High. He hadn’t won, but neither had I, and he had entered. This year he had loudly refused to even enter. He had also been mouthing off to any teacher at Towsontown who compared the two of us, earning him detentions, which he had never gotten before.

I slept in the family room another couple of nights, through Thanksgiving, safely. There were too many eyes on him over the next couple of days for him to get into any more trouble. He did make an ass of himself at Thanksgiving, though. Nana wasn’t doing well, and she stayed in her room. That left my parents, Aunt Peg and Uncle Jack, Aunt Nan and Uncle Fred, and Grandpa at the main table. As the oldest of the grandkids, I got promoted to the big table. Hamilton had a full blown temper tantrum, demanding that he sit there as well. He was finally sent to his room without dinner.

It was on Friday that the lid blew off. Everybody had the day off. Mom and Dad took a day off, and school was out. Mom and my aunts went shopping, and then came home. Everything was very quiet, up until dinner. Friday was leftovers, of course, but the feast was always big enough to serve a second meal, allowing me to have some more oyster stuffing. I didn’t complain. It was a few minutes before six when the doorbell rang. I was in the living room, along with Mom, and she opened the door to find a Maryland State Trooper standing there.

“Hello,” she said, curious as to why the State Police were at the front door.

“Is this the residence of Carling Buckman?” he asked.

Mom gave me a look of ‘Now what?’ but kept her mouth shut. After all, I had been home the entire day with Dad. I stepped forward. “I’m Carl Buckman. Come on in.”

The trooper stepped inside. “Mister Buckman, are you the owner of the yellow Ford Galaxie parked over there?” He pointed at my car, and I followed his gaze.

It was my car, parked behind Mom’s. Dad’s car was on the other side of the corner. “Uh, yeah, that’s my car. What’s wrong, officer?” Always be polite to large men with guns, that’s my motto!

“Mister Buckman, a few minutes ago, as I was making a patrol through the neighborhood, I noticed someone trying to do something with your car. I put my spotlight on them and they ran off, but they dropped these items. I think somebody was trying to vandalize your car.” He held up a funnel and a plastic measuring cup. The cup was mostly empty, but I wet my finger and reached in, to find some crystals on the bottom. I touched my finger to my tongue. Sugar!

“Somebody was trying to put sugar in my gas tank!” I exclaimed.

“Do you know who might want to do this, sir?”

My mind was blank. By now, my father had come in, and Mom sketched out the problem. Then I took another look at the funnel and measuring cup. I whirled around. “Where’s Hamilton?”

“What?” asked Dad. Mom simply looked shocked.

“Who is Hamilton?” asked the trooper.

I ignored him for a moment. I pointed at the measuring cup and the funnel. “That’s one of our measuring cups, and one of our kitchen funnels. Now, where is Hamilton?” I went to the top of the stairs to the family room and yelled down, “Hamilton? You there, Hamilton?” The silence was deafening.

Mom was frantically trying to protest this couldn’t be possible, and Dad was staring at the funnel and measuring cup. Again, the trooper asked who Hamilton was, only this time in a tone demanding an answer.

“Hamilton is my younger brother.” I picked up a family picture off an end table. “Was this the person you saw?” I said, pointing at my brother.

Mom tried to snatch the picture away, but Dad was in the way. The trooper, whose nametag said ‘Johnson’, admitted he couldn’t tell for sure, since whoever it was had been wearing a winter coat. “Green and yellow?” I asked.

“It might have been.”

“This is crazy! Officer, you must be mistaken. I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” interrupted my mother.

Dad kept between my mother and the rest of us. She was squawking incoherently, and I was telling Trooper Johnson I wanted the criminal found and sent to jail. Just then, we all heard the back door open. The master criminal had returned without ever checking to see if the cops were still around.

Mom whirled out of Dad’s arms and ran to the stairs. “Hamilton, go to your room, right now!”

“Like hell!” Dad stormed down the stairs and dragged my brother up, still wearing his green and yellow winter coat.

Mom was screeching for the cop to leave, but he stood there for a moment and said, “That’s who I saw.” Mom started crying at this, and my brother actually peed his pants; you could see the stain form and run down his legs. My father was disgusted with them both, and sent them both to their rooms. He came back to the living room and crossed his arms, waiting for somebody to say something.

The trooper looked at me. “Officer, let me ask you a couple of questions. Will you be writing a report of this up tonight?”

“Wait a minute…” interjected Dad.

I held my hand up to stop him, and looked the trooper in the eye. He glanced at Dad, but said, “Yes, I will.”

“Does what you have seen tonight constitute enough evidence to have my brother arrested?”

He shrugged at that. “Arrested, yes. Convicted, who knows? He’s underage, anyway.”

“Can I pick up a copy of that report tomorrow?”

I got a sharp look at that. “Yes, I can make one available. Why?”

“And if I decide to press charges, how long will I have to do that in?”

Dad started squawking loud enough now that I really missed the answer, but I just didn’t care. If I couldn’t manage my plan now, it wouldn’t matter. I thanked the trooper and sent him on his way.

Once the trooper left, Mom tried to come back downstairs, but Dad angrily ordered her back to her room. We settled into the armchairs. “Well?” he asked me tiredly.

“I can’t live like this. Do you have any idea how much a new engine would have cost? Were you going to pay for it? He certainly doesn’t have any money. What’s next, slashing my tires? Bricks through my windshield? I’m already living with my stuff under lock and key, and sleeping on the couch. What’s next?” I asked.

Dad rubbed his face. “I don’t know, Carling. I just don’t know.”

“I’m moving out, Dad. As soon as I can find a place, I’m moving out.”

“You can’t do that. You’re only sixteen.”

“So what? If I stay here, I won’t live long enough to grow old enough to move. Do you honestly think he’s going to stop? Honestly?”

Dad looked like he was going to cry. I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same way when Alison was diagnosed as learning disabled.

I had to keep pushing. “Dad, either I do this with your help, or I do it on my own. If I have to, I will load everything into the car and just leave, and you will never see me again in your life. Do you really want that? Do you only want one child you can call a son?”

“No. We’ll do this tomorrow.” He looked defeated by it all. All my life my father had been bigger than life, but not tonight. I made myself dinner and ate it in the family room, by myself.

It might seem very unusual that the State Police would be making patrols through our residential neighborhood, but actually it was fairly common. Ridgefield Road was the main thoroughfare between York Road and Dulaney Valley Road without getting on the Baltimore Beltway. People used to whip through the neighborhood at sixty plus miles an hour! At least once a month somebody would have a fender bender somewhere on the road, and at least three times I knew of accidents with people slamming into school buses. It got so bad that by the Eighties, the County actually blocked off the entrance to York Road, eliminating the craziness. You had to go up to the end of the road and then go another block out of the way up to Greenridge to get into the development.

I remember one time when we were kids, Ray and Joey Bravo and I were throwing snowballs at cars from the hillside across from our house. I nailed this one car a good one, right on the windshield. Then I noticed the bright red star on the license plate — I had just hammered an unmarked trooper! I don’t think the three of us stopped running until we hit the Pennsylvania line!

I slept in the family room again that night, after locking Hamilton in his room. The next day I unlocked his door when I went out running. Mom ignored the entire situation, as if it was all just a bad dream, so I ignored Mom. It was a real shit sandwich as far as my parents were concerned. Back on my first run through, even then I knew my brother was fucked up, but who listens to a kid. I got out before he lost it. Now, he was losing control early. The more successful I became, the loonier he became. Worse, the social stigma to having a crazy kid was immense. You didn’t send somebody to a shrink unless they were foaming at the mouth, and maybe not even then.

Dad came down to breakfast to find me going through the classified ads. He looked over my shoulder and saw me going through the section for apartments. He sat down next to me. “You’re serious about this?”

I looked up at him. “I have to. It’s the best way, Dad.”

“Your mother will never allow it.”

“She will if you tell her she will.” This was true. The one person in the world Mom would always listen to, no matter what, was my father. Their love was straight out of the books. No matter what, they would be there for the other. Dad still didn’t look convinced. “Dad, there are very few good ways for this to end. Choice One — I stay here and Hamilton keeps on being crazy. Sooner or later one of us is going to kill the other one, and I am not being humorous. Either he will kill me, or I will kill him while defending myself.” Dad grimaced at the thought, but didn’t argue.

“Choice Two — you and Mom do nothing and I decide not to put up with it. I leave. I don’t care what you think you can do to me, but short of chaining me in the crawlspace, I will leave. You can take my car, my possessions, my money, whatever. I will still leave and you will never see me again in this lifetime.”

“Or Choice Three — I move out. I’ll pay for the apartment. You keep me on your medical insurance. You sign away all rights to my brokerage accounts. I don’t sue for emancipation. And we stay some semblance of a family. It’s your choice.” I leaned back in my chair and looked at him. The emancipation was a long shot at best. Short of physical or sexual abuse, it is practically impossible to pull it off in Maryland without a parent’s consent.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but then picked up the newspaper. “Just what did you have in mind for a budget?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a couple of hundred a month. I don’t need much. I just need a one bedroom place for the next couple of years. Not even that, actually. I would appreciate your help.”

“Spend a bit more and get a furnished apartment.”

I nodded in agreement. We looked through the listings for furnished apartments in Towson and Lutherville. Some he knew about and warned me away from, either from the neighborhood or the landlord. A few others he circled on the page, for a call later. After lunch we made some telephone calls. He took point, since it makes a world of difference when a father is looking for an apartment versus a teenager is looking for an apartment. He simply would tell people that I was looking to start at Towson State in the spring, and would leave out my age, or the fact that I was also still in high school.

We drove around to a few places that afternoon. The first was a real dive, but the second was quite nice. It was a walkup over a garage, in a residential neighborhood about a half mile from Towson High. It was an older neighborhood, with a detached garage, and the owners of the property had made an apartment for an uncle over the garage. He had moved into a nursing home, and the apartment was available. It was about a thousand square feet footprint, but taking into account the kneewalls for the 12/12 roof, actually was about only 800 square feet. It had a small kitchenette and dining area, a small living room, and a small bedroom with a three-quarters bath. It even had a stackable laundry. I didn’t think twice about it. I wrote a check for the first and last month’s rent, along with a security deposit.

I was responsible for electric, but they handled water, sewer and taxes. They would call Ma Bell and have phone service restored. I would move in on Monday afternoon.

As I expected, none of this sat all that well back at the Buckman residence that night. Mom refused to allow it, but I would let Dad handle that. Hamilton was torn between his delight that I was leaving and his demand to be allowed to do this also. I ignored it all, and scrounged up some boxes to move stuff in. Dad would take off work Monday afternoon early, and help me pack and move. What I didn’t tell anybody, even Dad, was that I would come back at lunch on Tuesday, while everybody else was gone, and pack up the stuff in our room that was actually mine but that Hamilton had claimed was his. In particular, I wanted my collection of Analog: Science Fiction and Science Fact magazines, which would become quite valuable in future years. He couldn’t begin to claim them, since my name was on the subscription. I knew he would scream, but I really didn’t care. The little asshole shitcanned it all when I went off to college, along with anything else I left behind.

I moved in Monday afternoon, and promptly made a list of crap to buy at Woolworth’s. That was the original ‘five and dime’ store, and back in ’71 nobody east of the Mississippi had ever heard of Wal-Mart. I bought cleaning supplies and a set of sheets for the regular size bed. It was a bit lumpy, but it was better than a couch, while having to lock away my brother at nights. I cleaned that little apartment until I was exhausted, and then went to bed without even bothering to make it.

Ever since I came back I had wondered if I was going to have to relive my life in every excruciating detail, as well as put up with parents who treated somebody old enough to be their parent as a child. Turns out I didn’t have to. I don’t know who won. The battle sucked.

Chapter 17: Independence

Well, it sounded like a good idea at the time…

After all, isn’t a swinging bachelor pad the dream of every high school kid in America? Wild parties every night! Nobody to tell you NO! You can drink and do drugs and get laid whenever you want! Right?

Well, maybe yes and maybe no. The getting is one thing, the keeping is another. For one thing, somebody has to pay for this. I was figuring that I could live in the apartment and be independent for about $6k a year. Figure another grand or two for additional living expenses — wine, women, and song. I had roughly $50k in the brokerage account. At 10 % appreciation a year, which was the average market growth during the period, that didn’t cover the $6k. I was doing much better than that, of course, but I still needed to conserve my funds. Fortunately, I knew what was going to happen to Ling-Temco-Vought and Gulf+Western, and Intel had their IPO earlier this year. Still, I needed to watch my pennies. It wasn’t going to be parties every night.

My big dilemma with my funds was that I needed to conserve and build my cash for the two upcoming events which would make me a multi-millionaire. In 1973 oil was going to skyrocket, and in 1979 silver was going to go even higher (relatively speaking) before collapsing back. The more money I managed to make and save now, the more I would be able to leverage then. I figured I could conservatively manage ten-fold returns on every dollar in 1973, and more than that in 1979. I was reading the Wall Street Journal and Fortune religiously.

Another reason was that all of this took time. Time to cook, time to do wash, time to clean house. This was all on top of time to do homework, time to run and exercise, and time to go to aikido class. I even contemplated quitting the pizzeria, to free up some time, but at least that provided some income. The only way to handle it was through rock solid discipline and time management. The average sixteen year old would never be able to handle it. By now I must be at least seventy, depending on how you count it. I had discipline to spare.

The one thing I knew I didn’t want to do was let everybody know I had moved out of my house. If the rest of the school thought I had my own place, I would be under never ending pressure to be the party spot every weekend and most weeknights. Leaving aside that this didn’t actually appeal all that much to me, telling people no would piss them off. Far simpler to not let them know. It would come out eventually, but better later than sooner.

Not that I was going to live as a monk. Tuesday, after school, I met up with one of the guys I knew, one of the Vo-Tech crew who looked like he was better at robbing liquor stores than buying from them. Really, he was a very nice guy who just liked to ride and repair motorcycles. He ended up owning a Harley-Davidson franchise and did very well for himself. James ‘Tusker’ Tusk was in the tenth grade like me, but had been held back a year, and looked older anyway. I had him drive his car over to Towson Liquors with a list and a fifty. He drove back to school and we transferred it to my trunk. I let him keep the change and a couple of sixes of beer. I let him think I was stocking up for a party.

I carried it up to the apartment covered with an old blanket, and then poured myself a shot of Black Velvet. It had been a long time since I had a drink! Felt good. After that I made myself a Seven & Seven, and did my chores around the place. The biggest problem with living as a bachelor, which I remembered from my first go-around, was that if I made a nice meal, I always ended up with leftovers. All my recipes were family sized.

The one person I knew I was going to have to tell was the one I was most nervous about — Jeana. I wasn’t worried about her telling anybody, but she might not be all that thrilled about a boyfriend that independent. Certainly her parents wouldn’t be! Dating is one thing, when the only place you can be alone with a girl is the back seat of the car in winter. A boyfriend with his own apartment is quite a different matter!

It had to be faced, however. The Monday after Thanksgiving, the same day I was moving into the apartment, Jeana told me that she would be able to come over to the house for dinner the following weekend. This was after my offer to her to bring her over at Thanksgiving, which she couldn’t attend. I ducked it by saying I would have to check with my mother, and then ducked it again later in the week, by saying we had guests coming in from out of town and we would have to wait. She just nodded in understanding. The following Monday, she asked again.

I was going to have to face this at some point. We had been dating three or four weeks already, and Jeana had already accepted when I asked her to the Christmas Dance at the school. I asked if she wanted to see my house that afternoon. Her eyes lit up, and after school I helped carry her books to the Galaxie and we took off. I drove over to the house, but parked across the street, and didn’t move to get out.

Jeana didn’t recognize where we were or understand why we had parked here but were sitting in the car. I turned to her and said, “Jeana, this is actually very painful and very personal. I have to ask you, please, not to tell anybody what I am about to tell you. Nobody, not your friends, and certainly not your parents, and I can’t tell you why until you agree.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, confusion tinting her voice.

“I know, but I am asking you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

She nodded slightly. “Yes.”

I nodded in return. I pointed out the windshield at the house. “That is my parent’s house. I grew up in that house, but I moved out a week ago. I have my own apartment now. I live on my own.”

“I don’t understand! What do you mean you moved out? You don’t live at home? You’re only sixteen.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m only sixteen. My brother — I think I’ve mentioned he’s a real pain?” She nodded agreement. “My brother, he’s more than a pain. He’s actually somewhat unstable. He’s dangerous, or at least with me he is. I had to move out, for my own safety. I made an agreement with my folks to move to an apartment in town. I moved out a week ago.”

Jeana looked shocked. “Can’t you go to the cops? About your brother, I mean.”

I shrugged and gave her a wry grin. “If only it was that simple.” I put the car in Drive. “Come on, let me show you where I live now.” We drove back over towards school, and I parked in my slot at the side of the garage. “I live upstairs.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. Just don’t tell your parents. They won’t be happy about any of this.”

I don’t think she actually believed me until I unlocked the door to the apartment and let her in. I played the gracious host, taking her coat and ushering her to an armchair in my living room area. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Jeana smiled. “What do you have?”

“That’s actually a very good question.” I opened up the refrigerator and peered in. “There’s some Coke… some OJ… a couple of beers…” I glanced over at her. “I don’t think your parents want me taking you home smelling like either a brewery or a distillery.”

“You’ve got beer!?” she asked, shocked.

“Liquor, too, if you’re interested. I suspect your parents will send us both to jail if they found out, so please don’t tell them,” I replied. I pulled out some Cokes. “How about a Coke? Then you can tell me what you like and the next time you visit I’ll have something for you.”

She nodded and I poured some Coca Cola over ice for us. I brought it over and sat down on the couch facing her. “Not exactly what you expected, is it?”

Jeana drank some of her Coke and then came over and sat next to me on the couch. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

“Oh, Christ, what happened? Okay, you asked. Don’t say I never warned you.” I lay back against the arm of the couch and Jeana cuddled up against me, and looked up at me with those brown eyes. I told her most of it, though I left out the part about Hamilton dumping the rubbers at the table. I really didn’t think that was a good topic to bring up with a young virgin I was planning on seducing.

She was silent at the end, and I wondered if I had put her to sleep, but then she stirred and crawled up my body and kissed me. “I am so sorry. What can I do to help?”

Oh, Jeana, if you only knew. “You help just be being here. That’s all I need.”

“So why all the secrecy?” she asked.

“What do you think is going to happen when everyone in the world knows I am living on my own? Do you think your parents are going to let you come over here to visit? Do you think half the school is going to think they can come over here to party all the time? Can you think of anything positive that will result?”

“Do you really think that will happen?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea! I’d never get anything done! And do you really think your parents are going to approve of this?”

She smiled ruefully at that. “Well, probably not.”

“Probably? Do you think there is any possibility whatsoever that your father would want you to be alone in my apartment on my couch while I was doing wicked things with you?” I leaned my face down to kiss her on the lips.

Jeana moaned slightly and crawled higher up, and in doing so my cock stiffened. It was my turn to start groaning. “How wicked?”

“Wicked, wicked, wicked…” I held her tightly and we began making out on the couch. If I have to spend my life alone, I definitely prefer it to be with a cuddly and beautiful young woman. I didn’t get too ‘fresh’ with her, limiting my hands to roaming all over her back and rear. I did determine she was wearing a rather substantial bra with a rear buckle, but hey, Jeana was packing some serious hooters; she needed a serious bra. We kissed with a lot of tongue action and some mutual groans and moans for about an hour, and then I rolled off her and took several deep breaths while sitting on the floor.

“Honey, we keep going like that, I’m not going to get you home until it is way too late!”

Jeana was breathing just as hard, and looked at least as flustered as I did. “I think we should go.”

I just nodded and pointed her towards the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face at the kitchen sink, and then used the bathroom after she got out. When I exited the bathroom, I found her standing in the doorway to my bedroom. “Is that where I get to find out about the Carl Buckman Experience?” she asked.

I just groaned and rolled my eyes. “You keep kissing me like earlier, and you’ll get that experience sooner than you think.”

“I just think the bed might be more comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation?” I asked.

Jeana blushed. “Not just yet!”

I grabbed her coat. “Then don’t tease! Let’s get you home before I regret letting you go.”

I got her home in time for dinner, explaining that I had taken Jeana over to the house, which was technically true. I didn’t stick around, but went home and made myself some canned beef stew. Then I did a shitload of homework and went to bed.

I called home the next afternoon. It took me two tries, since the first time Hamilton picked up, hung up, and took the phone off the hook. Fifteen minutes later I called back, and Suzie answered. She bellowed for Mom, and a moment later I heard the click as Mom picked up the phone, and then a second click as Suzie hung up. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Carling! It’s so good to hear from you. How are you? Are you ready to end this foolishness and move back home yet?”

Trust my mother to blow off my moving out as foolishness. Just then, to act as a counterpoint to her argument, I heard another click on the line. “No, Mom, I’m not moving home.” I raised my voice. “Hamilton, hang up the phone. It’s very rude.”

I could suddenly hear the telephone being muffled, and a faint “Hamilton, are you on the phone?!” being called out. There was another click on the line, and Mom called out a second time, and then she said, “Carl, nobody was on the line. Stop picking on your brother like that!”

“Right, Mom. Here’s another good story — the check is in the mail.”

“Carling, stop it!”

I shrugged to myself. “Okay, Mom, the reason I called was to see if you and Dad were going to be home on Sunday.”

“Where else would we be? Why?”

“I’d like to bring Jeana over for a few minutes after church. Would that be all right?” I answered.

“Oh, that would be lovely. What do you think she would like for dinner? Maybe I can see if your aunts and uncles can come over, too…” Mom started rattling on, planning our engagement party.

“No, Mom, nothing like that. We won’t be coming for dinner. She just asked and I offered to bring her over. We’ll be there maybe an hour, tops. No family, Mom.”

“But Carl…” she protested.

“No, Mom. And one other thing. If Ham isn’t on his best behavior, and I mean good enough for the White House, we’ll never be back.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me!”

“Best behavior, Mom!”

We said good-bye after that. All in all it was a strange and strained conversation. I decided to call Dad at his office tomorrow. At least he wasn’t going to try and tell me how I misunderstood my brother.

I asked Jeana the next morning if she wanted to come over to my place on Sunday for dinner. She gave me a funny look and said, “I thought you didn’t live at home anymore.”

I returned her funny look. “I don’t. Why?”

“Then who’s making dinner?”

“Well, I am, of course. Anything in particular you’d like?”

“You cook!?” she asked, astonished.

I gave her a peeved look. “Yes, I cook! I’ll have you know I took two years of home ec at Towsontown Junior High! I was an honors graduate of their fine dining tradition!”

She started laughing at me. “I don’t know what’s funnier, that you can cook or that you took home ec. You really took home economics?”

I held my hand up and made the Scout Sign. “Would I lie? What do you want me to make?”

“Me?”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make it.”

“You’re serious?” she asked. I nodded. “Pheasant under glass!”

I smiled. “Too many leftovers. And no glass. But I could do a chicken or small turkey.”

“God, no! We just had a turkey! You’re actually serious about cooking, aren’t you?” she said.

“I am. I am quite competent in the kitchen. I gather your father doesn’t do much in the kitchen?”

“Daddy can’t get his own ice cubes!”

I laughed at that. God knows I’ve seen many men like that. Some women, too. I married one. “Do you like seafood?”

Her eyes lit up. “I love seafood!”

“How about shrimp scampi over noodles, with garlic bread on the side, and perhaps some white wine, a nice Pinot Grigio for example.”

“For real?”

“Trust me on this. It will be delicious,” I assured her.

“Okay, you’re on, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Trust me!”

“Make sure you have some hamburger thawed out, just in case!” She kissed me and went off to class.

This was really a no-brainer for a guy, any guy. If you pull it off, you look like a suave and sophisticated man of the world. If you fumble it, you look like you tried and she gets to rescue you. There is no downside. I wasn’t going to fumble it, either. This was a family favorite that I learned from my mother. Aside from the shrimp, it is fairly inexpensive. I had already copied the recipe before I moved out. I had everything, including the wine, by Friday afternoon.

I traded off Sunday hours for a Saturday afternoon shift at the pizzeria. That evening I told her I was making the weekend all about her. Jeana’s eyes lit up. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. This is your weekend. Tonight, pick out whatever movie you want, no matter how much of a girlie movie it is, and tomorrow I cook for you.”

“I still can’t believe you’re cooking for me. My friends will never believe it!”

I smiled. “Just don’t tell them I’m cooking for you at my apartment. Tell them I’m doing the cooking over at ‘his house’ and imply my parents were there.”

“So nobody knows you have an apartment.”

“And so none of your girlfriends decide to check out what is obviously a good thing by coming over for their own cooking lessons!” I laughed at her and leaned down to kiss her, squelching her return remarks.

Jeana stuck her tongue out at me. “Just for that, I’m picking out a movie you are going to hate!” I did, too. It was the last weekend The Last Picture Show was playing. We were still a week or two away from the releases of Dirty Harry and Diamonds Are Forever. I promised retribution.

Jeana had asked what to wear to my parents’ to meet them. I had suggested something simple yet sophisticated looking, like a fancy blouse and black slacks. She told me she had both, and I figured that with her trademark high heels she would look elegant and older that she was.

I was right, too. Jeana wore a long sleeved cream colored fitted silk blouse with a high collar, high waisted tight black slacks, and black pumps. She wore just a trace of makeup, and kept her hair tied back with a simple black ribbon. I picked her up shortly after noon, and told her, “You look gorgeous.”

“Is this all right?” she asked nervously.

“Perfect. My mother will love you!”

We made our escape, after promising I would bring her home that evening after supper, although I did say that wouldn’t be until eight or maybe nine. Her parents didn’t care; why should they, I was taking their daughter to meet my parents, not off to my bachelor love shack!

It was somewhat weird sitting in the living room with my parents like guests. They spent several minutes talking to Jeana and asking her the standard questions, like where did she live and what did her parents do. Nana was introduced, but promptly went to her room to lie down. Daisy came bounding up, so I got down on the floor to play with her, and then Suzie bounced through and was very amusing, even asking the question no one dared to ask, which was whether we were going over to my apartment later. I finessed that and said we weren’t really sure, we were going out to dinner. (Yes — out to dinner at the apartment. Not exactly a lie.) Then Suzie was off, followed by Daisy, who had quickly found a new master. Hamilton even made an entrance, although both he and I noticed that our father was watching him like a hawk. He was sent off as quickly as possible. Everybody glossed over the fact that I didn’t want to live there anymore.

All in all, a decidedly awkward afternoon, for all involved.

After about an hour, I figured we had done our duty, and Jeana had met the family. I nudged her tastefully and silently tapped my watch. She nodded and I mentioned that we had to be going, and stood up. Jeana popped up like a little marionette, and despite some pro forma complaints from my mother, we made our escape.

Jeana spoke up first. “You have a very nice family.”

“Thank you. Would you like them? Think of it as the Christmas present that keeps on giving.”

She snorted and laughed. “That’s all right. I already have one of my own.”

“Maybe we can swap. That way you can end up as crazy as I am.”

“They’re not that bad! I think you’re being kind of hard on them.”

I sighed at that. “Yes — and no. You’re right, they’re not that bad. Dad’s okay. Suzie’s a little doll. Nana’s okay but more than a bit flaky these days. I think they’re trying to put her in a home. Even Mom isn’t bad, in a snooty, fancy sort of way. The problem is my brother, who is just totally off the fucking wall batshit crazy and out of control. He drives people away and makes them just as crazy as he is. I just hope Suzie can escape before he drives her around the bend as well.” Before, she had escaped, but he hadn’t been as bad then. Now I wondered.

We got to the apartment and I let Jeana in. Her first comment was, “You’ve done something with the place! It looks different!”

I smiled. “Yes and no. Mostly I’ve been cleaning and getting my stuff put away. I did pick up a few things. Does it look better?”

“You bet!” she gushed. “Can you come over and work on my room?”

“Absolutely! Right after I get written permission from your father to spend the afternoon in your bedroom with you!”

Jeana blushed. “Let me think about that.”

I took our coats and hung them in the closet. “While you’re thinking about it, I need to start dinner.”

“You were serious about cooking!?”

“Very.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

I grabbed one of the bar stools I had bought and brought it into the kitchen. “You can sit up here and inspire me to greatness.”

Jeana giggled and climbed onto the stool and crossed her legs. “Inspire you?”

“You have no idea!” I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. I know it’s supposed to be cooled, not cold, but I figured Jeana wouldn’t know and I didn’t have a wine cooler available. “Wine?” I asked.

“You were serious about that, too?”

“Absolutely.” I pulled out a couple of small glasses from a cupboard, and fished a corkscrew out of a drawer. I didn’t have any stemware, but I was able to pick up a decent set of glassware and Corelleware dishes at Hutzlers using Mom’s 20 % employee discount. “I think you’ll like this. At least I hope you’ll like it. It’s a Pinot Grigio, sort of an Italian Chardonnay, not too dry.” I pulled the cork and poured her a small bit in her glass. “Try it.”

She looked a little dubious, but I don’t think Jeana had much experience with wine. She sipped it and looked at me in confusion. “What do you mean by dry?”

“Dry wines don’t have as much sugar in them as a sweet wine. That’s one of the big differences, dry versus sweet. Some wines are so sweet they only get served with dessert. Others can be so dry and tannic as to be tart. I would think with the last name Colosimo you’ve had wine before.” I opened the refrigerator and took out a one pound bag of shrimp.

“Some, but mostly red. Daddy likes Chianti.”

I dumped the shrimp into the sink and filled it with warm water, and then grabbed a plate and covered it with a paper towel. “Chianti is a dry red wine. It comes in several varieties, from plain Chianti, which is good and inexpensive, but can be a little rough, up through Chianti Classico and Chianti Riserva, which cost a bit more, but can be very smooth.” I started cleaning the shrimp of their shells and tails, and setting them on the paper towel.

Jeana watched me and sipped her wine. “How do you know so much about wine?”

I just smiled. Back in the day, Marilyn and I drank quite a bit of wine. Neither of us was a major beer drinker, but a glass or two of wine a night was very pleasant. She preferred sweeter wines than I, so it was always a trick to find something we both liked. “Every Tuesday night is spaghetti night, and Dad keeps a bottle of cheap Chianti in the basement refrigerator. You know, the type with the twine all wrapped around it that you find with a candle in the top at cheap Italian restaurants?” By Jeana’s smile I could tell she understood exactly what I meant. “Dad calls it Dago Red, and we have it every spaghetti night.”

“Don’t tell Daddy that, but it sounds awfully familiar,” she said with a grin.

We continued talking about wine, and also about family heritage, while I finished cleaning the shrimp. Jeana’s father was from a Sicilian family, while her mother was from a Milanese background, so they had quite a selection of Italian foods and wines to choose from. Once I was finished with the shrimp, I set that to the side, and drained the sink and dried my hands. I pulled out the pots and pans I would need, along with the spices, noodles, and minced clams. I set my recipe on the counter, where Jeana grabbed it and started reading.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” she asked.

“It looks more complicated than it actually is. I need to get everything going at once, because of the timing, but once I start cooking, we’ll probably be eating twenty minutes later. If you want to help, you can set the table,” I replied. I filled a large pot with water, to cook the noodles in, and pointed out where the dishes and silverware were.

Jeana quickly set the table and then came back over. “What next?”

I kissed her quickly. “Thank you. Okay, if you want to help, take the garlic bread out of the freezer and put it on this baking sheet.” Jeana popped over to the fridge and pulled out the foil wrapped garlic bread. It was a store prepared loaf, heat up and serve. She read the instructions on the wrapper carefully and opened the package up and spread the two halves of the loaf out on the baking sheet. I also had her preheat the oven.

Meanwhile, I prepared all the ingredients so that I just had to mix and cook them, measuring out my spices into a small cup, and opening up the can of minced clams. I did this all while the water for the noodles was heating. Meanwhile, we continued talking about cooking while we sipped our wine. Finally, as the water began to boil, I said, “Show time!”

Jeana hopped back up onto her bar stool and I went into action. I used to make this in an electric skillet, but it was just as easy on the gas range. First I started with some olive oil in a skillet which I heated up, which I used to cook up some garlic. Once that was ready, I tossed in the shrimp, and cooked them, not completely, but making sure they didn’t stick to the pan. Once they were cooked, I poured in some of Ernest and Julio’s white wine from the jug, which deglazed the pan. I know that they say they make no wine before its time (or was that some other winery?) but I generally only use it for cooking.

At this point I took a break and put the garlic bread in the oven to warm up, and threw the noodles into the boiling water. After a few minutes in the wine, I added the clam juice from the minced clams and some marinara sauce, and started making the broth, letting the shrimp absorb the flavors. Next, I added the clams themselves, and finished with butter and oregano. By the time I was done, the bread was ready to come out of the oven, and the noodles were ready to drain.

Jeana offered to help, so I let her take care of the bread, while I drained the noodles through a colander. The shrimp went into a big serving bowl, the noodles into another bowl, and the bread into a basket. Off we went to the table. Elapsed time, 23 minutes. Jeana swooned as soon as she took a bite of the scampi. “Oh my God, that’s amazing!”

I grinned. “You like it?” It really is a great recipe, and my wife and kids liked it as much as my family did.

“It’s too bad I can’t tell my parents. This is just delicious!” She stuffed another forkful in and blushed. “I feel like a piggy!”

I laughed. “Go ahead, tell them. Just tell them I cooked it, not that it was at my apartment.” I used some of the garlic bread to sop up the gravy.

“They’ll never believe me. My father can’t imagine a guy cooking. He’d have a heart attack if I told him you took home economics!”

We both laughed at that. In the future it would become common for boys to take home ec, but not in the Sixties and Seventies. In fact, it created a minor stir once. My son Parker was a notoriously quiet and even fellow. It was almost impossible to rile him up, to the point where occasionally a bully mistook him for being weak. Once, in the eleventh grade, at a band concert in the late spring, some loudmouth decided to push him around, and knock him into a wall. Parker was surprisingly agile and strong, and whipped around and punched the much larger kid in the nose, breaking it and spraying blood all over. There were plenty of witnesses, and even the principal told me later the kid had it coming, so Parker wasn’t in any trouble.

The funny part was that Parker’s quiet reputation was over, and he became known as ‘One Punch Buckman’ around town. The next weekend, at the school’s honor banquet, ‘One Punch’ took the top prize in Home Economics. All around the banquet room, fathers and friends were turning towards me and I could see their mouths moving, as if to say, ‘One Punch? Home Economics!?’, in disbelief.

“So, I’ll come over some night and cook for your family. They’ll believe then.”

“You will?” Jeana stared at me and shook her head.

“Sure, why not,” I said with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders. “Let me think. Next weekend is the Christmas Dance, and we’re going to be busy. The weekend after that is Christmas. The weekend after that is New Year’s. Why don’t you tell your mother I’ll cook for her the weekend after that.”

“They will never believe me!”

“I’ll give you a list before then, nothing special, just some chicken and ham and spices.” I had in mind coq au vin, a French chicken and wine recipe that could be scaled up or down to any size dinner party.

“That would just blow their minds! You have to promise me you’ll do that!” she said, laughing.

“I know a way to cook chicken so that it will melt in your mouth and make you want to change your heritage from Italian to French,” I replied, laughing just as hard.

We finished our meal, after having generous seconds. There was just enough left over for me to make a one person meal during the week. We also finished our wine, and while I was tempted to pour some from the jug, I declined. While I have certainly served alcohol to willing women over the years, taking a drunken daughter home would not get me in the good graces of the Colosimo family! After putting away the leftovers, I left the dirty dishes for later, and Jeana and I settled onto my couch.

I sat on the couch, and Jeana sat down next to me, but before I could even think about it, Jeana had twisted around ninety degrees and was laying down, her head in my lap and her body along the length of the couch, and was looking up at me with those big brown eyes. “No more cooking,” she said quietly.

“No more cooking.” I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “What’s a nice girl like you doing with a guy like me?”

I must have given her a sad smile. Jeana wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down for another, more thorough kiss. “I think it’s the other way around. How did I ever get such a great guy like you to be interested in me?”

“It’s the curse of beauty. The more beautiful the girl, the more the guys are like riff-raff. You’re so beautiful, you end up with a bunch of bums chasing you, and I’m just one of them.”

“Oh, so by picking you, I’ve saved myself from Ray Shorn?” she teased.

“Oh, God, now there’s a fate worse than death!” I laughed at that. “I’ll have to tell Ray you said that!”

Jeana tried to punch me, but couldn’t in her present position. Instead she pulled me back down to her. “I think I love you, even if you don’t love yourself.” Then she kissed me with a lot of wet and sloppy tongue action, and I stopped thinking about what she was saying.

Fifteen minutes later, Jeana gave me the biggest surprise of my life, either version. Letting her arms go from around my neck, she stretched out languidly on my lap. “I know a place we’ll be a lot more comfortable doing this.” Her eyes darted over towards the archway to the bedroom.

I gave her a rather surprised look, I’m sure, and glanced in the direction she was indicating. “I’m sure we’ll be a lot more comfortable there, but that might be more comfortable than you can imagine. If we go in there, we might end up doing more than kissing.”

Jeana didn’t even blush. “I know that. It’s just, well, I think I’m ready for another piece of the Carl Buckman Experience.”

I just groaned and rolled my eyes. One of these days I was going to have to thank all my previous lovers. Arsenic seemed appropriate. “Honey, I can think of almost nothing I would like more, but you need to think about that. Once we go in there, there’s no going back. I mean, well…”

Jeana put a finger to my lips. “Let’s go in and get more comfortable and talk about that.” She sat upright, and then twisted and got to her feet. I stayed on the couch, watching and not quite believing it, but she held out her hand and I stood and followed her. It’s important to realize that up until now, I had only been with girls who had already been with guys, and whether they initiated things or I started them, we both knew what was happening and were equally eager for it to happen. Jeana was a virgin, and younger than me. She was only fifteen for God’s sake, and while I had already been with girls even younger than that, I hadn’t been the one to pop their cherries. Jeana was the one instigating this, too. Very unusual, in my experience.

I followed Jeana into my bedroom. She quickly kicked off her pumps and sprawled out on the bed. I sat down next to her and wordlessly kicked off my own shoes, and then lay back next to her. I spread my arms and Jeana curled up next to me. She looked up at me, and said, “We can’t, I mean, I can’t…” She blushed, and then stammered out, “It’s not a good time for the full Carl Buckman Experience! Do you know what I mean?”

Holy Christ! It was that time of the month. I blushed, too, and then cleared my throat. “I understand.”

Jeana looked very relieved. I resigned myself to a massive case of blue balls by the end of the day. “God, I love you!” she said, and then half crawled onto me and began kissing me again.

Jeana was extremely turned on. She was squirming around in my arms, and trying to tongue my tonsils, and I returned the favor. Likewise, while I was usually a gentleman with her, this afternoon, while running my hands over her back, I did a little more, tracing my fingertips along her bra and down her back, and running my hands all over her saucy little rear end. Each of these moves caused some moans from Jeana, and she squirmed fitfully with me.

While she wasn’t too heavy laying on top of me, the position actually limited my actions, so I held her and rolled over to a point she was lying on the bed with me at her side. I continued kissing her lips, but now began to slowly move them, so I was licking her cheeks, nibbling her ears, and moving down her throat. I brought a hand around to begin unbuttoning her silk blouse. This elicited a gasp from her, but she also arched her back, thrusting her breast into my hand. I kneaded it briefly, and then undid her buttons.

I had my eyes open, and I glanced around as best I could, without taking my mouth from her body. Jeana’s eyes were closed, and she had an almost orgasmic expression on her face. Looking down her body, I could see her breasts, heaving as she panted, barely encased by a lacy bra so small I was amazed she owned it. I continued unbuttoning her blouse, and then reached inside and around, and flicked open her bra. It popped off and she sighed happily. Her tits were rather substantial for a fifteen (well, almost sixteen) year old girl, with small nipples and dark areolas. I moved my mouth south and she squealed as I began tonguing and nibbling her tits.

“Oh Carl… oh my God… Carl… oh, oh… don’t stop… oh God!..” Jeana was babbling as I worked her tits over. She was laying there, with one of my legs thrown over hers, and my thigh pressing against her crotch. I wanted to move her a notch higher, so I brought a hand down and pressed it against the front of her slacks, and she went into orbit. Squealing loudly, she began to shake and shiver as she came, and I continued to play with her through her pants for several minutes until she collapsed in exhausted bliss.

Happy with our progress so far, I pulled my hand away and held her in my arms. Jeana shivered for another moment, and then sagged against me. “Oh, Carl!” She was silent for a moment so I backed up and pulled my face up to hers. She had a faint sheen of perspiration to her that I found quite alluring. “So that’s the Carl Buckman Experience?” she asked weakly.

I had to laugh. “No, that’s only the first stage. After this, it gets better.”

“Oh my God! That’s impossible! That’s even better than…” Suddenly her mouth snapped shut and she blushed a deep red.

I had to laugh a second time. “Better than when you do it?” She continued blushing and refused to answer, but she turned her eyes away and then nodded shyly. I just roared in laughter. “Well, next time you’re talking with your friends, ask them if that was part of the Experience. God, I can’t believe you girls actually give it a name, like I’m a ride at an amusement park.”

“That was better than any amusement park!”

“And it only gets better!” I put my hand down on the front of her slacks again, and Jeana got a very nervous look.

“Remember, we can’t… I mean…”

“I remember. Take off your blouse and bra. God, you are so beautiful!”

Jeana sat up and peeled off her blouse and bra, so she was sitting there topless. She really had a nice set of tits. I ended up peeking at her bra later, and it was 34D. I wondered if she had stopped growing, or whether she was going to be larger still. They were very impressive!

I had a raging hard on at this point, so I adjusted myself as best I could. Jeana noticed, and though she blushed slightly, never took her eyes from what I was doing. “Are you…?”

“What? Hard as a rock? You bet! Want to find out?”

Jeana’s eyes opened wide at that. I took her hand and held it to the front of my khakis, and she gasped as she felt my stiffness. As soon as I released her hand, she pulled it away, but I took it again and held it against me. She got the idea and began rubbing me through my pants. I couldn’t help it, and groaned. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

She giggled a little as she began tracing her hand up and down the front of my pants. “I think you like that.”

“Honey, you’d better stop, or I’m going to have a bit of a mess to deal with.” My crotch was throbbing with every stroke of her fingers.

Thankfully, Jeana stopped. “Really? Can I see?”

That opened my eyes up. For a virgin, Jeana Colosimo was very adventurous. “Whatever you want, baby!”

A little unsure, but determined, Jeana reached out and hesitantly began working on my belt. I let her work on her own, though I smiled up at her. She fumbled my belt open and then undid the catch and pulled down my zipper, but didn’t really know what to do next. I lifted my hips up, and she finally got the idea, and pulled my pants down a bit.

“You can pull them down a lot further, Jeana.”

She giggled nervously and pulled them down to my knees. I still had on my briefs, and my cock was just about pulsing inside them, and there was a wet spot near the top. She took a deep breath and yanked my tighty-whiteys down as well, so that I was standing to attention in full view. Jeana gasped as she saw me. “Oh! Wow! I mean, I’ve never… I saw a picture in a magazine once, but… Wow!”

“You surprise me every day! What magazine, and where did you see it?” I asked.

Jeana turned beet red and shook her head violently. “No way!” I just laughed at that. She moved a hand to touch me, but then pulled back. “Can I, you know, touch you?”

“I hope to God you do, because I’m going to explode if you don’t!”

Jean very gingerly touched my cockhead with a fingertip, so lightly I almost didn’t feel it, and then yanked her hand back. She looked at me very nervously, afraid she had done it wrong. I reached out and took her hand and drew it back. I wrapped it around my shaft and used her hand to slide up and down my shaft, jerking me off. “Oh, God!” I moaned. I took my hand away and Jeana continued to jerk me for a moment, and I popped my cork. My jism started spewing in pulses out the tip. Surprised, Jeana yanked her hand away and stared as I just pumped for a moment. Come had sprayed out onto my shirt and her hand. She looked at me nervously.

It took me a moment for my breathing to get back to normal. “I told you I was close,” I said. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off, tossing it in the corner, and then peeled off my undershirt, which I used to wipe her hand clean. Then I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. “Thank you.”

“That was supposed to happen?” she asked meekly.

“Only if you do it right,” I answered wryly. “Remember a few minutes ago, when I was sucking your nipples and rubbing against you, and you went nuts?” Jeana nodded, and I continued, “That was an orgasm. You came, right?” She blushed but nodded again. “Well, this is what guys do when we come.”

Jeana asked me a few more questions, and I found myself giving her an impromptu biology and anatomy lesson. Since she was topless and I had even less on, biology and anatomy really came into play, because I quickly hardened up into a second erection. This time I had her reach out and take matters more firmly into her hands. With my instruction, she gave me a very nice handjob, and this time continued pumping me until I was dry. I groaned at the end, and looked down to see my lower chest and crotch coated with my come. She had a wicked grin on her face. “It’s like I have you in my power!” she said laughingly.

“Like you wouldn’t believe!” I sat up and grabbed a box of tissues off the nightstand and used it to clean up. Satisfied, I next opened my nightstand and pulled out a box of rubbers. “Listen, I know you said we can’t do anything more today, but when we do, I have things covered. Or won’t I need them?”

Jeana knew what I was holding, from girl’s health class, I suspect. “No, I’m on the Pill.”

“Really?” The little Catholic school girl was very surprising.

“I need them to even out my periods.”

I just nodded. “I’ve heard of that. So, uh, how soon do you think we’ll be able to give you the full Carl Buckman Experience?”

Jeana sighed. “I want to do it today! But that’s not going to happen. I don’t think before next weekend. I’m really sorry!”

“It’s not your fault. How about this — after the Christmas Dance, we come back here for a few hours.”

“Could we?” she asked excitedly. “Won’t that take too long?”

“Just tell your folks that we’re going to a party with some friends after the dance, and that we won’t be home until late. They’ll fuss and fume, but all you’ll need to do is promise there won’t be any drinking. They won’t worry after that.”

“And we’ll have the party here!”

“Something of the sort,” I agreed.

She hugged me, which led to another round of kissing, which led to us laying back on the bed for another round of heavy petting. We both came again. Afterwards, I let Jeana use my shower to clean up, and then I took a shower and dressed in clean clothes, and I took her home. Her parents even thanked me for taking Jeana to meet my family. I assured them, it had been my pleasure!

Chapter 18: Opening A Present

Saturday, December 18, 1971

I went over to Jeana’s about 5:30 on Saturday to pick her up. I had made reservations at a steak house in Timonium for 6:30. The dance was at the school, from 8:00 until 11:00, and then the party was at Ray’s afterwards. His parents were away for the weekend, which was like leaving the hen house unlocked and inviting the foxes over for a free chicken dinner. He would definitely cover for us.

“Well, don’t you look dashing!” commented Mrs. Colosimo as she ushered me inside. “Louis, doesn’t Carl look handsome!” she called to her husband in the living room.

He looked at me, with the confused look most men do when responding to their wife’s questions which don’t require a response. “Yes, very nice. Welcome. Come on in, Carl.”

“Thank you. Here, Mrs. Colosimo. I wasn’t sure if I would get a chance to bring this over before Christmas, so why don’t I give it to you now.” I was holding a large foil wrapped package, and she took it with considerable curiosity.

“Thank you. What is it? Jeana will be down in a moment, I’m sure. Take your coat off.”

“Thank you.” It was a chilly evening, like most December evenings in Maryland, cold but no snow. A white Christmas was a rarity here. Snow normally didn’t start until early January. I had worn a trench coat and dark leather gloves along with my trademark fedora. I peeled them all off, leaving me in my suit.

“Oooh, you really do look cute! Too bad there’s only one of you. Do you have a brother?” she teased. Mr. Colosimo gave a laughing snort.

“Yes, but he’s quite a bit younger than me, and I don’t think he’d be able to handle a sophisticated lady like yourself.” That got hearty laughs out of both of them.

Mister Colosimo went to the stairwell and yelled up the stairs. “You’d better get a move on, Jeana. Carl is putting the moves on your mother!”

“Hold on! Give me a break!” came bellowing back down the stairs.

I grinned at her parents. “You might as well open that up now, and figure out what you’re going to do with it.”

They gave me a curious look, and Mrs. Colosimo tore open the foil wrapping. Inside was a large poinsettia plant in full blossom. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.

“My mom is always getting poinsettias for Christmas. If you take care of them, they will keep blossoming for weeks and weeks,” I commented.

“I know. My sister grows them. This is very nice. Thank you,” she replied.

“Then ask her what to do with it, because that is the sum total of what I know about flowers.”

Just then the click of high heels announced that Jeana had joined us. I turned to face her and whistled. “Wow! Don’t you look good!”

“Thank you!” she said, blushing.

“Turn around.”

Jeana pirouetted and I whistled again. “I repeat, wow!” Jeana had gone with a bright red cocktail dress, nicely tight on her buxom frame, with a U shaped neckline front and rear, and short enough that it came several inches above her knees. She was wearing sheer hose and matching red pumps. “We won’t be able to dance, since I’ll be too busy fighting the other guys off!”

“You look pretty nice, too,” Jeana replied.

Her mother agreed. “He’s pretty cute.”

I glanced over at Jeana’s father, who had an amused expression on his face and was rolling his eyes. I just gave him a good-natured shrug. I was dressed nicely tonight. The only school dances you needed to be formal for are the proms, otherwise, a suit was sufficient. In those days you wore a suit and a tie to a school dance, and the girl wore a dress. By the time my own children were going to school dances, the dress code seemed to peak out at ‘clean.’ They looked the same as when they went to school.

Tonight I had on a dark charcoal gray suit with an understated plaid, and a hint of a red thread in the plaid. Dark charcoal suits are good for any formal occasion. I had a brand new black dress shirt, which for the time was rather daring, and a bright red tie to go with the plaid. Black dress socks and black wingtips finished it off. I thought I looked good, but when I was with a girl as gorgeous as Jeana, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Nobody would be looking at me, except her, and she was who I wanted to look good for.

Jeana looked exceptional, with just enough makeup to offset her dark complexion and add a splash of color to her lips. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small Christmas paper wrapped jewelry box. “I thought about waiting until Christmas to give this to you, but I decided tonight might be better.”

“What is it!?” she asked excitedly.

“You’ll never know unless you open it.” I handed it to her and she quickly tore the Christmas wrapping off. Inside was the jewelry box, which stopped her in her tracks. She opened this much more slowly, and stared inside.

“Ohhhh…” I had bought Jeana a gold necklace, with the centerpiece being a pair of gold hearts that were linked. “It’s beautiful!” she whispered, as much to herself as to any of the rest of us.

I took it from her hands. “Here, let’s see how it looks.” I touched Jeana on her shoulder and had her turn away, and then reached around and did up the clasp from behind. She could see what I was doing in the reflection in the mirror in the foyer. Her breathing stopped as I draped the necklace across her throat.

“It’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. The next thing I knew she had whirled around and thrown her arms around my neck and was planting a major league kiss on me, right there in the foyer with her parents watching. I glanced over at them; her mother was amused, her father not so much. I held my hands up in a pleading fashion, to say, ‘Hey, don’t blame me!’ After a moment, Jeana’s father cleared his throat loudly and tapped his daughter on the shoulder, and she released me. The look in her eyes didn’t go away, though, which I thought boded well for later.

Jeana’s mother loaned her a good coat and a scarf, and I put my trench coat back on, and I escorted Jeana to my car. Once inside, she turned to me and said, “Do you really want to go to the dance?”

I had to laugh. “Yes, I do, if simply to show off my beautiful date!” I laughed again and put the car in gear. “And I’m hungry, too! I have this funny feeling that being with you tonight is going to take a lot out of me!”

Jeana giggled at that, and we went to dinner. We both ordered steaks and baked potatoes, and ice teas. Maybe I could have brazened out ordering a drink, but no way Jeana looked 18. I didn’t even try to fake it. After dinner we got on York Road and drove down into Towson. We got there just a few minutes after 8:00.

All the school dances, except for the Senior Prom, were held in the gym, even the Junior-Senior Prom. Only the Senior Prom was held off site, at a night club rented for the evening. As a result, we parked in the regular school parking lot and made our way to the gym. Outside the gym, in the hallway, several folding tables had been set up to block our way, and form a coat room of sorts, with several large coat racks behind it. The dance committee was running the coat room.

Like every other high school dance committee across the nation, Towson High’s consisted of six people — four good looking girls who liked to help, one gay guy trying not to be obvious, and one horrendously ugly guy hoping to use whatever infinitesimal influence he might gain to be able to score a dance with a girl. At the moment, the coat room was being run by two of the girls, Becky Stafford, who I knew (but not in that sense!), and Shelley Talbot, she of Science Fair fame. “Good evening, ladies! You two are looking mighty festive tonight!” I said as I got to the table.

Both girls had on Christmas themed outfits. Shelley wore a green skirt and red blouse, and Becky had a red dress and green pantyhose. I assume they were pantyhose. Stockings didn’t come back into fashion until the Eighties. They posed for us a second, smiling, and Becky said, “It seemed appropriate.”

Shelley grinned when she saw me with Jeana. “Who’s this Carl? The newest member of your harem?”

Jeana looked shocked at this, but I just smiled and wagged my finger at Shelley. “Be nice!” I turned to Jeana. “Jeana, this is Shelley Talbot. Shelley, Jeana Colosimo. Shelley and I won the Science Fair together at Towsontown Junior a couple of years ago.”

“More like Carl won it and Shelley tagged along,” commented Becky, cattily. Shelley stuck her tongue out at Becky, who promptly returned the favor.

I wagged my finger at Becky, too. “Shelley helped quite a bit,” I responded. I handed over our coats and my hat, and pocketed the ticket. “Anyway, the decorations look very nice, almost as nice as you two look, so we’ll be going inside.” Jeana and I thanked the girls and I pulled her away, before Shelley and Becky managed to get a three-way catfight going.

“What was all that about?” asked Jeana after we got inside the door to the gym. She almost had to yell in my ear, since the music was so loud. No way could the doorkeepers hear us.

“Shelley has some mixed feelings about the Science Fair. We won, but she wasn’t invited to participate in some research papers over at Towson State, and I was. She gets a little catty about it.”

Jeana stared at me for a moment. “Towson State? Like, Towson State College? You did a research paper for a college?”

I tried to shrug it off. “I was just one in the group. It was no big deal.”

“How old were you? This was two years ago? You were fourteen?! How many papers?” she pestered me.

I took a couple of minutes to explain things to Jeana, but if I was trying to minimize my involvement, it failed. She was stunned that I was doing things like that. Wait until she realized I would be starting classes over there in another few weeks.

We walked around the dance floor, where the standard mix of students was milling about. This early in the dance, not very many people were dancing yet. A punch bowl was set up in the corner, with the watchful eye of the Vice-Principal making sure nobody tried to spike the punch.

Suddenly Jeana looked at me with a grin. “Was Shelley part of your harem?”

I groaned at that. I had been hoping that Jeana would have forgotten the comment. “I don’t have a harem!”

“That’s not what Shelley says. Maybe the Carl Buckman Experience isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Maybe you need a good spanking!”

She pulled my head down to where she could speak directly into my ear. “Would that be on my bare bottom?” I jerked away from her in serious surprise, as she laughed. “I’ve never been part of a harem before. Maybe I should get one of those harem outfits like in I Dream of Jeanie.” She gave an impromptu belly dance for me, which made me laugh.

It was her turn to get the finger wag. “Just you behave, or you might get both!”

I decided to end this line of discussion. Fortunately, the band picked that moment to start a slow set. Yes, we had a band. In those days, DJ equipment was very expensive. It was actually a lot cheaper to hire a live band to play, and there were always high school and college age bands that would do covers of popular songs while they worked their way to stardom. That was the theory, anyway. Some were good and some were awful, but loud. This was about average. I pulled Jeana onto the dance floor and took her in my arms.

Back in the day, I actually had learned some ballroom dancing. Marilyn enjoyed dancing, and while I look like a spastic moron dancing to anything fast, the slower romantic stuff was easy. I also had a bad right knee, from time beyond memory, and I could always use that as an excuse. Nowadays my knees were still good, but I wondered if that was going to last.

The standard slow dance among teenagers is to simply hold each other and rock sideways and twist around. No style, but you get to make out with your girl legally. That was what Jeana and I did through the first song, but during the second, You’ve Got A Friend by James Taylor, I taught her the box step, a simple four beat dance step that made you look like you could actually dance. Jeana was a very quick learner. At the end of the song, a number of people were watching us, and a few clapped. “I didn’t know you knew how to dance!” exclaimed Jeana.

I shrugged. “I’m good at all sorts of things involving moving with a beautiful girl.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I!” Jeana blushed at that. “You dance very nicely, too. Have you had any lessons?”

“I took some ballet when I was little, but nothing in years.”

“You moved nicely.” We were over to the edge of the dance area. The band had switched back to something faster, Three Dog Night’s Momma Told Me Not To Come, and I said, “Follow me on this.” We stayed on the sidelines, but I taught her a few more basics, including spinning her around a bit and finishing with a dip at the end.

Jeana was very flustered and excited when we finished. Several of our friends were watching us, and Jeana looked both embarrassed and proud to have been seen by them. “You’re a natural!” I told her.

“I can’t believe we did that!” She jumped up into my arms and wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me. After I set her back down, she said, “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” I replied.

“Let’s go, now, back to your place.”

I smiled at that. We hadn’t been at the dance an hour yet. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll leave at ten, and we’ll skip the party completely.”

“We were going to skip the party anyway!” She saw through that ploy.

“I’m just going to kill you with the suspense!” I replied. I led her over to the punch bowl, to cool her ardor slightly.

Jeana did not handle anticipation well. She tried to wheedle me into leaving at the nine o’clock set break, but I held firm. Afterwards I taught her how the waltz went, and we danced a few more slow songs. By nine-thirty she was on pins and needles, which is about where I wanted her. I agreed to go early, and by quarter of we had our coats on and were heading to the parking lot. I only lived about a half mile away, and we could have walked, but it was too damn chilly for that. We were in the apartment about five minutes later.

Jeana was excited, but nervous. I wasn’t sure if she had told any of her friends what was happening that night, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. I got several not so innocent remarks from some previous recipients of the Carl Buckman Experience, and at least one of them commented to me that Jeana was expecting fireworks. Nothing like a little pressure! Now that we were alone, however, she looked nervous.

I tossed my hat and coat on the armchair, and went behind her, and peeled her coat away from her, and tossed it atop mine. Then I turned her to face me. “If you’re scared, we can stop right now.”

She gave me a look of relief, but then smiled. “I know that. I’m not really scared, it’s just, well, what if I don’t do it right?” I must have stared dumbly at that, because she kept on, in a hurried tone, “I mean, you’ve had all those girls at school and I know what they’ve said and what if…”

I stopped her with a finger to her lips, and reared my head back and laughed. “Oh, good Lord! Will you stop worrying about what the girls at school will say! It isn’t all that difficult!”

She looked up at me. “Huh?”

“Listen, Jeana, billions and billions of people have been doing this since the dawn of time, so it can’t be all that difficult. Hell, I should be the one worrying, not you!”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, while I admit to nothing more than being friends with anyone, it sure seems to me like a lot of your friends have been building me up as some sort of real life Romeo. What if I can’t meet your expectations, hmmm?” I smiled as I said this.

Jeana blushed. “I never thought of that.” I took her hand and led her into my bedroom, leaving the light on. Jeana asked, “Shouldn’t we turn off the lights?”

“You’re so beautiful, I want to see you.” I could tell she was nervous about that, so I went back to the living room and brought in a couple of candles, and lit them, and then turned off the bedroom light. She seemed much more relaxed, and I guess the mood was more romantic. “You are still beautiful, much too beautiful for me,” I said as I kissed her.

Jeana melted in my arms, and tried to devour me. As soon as I came up for air, she immediately tried to reach behind her and unzip her dress. I stopped her, taking her hands in mine and whispering, “No, let me.” She simply nodded agreement.

I decided to heighten her anticipation by moving slowly. First I removed my suit coat and tossed that aside, and then I undid my tie and the top button to my dress shirt. The tie joined the jacket. I kicked off my shoes. Next I moved back to her, but kept her facing forward as I sidled around to her back. My lips began nibbling on her neck, as my fingers undid the zipper to her dress. I could hear her gasp as I slowly unzipped the dress, and then pushed it down her body. She was now standing before me in a lacy strapless bra, matching panties, and sheer pantyhose, along with her high heels.

“You are so beautiful!” I whispered. I continued nibbling her neck as I undid the clasp on her bra, which dropped to the floor. I then kept kissing and licking as I moved back around to her front. Jeana’s chest was heaving, which did some amazing things to her tits, so I spent a little time on them, leaning down to suck her nipples. Then I knelt at her feet. I could smell her desire through the hose and panties. Still, first steps, first. She had been wearing ankle strapped stilettos. If she had been wearing stockings, and not hose, I would have left them on, but I was going for full nudity this evening. Jeana had to balance on one foot and her hands on my shoulders as I lifted her feet and undid her shoes. Then I slowly peeled her pantyhose off, and finally pulled her lace panties down.

Jeana had a trim dark bush, cut closely in a small triangle pattern. Shaving didn’t start becoming popular until the Eighties, when bikinis took a wonderful turn for the smaller. I didn’t mind. Rather than stand, I simply moved closer and kissed her, right on her mons. Jeana almost jumped. I held her hips with my hands and decided to let my tongue burrow in for the winter.

Jeana shrieked happily. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” It was involuntary — her hands went to the back of my head and pulled me closer just as her hips pushed forward. She tried to smother me with her pussy, which would make for a fascinating autopsy report. I kept her under control, and after she had squealed her way to an orgasm, I stopped and pulled away. She looked down at me with a dazed look. “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

I stood up. God I loved being sixteen again! I didn’t need to grab something to help me climb to my feet! I maneuvered her over to the bed and she lay down on it and moved to the center. I lay down next to her and whispered, “Your turn. I think I’m overdressed.”

Jeana nodded mutely and unbuttoned my shirt. She didn’t rush through it, but didn’t take her time about it either. That was fine by me, since I didn’t want to wait any longer than I had to. This time, when she got to my pants, she had no hesitation about pulling them and my briefs and even my socks off. I stretched out naked beside her. She needed just a little more priming, so I put my lips to her tits and a hand to her pussy. She was drenched. After a minute of finger fucking, I said, “Last chance to say no,” and gave her nipple another lick.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

I grinned at her and rose up. Jeana spread her legs apart and I knelt between them. I didn’t know if this would hurt her or not, but I knew it would be tight. Some girls bust their hymens through routine activities growing up, and some don’t. Marilyn still had her cherry when we first made love, and I know I should have been gentler. I hoped I had succeeded with Jeana. I let myself down slowly, holding my upper body on my left arm, while I used my right hand to position my cock head in her slit. The head slipped in easily enough. Oh well, no guts, no glory. I pushed in slowly and smoothly, and didn’t stop until I had bottomed out.

I slipped in without any difficulties or obstructions. Jeana didn’t start crying or beg me to stop. It felt wonderfully tight and hot and juicy. Jeana may have been a maiden, but she certainly was lacking a maidenhead. She simply gasped happily and threw her arms around my neck. All she had to say was, “Don’t stop!”

Okay, that sounded like a really good idea. A really, really good idea! I don’t think I could have stopped even if her parents and the Pope had walked in the door! I had to move slowly, not so much for Jeana’s sake as for mine. I was just a few pumps away from exploding. I slowly pulled out, eliciting another cry of “Don’t stop!” from Jeana, and then I slowly pushed back in, earning me another squeal of delight. Jeana very quickly understood the rhythm and began pushing her hips up as I was pushing down, trying to suck me inside, ever deeper. She began shaking as I pumped into her, and squealing, and I lost it. One final thrust forward and my balls erupted. I lay on her, my breath panting, as my hips churned forward and my cock pumped a heavy load into her. Jeana kept pumping her hips the entire time.

After a couple of minutes, Jeana’s arms went limp around my neck and I roused myself enough to lift up and look down at her. I’m not sure whether to expect happiness or dismay (“Is that all there is?”) She looked angelic there, her dark hair spread out in a halo, a sheen of sweat to her entire body, a happy look on her face. “Oh, Carl, I love you!” she whispered.

“I love you, too.” I rolled off her and Jeana rolled with me, to lie on my side. She put her head on my chest. “Are you, I mean, are you okay?”

She looked up at me. “Huh?”

I cleared my throat. “Are you alright? Do you hurt?”

She gave me a very curious look. “No, I feel great. Am I supposed to hurt? I don’t understand.”

I probably rolled my eyes, but I simply smiled. “No, it’s just that the first time with girls can sometimes hurt. I would never want to hurt you, but it can happen.”

“Still not following you,” she said with a smile.

I groaned and sat upright. “It’s just, well… Quick biology lesson. Girls have a small piece of tissue, sort of like a flap of skin, in their vagina. It gets in the way of, well, you can guess what it gets in the way of. Anyways, the first time they make love, it will end up being torn, and can be a little painful.”

She smiled. “Nope, no pain.”

“With some girls, especially athletic girls or if they’ve had an accident, it can break all on its own.”

“I fell on my bicycle a few years ago. That hurt a lot, and I had some bleeding, but I thought it was because I fell,” she admitted.

“That was probably it.”

“So, no problems then. When can we make love again?” She looked directly at my slimy cock, and I started to stiffen.

“Give me a few minutes. This time I want to make it better for you.”

Jeana gasped. “It gets better.”

God, I loved being sixteen again! “Oh, baby, it gets so much better!”

We made love twice more that night, and each time I took my time, touching her all over and slowly pumping her. Jeana discovered the wonders of the multiple orgasm, and I learned just how much of a screamer she really was. I just hoped the neighbors didn’t come to check us out! We ended at half past midnight, although neither of us wanted to stop. However, we needed to clean up and get her home. We both took quick showers, and Jeana redressed. I put my suit back on, though I left off my tie (just in case her parents were still awake, they wouldn’t be clued in by my coming back in different clothing.) I put my trench coat back on. I drove her home and walked her to the door. It was just after one o’clock, which her parents had agreed to as an extended curfew.

I kissed her thoroughly. “When can I see you again?”

“Monday in school.”

“Let me be more specific. When can we do this again? I think they might have a problem with that at school,” I replied.

Jeana giggled. “I think we are stuck for a few days. I can’t go out on school nights, and the weekend will be all Christmas.”

“Do your parents work the week after Christmas?”

“Yep! I’ll be home all alone. I wonder what I’ll be able to do?”

I licked her ear and got a happy shudder in return. “If I come over in the morning, maybe we can think of something.” That got me another kiss, and I left her and went home.

Chapter 19: A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Saturday, December 25, 1971

I drove over to the house at eight on Christmas morning. Once again I was thankful I lived south of the Mason-Dixon Line. A white Christmas sounds awfully nice, but believe me, it’s not. Snow causes accidents and people die because they can’t handle it. I spent fifty years in upstate New York, where it snows six months of the year, and is chilly another four months. The last remaining months are July and August, which is when the mosquitoes breed and grow to a size able to carry off small children and pets. We routinely got 8-plus feet of snow a year, and some parts of the state got much, much more!

I let myself in through the front door, to find most of the family already waiting. Of course, Suzie was only ten, so she had made sure everybody got up. My mother, Nana, and Suzie were sitting in the living room, Dad was preparing to cook breakfast, and Hamilton was downstairs in his room. I had several bags filled with wrapped gifts, which Suzie grabbed out of my hands and spread around the tree. Mom called Hamilton up and Dad came in and greeted me.

We had a few traditions around the Buckman household, and the Christmas tree was one of them. It went up the first weekend of December and would stay up until the first weekend after New Year’s. Once you had bought somebody a gift, you could wrap it and place it under the tree, a sacrosanct region. Nobody was allowed to cheat and peek, on pain of a loud and horrendous thumping, and the loss of the present. You were, however, allowed to pick up the present and shake it and make guesses.

When I was twelve, a large box appeared under the tree on the first day after we set the tree up, addressed to me, from Ham and Suzie. It was large and heavy, and something was rattling around inside it, thumping against the sides of the box. It was right there in the middle of the living room, so no way could I cheat and not get caught. For almost a month this thing intrigued me, and it was the first thing I grabbed and ripped open that Christmas morning. I have no idea where they got it, but my siblings had managed to scrape up a ten pound lump of coal! My parents almost died of laughter, and my brother and sister were inordinately proud of themselves. Well, okay, they earned it. I was the butt of jokes every Christmas after that for the rest of my life.

The other major Christmas tradition, at least regarding presents, was that you had to get Hamilton two. Believe it or not, the little asshole’s birthday was December 25. Today was his 14^th birthday. The rule was that we would have Christmas presents in the morning, around the tree, and birthday presents in the evening, after dinner, at the table. Also, you had to buy him two presents. There was no cheating allowed; you couldn’t say that one present cost extra, so it should count for two. Nope, one in the morning and one in the evening. He didn’t get squat the rest of the year.

Almost the whole family was like that. My birthday was in November, and both my parents were in January. Only Suzie was smart enough to be born in June, and get stuff every six months.

As soon as we were all in the living room, Suzie went to work, grabbing presents and handing them out. I just sat there on the couch, waiting for a few, but nothing came by. Well, I knew enough probability and set theory to not worry about it. I’d end up with a giant pile at the end of things. After a few minutes, however, even my parents were starting to wonder where my presents were. They even told Suzie to find mine, so I didn’t just sit there. It never occurred to any of us that they wouldn’t be there.

But they weren’t. There was absolutely nothing under the tree for me. I looked over at Mom and Dad with a raised eyebrow, and they just stared back at me in horror. “Where’s Carl’s presents?” she asked.

For once, at least, nobody could blame me. Dad and Mom and Suzie just started squawking, and I sat there wondering what was happening. That was when we all realized that the only person not speaking was my brother, Hamilton. I looked over at him to see a ghost of a smile on his face, an expression which completely disappeared when my parents started asking if he knew where my presents were. He just had a look of superiority on his face. “I don’t know where his presents are!” was all he said.

My parents continued quizzing everybody else, including Hamilton, and the din became quite loud. It took me about thirty seconds to figure it out. Dad was looking at me, when I told Hamilton, “You little shitweasel. You really did it this time, didn’t you?”

“What was that?” demanded my father, waving everybody else into silence. His head was swiveling between me and Hamilton.

Hamilton simply gave us an innocent look, and repeated, “I don’t know where his presents are.”

“No, you don’t…” I agreed, “… because you don’t know where the dump is. For once in your life, you’re actually telling the truth. I am almost impressed.”

My father was stunned, and my mother simply gasped in disbelief. “Carling, take that back! Hamilton wouldn’t have done that! He couldn’t have done that!”

I just smiled at her. “It would have been simple. All he would have to do is sneak up here at night, the night you put out the garbage. All he has to do is take any presents for me and take them downstairs, and rearrange everything so that it looks normal.”

Even my father couldn’t believe Hamilton could do that. “Impossible! We’d catch him!”

“Really? Who takes the garbage out now that I don’t live here anymore?” I leaned back on the couch and crossed my arms. It was actually sort of clever. As I’ve said before, Hamilton is not exactly the criminal mastermind, but for once he actually managed to pull one off. He could grab anything for me, stuff it into the garbage cans, and then deliver it to the curb himself. I wondered what I had gotten that I wasn’t going to get now.

My father simply stared at me in horror, and then slowly turned on my brother. I wondered if Hamilton had finally burned his last bridge with my Dad. Nana was sitting there very confused. Suzie was crying, because she had actually knitted me a small scarf; Nana and Mom had taught her how to knit. My mother continued to protest Ham’s innocence.

Ham might have gotten away with it, but he decided to push his luck. Most criminals talk their way straight into jail, and he was no different. “People who don’t live here don’t get presents,” he announced.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess they don’t.” I stood up and went to the closet. I grabbed my coat and pulled it on. “I’ll see you guys around.” I was out the door before they could protest. Mom actually ran out of the house after me, in her robe and slippers, but I just waved good-bye and took off. I found a Denny’s that was open up on York Road in Timonium, and had breakfast there. When I got home, I found the message light on the answering machine lit, but didn’t bother. Another call came through, and it was my mother pleading for me to call, but I ignored it and unplugged the phone.

In 1971 answering machines were rather unusual. In the future, in the digital computer age, voice mail and answering machines would become commonplace, but that was twenty or more years from now. In those days, an answering machine was actually a small tape recorder, and you had to wind through your messages. I had a very bland greeting on mine, simply stating we weren’t home, so leave us a message. In case Jeana’s parents ever called, they would think it was my parent’s number.

It might have been the loneliest I have ever been. I won’t lie about it. I cried. In some ways it was even worse than when Marilyn or Alison died, because then I had family around me. Now it was my family which had abandoned me. I just sat there in the apartment until early afternoon, wallowing in my sorrow, and then decided the hell with it. Being miserable is only good in small doses. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and went on with my life.

The first thing I did was plug in the telephone and listen to my messages. With the exception of one of them, they were all from my mother. The only one which wasn’t was from Jeana. I called her back. I didn’t tell her what Hamilton had done. We talked briefly and I told her I would come to dinner on Sunday. If I had told her about today, she would invite me for Christmas dinner at her house, which would raise far too many questions from her folks.

I didn’t call my mother back, and I continued to use the answering machine to screen my calls. Later, that evening, after dinner, my father called. I answered him. “I’m here, Dad.”

“Where have you been all day? Your mother’s been calling all day long. She’s very upset.”

“Well, gee, Dad. I’m really sorry to hear that. I’d hate to think that my actions have been the cause of all the family’s problems today.”

He didn’t respond to my sarcasm. “So, where have you been?”

“Right here. It’s Christmas. Where else would I be? Nothing’s open, remember, because it’s Christmas.”

“Carling, please, I’m sorry. Don’t be like this.” Dad doesn’t do contrite very well. The fact that he was trying said a lot.

“Why did you call, Dad?” I wasn’t in a forgiving mood. I had finished off the Chardonnay and was now at work on the jug.

“I just wanted to let you know that Hamilton confessed. It was just like you said. We’ll get you replacements for what he destroyed.”

I sighed. “Yeah? How are you going to replace Suzie’s scarf?” He didn’t answer that. “Listen, Dad, do what you want, but I just don’t care anymore. Save your money. I won’t keep it.”

“Carling, don’t be like that.”

“Like what, Dad? Like my brother? I’ll make you a deal. Get me whatever you want. I won’t throw it in the garbage. I’ll give it to the Salvation Army. How about that? Is that a good deal? We’ll both get to feel good then. Anything else, Dad? Or can I hang up now?” I asked.

“We’ll talk later in the week. I’m sorry, Carl.”

“You and me both.” I hung up the phone and disconnected it again. I poured some more wine from the jug. I was going to have a headache in the morning, but right now I just didn’t care.

I woke up the next morning with a fuzzy head and a fuzzy tongue, a useful reminder of why you shouldn’t drink to excess. It wasn’t the worst hangover I had ever had, not by a long shot, but is there such a thing as a good hangover? I swallowed a glass of water and a handful of Tylenol and took a shower. Advil would have been better, but it was 1971, and it was still prescription only. After the shower I took another load of Tylenol with some OJ, and sat down at my typewriter. I put some paper in it and sat there for a moment.

I had spent much of yesterday afternoon and evening thinking about this letter. It needed to be written, and if I didn’t, and something happened, I would never forgive myself. The cover letter came easily.

Dad,

I want you to give the envelope inside to Suzie. I can’t simply mail this, since he is reading all the mail in the house. You might not want to agree with me, but you know it’s true. I don’t know if he’s reading through your mail or Mom’s, but I know he was reading mine.

There is nothing secret about this letter, but it is Suzie’s not yours. If she wants you to see it, it’s her business. I’ll be talking to her and I’ll ask her to make sure she got the letter. Don’t tell Mom about this, it will just cause problems. Thank you.

Love,

Carling

That was the easy part. The tough letter was next.

Dear Suzie,

I am very sorry about what happened to the scarf you made me. I am sure it was very nice, and I know you put a lot of time into it. I would have been happy to wear it if I had gotten it, and if you ever have a chance, I would love another one. I’m sure it would have been very warm and comfortable.

I wanted to write about why I moved out a few weeks ago. I know it is very confusing, but it is something I needed to do. I know you don’t understand what is happening, so I am going to try and explain what I can.

Our brother, Hamilton, has a sickness, a disease, but not of the body. He has a sickness of the mind. I don’t know all that much about this sort of thing, but I do know that it’s real. Mom and Dad will say it’s not real, but even they must know something is wrong. I don’t know why he is like the way he is.

What I know about psychiatry can be written in a matchbook, but I knew something was wrong with my brother. I thought he had some form of schizophrenia, which is just a five dollar word for believing things that aren’t really true. What the sufferer thinks and what really is don’t line up. Since he was so much against me, I wondered if it was paranoid schizophrenia, but I just didn’t know. I do know that in future years, after I went off to college, his behavior got even stranger. What would happen now, I just couldn’t guess.

For years now he has been becoming very aggressive and dangerous towards me. This is only the latest thing he has done. Someday, when you are older, we can talk about this and I can explain it better. Believe me when I say that the only reason I left was because I didn’t feel safe around him anymore. If I was to keep living at home, sooner or later one of us was going to end up hurting the other. It was safer if I left.

I don’t know what is going to happen in the house now. With me gone, Hamilton might settle down. However, I have to warn you, be careful around him. I know this is awfully hard on a young lady like yourself, but watch him. If you ever think you are in any kind of danger, let Dad know. If you can’t find Dad, call me and I will come and help you. Trust Dad or me; don’t trust Mom, at least not about Hamilton.

Hamilton snoops around the house. If you have a diary, he has probably already read it. If you get mail, he will read it. He has gone through your dresser and closet. You should get a box like I did and a lock, and keep anything private in it and locked away. Ask Dad to help you buy a foot locker. If he says no, call me and I will buy you one.

Ask Dad to install a latch on the inside of your bedroom door, and a door knob that locks. Again, if he says no, call me and I will help you. I want you to be safe.

I won’t be coming around the house much in the future, but I am still in town. You can call me whenever you want to. I have included several of my business cards. Keep one in your wallet or purse. Give one to both Aunt Peg and Aunt Nan, and tell them I have moved out. Mom and Dad won’t like that, but tell them anyway, and give them a card. You won’t get in trouble.

After I had moved out, I had gone back to the printing company and had new business cards printed up, with my new phone number and my post office box address included. I also knew my parents would be loathe to admit I had moved out. This would be considered airing our dirty linen in public, and Buckmans just didn’t do that!

Remember, I’ll always be your big brother. If you ever get scared, or need help, or just want to talk to me, call me. We can talk on the phone, or I can come and meet you. I know this is confusing, but as you get older, I think you’ll understand a little better.

Love,

Carl

PS: Take care of Daisy. I miss her, but I know you love her and will take good care of her. Thanks.

I pulled my letter out of the typewriter, read it several times, and edited a line or two, and then retyped it. I enclosed some of my cards and sealed it in an envelope, which then went inside a larger envelope with the cover letter. This I mailed to Dad at his office, marked ‘Personal.’ I would give Suzie about a week before I called her and made sure she got it.

By that time my headache was mostly gone, although I had a very sad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was abandoning Suzie to her fate. Hamilton had never before shown any hostility towards our sister, but with me out of the way, would he settle down, or turn his anger towards her? I just didn’t know. Back on my first trip through, he had always been good towards her and her boys, and was the favorite uncle, which my mother proudly proclaimed. He was always taking the boys to the movies or down to see the Orioles play. One time she even told Marilyn that he would have made a great father. Marilyn had stared at her in disbelief, and then said no, he would have been a lousy father. A good father is somebody who is there at the bad times, not just the good times. Mom didn’t have much to say in response to that.

I had a late breakfast of some more juice and a big piece of fruit cake. Yes, I know all the jokes, but we actually like fruit cake at the Buckman house. I had even picked up one at the store for myself. I am sure that my mother had gotten me one for Christmas, and it was now at the dump. Afterwards, I got dressed and drove over to Jeana’s for Sunday dinner.

Jeana’s parents welcomed me warmly. I dodged the inevitable questions about what I had gotten for Christmas, by simply going with an innocuous ‘clothes and stuff for school’. Jeana was wearing the necklace I had given her. I don’t think I had seen her since the night of the dance without it! We had talked in school since the dance, but her parents wouldn’t allow us to go out on school nights. I know I was feeling rather horny, and she had whispered to me several times in school that she wanted to be alone with me again.

Mind you, I simply smiled at that. Whispering back, I said, “Tonight, when you’re in bed, take off all your clothes and touch yourself.”

Jeana had given me a very shocked look. “I can’t do that!”

I just grinned at her. “What? Take off your clothes? Why, do you wear pajamas?” She had blushed and simply nodded. “So, take them off. Who’s going to see?”

“Oh my God!”

“And then touch yourself in all the places you want me to touch you,” I told her.

“Oh my God, you’re so bad!” Jeana had scurried off at that, and refused to tell me later if she had done what I told her to do. I just laughed at this. I knew she would, but I also knew she would never tell me, not unless I got her alone, and started doing those things to her again.

Today was no different. There were a few minutes when her father was out of the room and her mother was in the kitchen, and I whispered in her ear, “So, still wearing your pajamas to bed?” Jeana had turned beet red and jumped up, to go help her mother. I laughed and trailed along.

Unlike the Buckman house, where WASP tradition ruled, there was no turkey for Christmas dinner. Christmas was an all Italian feast, and we had lasagna leftovers. We also had an antipasto with meats and anchovies, fresh garlic bread, hot peppers and greens, and some Chianti. Mr. Colosimo gave me the eye before pouring me a glass, and I promised to behave. It was a very nice meal.

Afterwards, as stuffed as if we had been eating turkey leftovers, we all lazed around the family room in the basement, until the early evening, at which point I took my leave. Jeana walked me to the door, while her parents stayed downstairs. It gave us a little privacy.

She looked at me hopefully as I bundled up. “You’ll be coming over tomorrow, right?”

Oh, yes, I was coming over! The cats were going to be away, and the mice wanted to play! “Absolutely! When should I come over?”

“They’ll be gone by eight.”

“I’ll be here by nine, just in case they get delayed,” I said.

She nodded. “If you see the car in the driveway, don’t even stop. Just keep going and call me.”

I kissed her quick and opened the door. Turning back, I grinned. “Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Wear those pajamas I keep hearing about.”

That earned me a squeal of outrage, and a swat on the arm, and I went out into the cold. I laughed all the way down the driveway to my car.

I was outside of Jeana’s house promptly at nine the next morning, and there was no car in sight. I parked and walked up the driveway, and then up to the front door. I knocked and the door opened immediately. Jeana must have been waiting for me, but I didn’t see her as the door opened. “Jeana?”

“Hurry up! Come in!” came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Curious, I stepped inside. Jeana was hiding behind the door, She was barefoot and wearing a bathrobe. “What are you up to?”

“I can’t just open the door up in my bathrobe! Definitely not if somebody sees you coming in! Now hurry up and get inside!”

I laughed. As soon as I was inside, Jeana slammed the door shut. She nervously looked at the picture window facing the front yard, and then skedaddled off into the kitchen on the backside of the house. The window in the kitchen was much smaller and you couldn’t see anything out there expect the back yard. Once there she relaxed some. I could see an empty cereal bowl and a juice glass in the sink. She saw me looking at her and quickly turned away and rinsed the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher.

“What has got you so jumpy?” I asked. I turned her back to me and gave her a hug.

“You. I mean, you being here. My parents would kill me if they knew you were here,” she answered.

I had to chuckle at that. “I don’t think they’d kill you. Now me, me they’d kill, but not you.”

“You’re not being very reassuring.”

“So, are you wearing your pajamas?” I quizzed.

Jeana’s face went beet red. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

“I can’t show you my pajamas!”

I laughed louder at this. “Baby, I’ve already seen you out of your pajamas.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, and then backed away. She fumbled the sash holding her robe closed and then pulled it open. Underneath she had a simple cotton baby doll top and matching calf length bottoms. “Satisfied?” she asked.

I smiled and looked at her. “Do you always wear a bra and panties to bed under your pajamas?” I asked.

Shocked, Jeana whirled away and tied her robe shut, and then turned back to face me. “How did… you can’t see… how did you know I had on a bra and panties?” she demanded.

I shrugged. “I didn’t. You just told me.”

The look on her face was priceless. “That’s cheating!”

“If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.”

“Ooooh, I hate you!” Jeana came closer and balled up her hands and tried beating my chest.

I laughed and wrapped her in my arms, and then lowered my face to hers. For somebody who hated me, she sure kissed me back like she loved me. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and tongue swapping, we came up for air, and she said, “It’s still cheating.”

“So, sue me. All’s fair in love and war.” She hit me again, and I said, “Maybe I should tell your parents about how you keep trying to hit me. I wonder what I should tell them when they ask me what happened.”

“That’s not funny.” She took my hand and led me to the basement door. “Let’s talk downstairs.”

I followed Jeana down the stairs to the finished basement. At the bottom of the stairs she looked at me a little hesitantly, so I took the lead and led her over to a large armchair. I sat down in it and then pulled her sideways onto my lap. I wrapped my arms around her waist and she settled onto me. It was time for a little more kissing.

Now that we were out of the living room and someplace a whole lot more private, Jeana calmed down and relaxed. Relatively speaking that is — she got very excited kissing me, especially after I tugged the sash loose on her bathrobe. I pulled away from her lips and kicked an earlobe. “I was wondering which pajamas you would be wearing.”

She pulled back so that she could look me in the eyes. “What do you mean? Which pajamas?”

“Don’t you remember? I told you to change out of your regular pajamas into something else.” I tugged her robe open.

“No, you told me to take my pajamas off completely.”

“That’s what I meant, your invisible pajamas.”

Jeana giggled at that. “And come into the living room dressed in my invisible pajamas!? No way!”

“So, does that mean you changed into your invisible pajamas after you went to bed?” I slipped a hand under her baby doll top and caressed the smooth warm skin of her belly.

Jeana whimpered at my touch. “I can’t tell you that,” she said, her breath becoming a bit ragged.

“I think you can. Did you do the other things I told you to do, too?”

Jeana was squirming in my lap as my hand moved up and traced a line along her bra. “I can’t… no… I mean…”

“I am going to find out, no matter what it takes.”

“Noooo…”

I lifted her in my arms (thank God I worked out this time around) and carried her over to the couch. I set her down on the couch, and Jeana lay back on it, but I didn’t join her. Instead I grabbed all the blankets and comforters I could find, and dropped them on the carpet. Kneeling down, I spread them out, forming several layers as an impromptu mattress. I tossed a couple of throw pillows at one end, and then Jeana joined me on the floor. “This might be a little more comfortable,” I commented.

“You still won’t get me to talk,” she replied.

I waggled my eyebrows and replied in a corny German accent, “Vee haff our vays, vee can make anybody talk!”

“Never! You’ll never break me!”

I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the blanket next to Jeana and we rolled into each other’s arms. Once again I let my fingers do the walking, but after a moment teasing her, I pulled her top up and off, so that she was only in her bra. I quickly undid the catch and pulled that off as well. Now I began kissing lower, working first on her neck and throat, and then down her shoulders, and then finally rolling Jeana onto her back so I could alternate on those two magnificent breasts. While I was doing this, I slipped a hand inside her pajama bottoms. Jeana immediately spread her legs apart. First I moved all my fingers across her panties, feeling the moist warmth inside, and pressing them into her slit gently. Then, I moved my hand down into her panties, and began to slowly finger her slit and clit. Jeana responded like a bottle rocket that had just had the fuse lit; she cried out and tried to hump her little bottom up off the floor and even tighter against my fingers.

I rubbed Jeana’s clit until she had an orgasm, relented slightly so she was coming down from it, and then started up again. I was even more vigorous this time, using my thumb on her clit as my fingers moved back and forth in her pussy. Jeana came even harder this time. Once she peaked I slowly let her down, to finally just cuddle in my arms. I kissed her cheek. “Oh my God! That was… amazing!” she told me.

“Amazing is my specialty,” I quipped.

Jeana laughed at this, and propped herself up on an elbow. With her free hand she began undoing the buttons on my shirt. Knowing of our plans for the day, I hadn’t bothered with an undershirt. “Weren’t you chilly?” she asked.

“I figured you might be able to warm me up.”

Jeana continued on, and unbuttoned my pants. When she pulled down my zipper, she got another big surprise. “You’re not wearing any underpants!”

I had decided to go commando today, just as a shock for her. “I was hoping to wear the same underwear you were wearing.”

Jeana smiled at that. “I guess I fooled you.”

“I guess you did.” I raised up and pushed my pants down off my legs, and then pulled off my socks. I now had less clothing on than she did. Jeana noticed this and peeled off her own pajama bottoms and her panties, so that we were both naked. “Do you really wear underwear under your pajamas?” I asked.

“What! No, of course not!” she protested. Then she looked at me and grinned. “I felt kind of funny when I put my robe on after I got up, seeing you without any on, so I got undressed and put them on first. It’s kind of silly, I guess.” She giggled as she looked at my erection. “Isn’t that a problem without underpants on?”

“No more than it would be for you without underpants on.” Jeana looked shocked at the very thought. Smiling, I lay back. “Get on top,” I told her.

“I thought we were going to make love.”

“We are, just a different way.” I stretched out on my back. “Now, climb onto me just like you’re going to ride a horse.”

“Or a cowboy?” she asked, giggling. Jeana straddled my legs and then wiggled and crawled towards my waist.

I used my hands on her hips and lifted her up enough that my cockhead was brushing her pussy lips. “Go on, use your hands and put me inside.” Jeana didn’t need to be told a second time. With one hand holding my cock vertically, the other spread her pussy open enough for the head to slip inside. As soon as it was in, I slowly pulled her hips down, burying myself inside her.

Jeana sighed as she became used to this new position. “This is very nice.” She experimented by moving around a bit, and raising and lowering her hips. My cock slowly pumped up into her as she moved. “It’s like I’m in control.”

I groaned. I hadn’t come yet, and I wasn’t sure I was going to last very long. “You can be in control whenever you like,” I replied. Jeana giggled and she began bouncing slowly on me. Her tits jiggled hypnotically as she moved. I reached up and cupped them, and flicked my thumbs across her nipples. Jeana gasped and began moving faster. I pinched them and she cried out as she came, and I spurted upwards into her a moment later. I thought I was going to blast her off of me, but she never budged.

As soon as I had finished pulsing upwards, I sagged backwards into the blankets. Jeana fell forward onto my chest, still kneeling astride me, my cock still in her pussy. I wasn’t sure if I was going to go limp and slip out, but I stayed just firm enough that my cockhead stayed in her now very gooey cunt. I wrapped my arms around her back and held her tight. “I love you,” I told her.

“I love you, too.”

I continued to caress her back until I felt myself starting to stiffen again. At that point, I brought a hand around and began running a finger along Jeana’s breasts. She shifted slightly, sighing happily, and I was able to reach between us to touch both of them. Jeana began moving as well, so I used my other hand to push her back upright.

I took her hands and pushed them between her thighs. “Go on, touch yourself.” Jeana was silent, with a guilty look on her face, but then I felt her fingers gently stirring at our groins, and I knew she was rubbing her clit. I used both hands on her breasts, and became a little harsher, pinching and tugging her nipples. She gasped and her fingers began moving faster, and her ass began bouncing up and down again.

The combination of pussy juice and my come was pistoning out of her, and my crotch felt drenched. More amusing, the fluids ran down my balls, and I felt oddly cooled. This time I was definitely able to control myself, and I lasted through Jeana’s orgasm to a second one for her. This time when she fell on top of me, we shifted and she stretched out. Another flood of our mixed come washed out of her onto my midsection. “I can’t believe that. It seemed like it would never end.”

“I know,” I whispered in her ear.

I think Jeana fell asleep on me for a few minutes. Her breathing became very slow and regular, and she simply wasn’t moving, at least until I stopped rubbing her back. That change seemed to rouse her, and she rolled off of me and sat up. “Oh my God, we’re a mess!” she exclaimed as she saw how we were both covered in sweat and come.

“That simply means we were doing it right,” I commented.

“You’re awful!” She looked around wildly until she found where I had tossed her clothing. “Do you think my parents will find out?”

“Well I certainly don’t plan to tell them,” I replied, which got me a dirty look. “Seriously, how will they learn?” I sat up as well. “They’ll be home by six, I’ll be gone before five. You’ll have gone upstairs by then and taken a shower. Air out the basement and spray some Lysol or something, and toss this old blanket in the wash.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“That’s because it is. Listen, tomorrow, you come over to my place. I don’t have to worry about anybody coming in early.”

Jeana rolled her eyes at that. “Yeah, like they’re going to drive me over to your apartment.”

“Again, you worry too much. Tell them I coming over in the morning and we’re going to go bowling, and you won’t be back until after dinner. Do you think they would have a problem with that?” I asked.

“Not when you say it like that.”

“Okay, then. In fact, why don’t you have the same sort of underwear on to visit me that I had on to visit you?”

Jeana roared in laughter. “Oh, like they wouldn’t notice that when I came home. And besides, could you imagine me trying to bowl with these things bouncing all over the place?” She cupped her boobs and jiggled them.

“Well, it would certainly make bowling a far more interesting sport,” I replied.

“You’re hopeless! You’re still mad at me for beating you the last time.”

“Yeah? You’ve heard of strip poker? How about strip bowling! That’d be one hell of a spectator sport!”

Jeana snorted and laughed, and just shook her head. She stood up and grabbed her robe, and pulled that on, and then picked up her pajamas and undies. “I’m thirsty and hungry. Let’s get lunch.” I just nodded and pulled on my pants and shirt. I followed her up the stairs.

Jeana pulled a can of soup out of the pantry. “Here, make yourself useful. I need to go up and clean up. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

I snapped her a silly salute. “Yes, ma’am! What did you want to drink?”

“Coke is fine.” She left the room and I puttered about the kitchen for a bit, finding where the pots and pans were, and pulling out a pan to make soup in. After that, I kept looking until I found some bowls and glasses.

It was closer to twenty minutes before Jeana returned, and I had the soup on a slow simmer at that point. I also had cut a couple of slices of Italian bread and buttered them. Jeana came in wearing a different bathrobe than the terry cloth one from this morning. This was much prettier, a knee length green satin robe. It was also quite obvious from the way she moved around that it was all she had on. Her hair was damp, so I knew she had taken a fast shower.

“Have I told yet today just how beautiful you are?” I asked.

“This morning, but thank you,” she said, smiling.

“I like the robe.”

“It’s actually one of my mom’s. She gave it to me last year. She said it really didn’t fit her anymore.” She giggled and pulled at the lapels, pulling it out from her chest. “She said she outgrew it!”

I laughed at that. “Well, it sure looks good on you. You should be glad.”

“Why?”

“There’s an old saying — if you want to know what a girl is going to look like in twenty years, take a look at her mother. Your mother is very nice, so you’re going to be very nice in twenty years.”

“You were looking at my mother!?”

“Hey, I’m a guy. We look at all women. It’s the way we’re made.”

“You’re a pig!” she replied.

I made several oinking noises and then poured about half the soup in her bowl. The rest went into mine, and I poured some Coke and put the bread on a plate next to her soup. “Thank you. You’re still a pig, though,” she said.

“Oink, oink, oink! Want to go play with me in the mudpit after lunch. It’s what us pigs love to do!”

“Not dressed in this, I don’t!”

“That’s okay. I bet it comes off.” She colored at this, but smiled. We sat at the table eating and talking, just enjoying being together. I was seeing aspects of Jeana I had never seen back before, probably because we were simply more intimate with each other now. She was simply a lot of fun to be with, and very easy to talk to. And, while I hadn’t understood it at the time, she simply smoldered with sexuality. Just walking around a room, fully clothed, she radiated that she was all woman, and happy to prove it! I wondered about her parents. Maybe it was an Italian thing, because her mother had it too, although she covered it up well with the whole housewife and working mom routine. I suspected Jeana’s father was a happy husband.

After lunch I cleaned up the kitchen, and loaded the dishwasher. Then it was time for the afternoon matinee. I led Jeana back to the basement. The room still had a smell of sex and sweat, and I reminded myself to make sure Jeana hit it with a deodorizer after I left. I sat down in the armchair again, and Jeana crawled into my lap. “Now, where were we again? I think I lost my place.”

“We were just about to get undressed and make love some more,” she replied.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. Don’t we have to wait until two hours after eating?”

“That’s swimming, you doofus!”

“Oh, right. Okay, so we can’t have sex while swimming until two hours after lunch.”

That earned me another giggle, and Jeana took matters into her own hands, in a matter of speaking. She wrapped her arms around my neck and started kissing me. It seemed like a good idea, so I kissed her back. I let my fingers do the walking again and untied the sash holding her satin robe together. Much as I expected, she was wearing invisible pajamas. “I think I like these pajamas even better,” I commented.

“I thought you might.”

I began softly caressing her stomach, and idly tracing a fingertip around her belly button. “You know, sooner or later, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

I slipped a finger lower down her body, to tease her through her trim little bush. “Tell me if you touched yourself at night.” I slipped a finger inside her and diddled her clit, earning a sharp gasp and a flood of warm pussy juice on my finger. “I’m going to make you tell me.”

She laughed a little, but was content to relax in my arms as I played with her body. “Nope, nope, nope. Never going to tell.”

“I know how to make you.”

“How?”

I pulled my hand away. “By stopping.”

Jeana’s eyes widened at that. She had been building up to an orgasm, and now I had suddenly stopped. “Ooh, that’s mean!”

“I’m a mean kind of guy.”

“See if I’m nice to you!” she pouted.

I leaned down and licked her ear. “I want you to show me what you did to yourself. You did, didn’t you? Don’t lie. I know you did. Do it now, show me what you did,” I whispered lowly. I began caressing her stomach again, but kept my hands from her tits and pussy.

Jeana gave me a whimper. “Oh, don’t be mean!” She put her hands on my wrist and tried to push them back to her pussy.

I resisted. “I want to see what you did. I want you to tell me what you like to do. Show me. Teach me how to make it even better for you.”

“No…” she answered weakly, still trying to make me touch her.

“You want me to. You need me to touch you. You know it will feel even better than when you do it. Show me what you want me to do to you.” I was breathing heavily into her ear, licking her earlobe and neck as I did so, and Jeana was squirming on my lap.

I continued to torment her for just another minute or so, and then she quietly whispered, “Yes.”

I immediately stop resisting her hands. “Where do you want me to touch you?” I asked. Jeana pushed my hand back down between her legs. “Show me. Use my fingers like yours.” After a few seconds, Jeana’s fingers took my index finger and put it directly on her clit, and began moving it. “Do you like that?” I asked.

“Yes.” Jeana was almost whimpering with relief as she used my finger to masturbate.

“What else did you do? What about your other hand? Where was it?”

Jeana surprised me. I had expected that her other hand would be rubbing her tits, which is the way Marilyn used to masturbate. Jeana instead pulled my other hand from behind her and pushed it between her legs as well. This was very awkward, sitting on my lap like this. I stopped and we moved back down to the blankets on the floor. Jeana promptly lay back and spread her legs wide apart, and then took both my hands and pushed them back to her crotch. Her legs were splayed open, and she was using her fingers to both spread her pussy wide and move inside and to frantically rub her clit. I took over, using both hands on her as well, but I also leaned down and began sucking on her nipples. That sent her off like a rocket, and she screamed as the orgasm rushed through her. It must have been a good one, because she was shaking all over, and her ass was humping up off the floor as I did it.

I kept up until she begged me to stop. She looked happy, but exhausted. “Were you as loud as that?” I teased her.

“It’s better with you here,” she replied.

“I told you I could make you talk.”

“You can torture me that way any time you want.” She glanced down at my pants, where she could see my erection straining to break free. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m a tough guy. Maybe you should try torturing me for a while.”

In short order, I found myself naked again, and Jeana was working me over. I decided it was time for another lesson, so I had Jeana kneel, and I introduced her to the doggy style. This proved extremely popular, and I fucked her this way until I came inside her.

By four-thirty, we had both managed to make love one more time, this time with me on top, and we were simply beat. I dressed and kissed my love good-bye after we cleaned up the evidence in the basement. Jeana was planning on another shower, and I headed home for a shower and nap. I might fuck myself to death with her, but I’d sure go out with a smile on my face!

Chapter 20: Academic Plans

And that’s how we spent the entire Christmas break. Some days I would go over to Jeana’s and we would screw our brains out, other days I would pick her up, we’d goof off, and then go back to my apartment and screw our brains out. Isn’t it just awful when you get in a rut like that? That first day at my apartment I told her what had happened to me at Christmas. Jeana was horrified, but for the first time really understood why I had to leave.

School started up again, though, and we had to cool it. It was back to no dates on weeknights, and only getting laid on weekends. Jeana’s birthday was in mid-January, so I made reservations for dinner and bought her a tennis bracelet to go with her necklace. That weekend her monthly visitor showed up again, so nothing much happened, but I managed to get her off anyway, and I got another couple of handjobs out of it.

Aunt Peg called me a few days after New Years. Suzie must have gotten her address, along with Aunt Nan’s. It was a bit curious, though. I think the two of them must have talked and decided that Aunt Peg, my godmother, would call me. First she called Mom, which went over about as well as I expected. Then she called me. I didn’t go into too many details with her, but both she and Aunt Nan had witnessed Hamilton’s tantrum meltdown at Thanksgiving dinner.

She offered to let me move in with her, but I declined politely. They had a small three bedroom bungalow, with all three bedrooms occupied. I would end up living in the basement of a house with a sump pump that ran 24/7, and when the power stopped, that basement got very damp. Once, during a hurricane, when the power was out for two days, they ended up with three feet of water down there! Besides, no way in the world did I want to move to Pikesville!

As promised, I went over to the Colosimo home the weekend after New Years and made Sunday dinner. I had given Jeana the ingredients list and her mother had picked up what I needed. The fun was that I actually used Jeana as my galley slave and had her cook the meal, while I supervised. Jeana’s parents, especially her mother, found this hilarious. Coq au vin is fairly simple to make. I cut the boneless chicken breasts in half, sliced up the ham and mushrooms, and measured out the spices and wine first, while I had Jeana get out all the skillets and pots and pans. Then I put Jeana to work. I had her dredge the chicken pieces in flour and sauté them, and then she added the ham, mushrooms, spices, and wine. We simmered that for about forty-five minutes, adding some water as needed to keep it from drying out and to make a nice gravy.

I also showed her how to make a Dijon sauce, and we had that over some steamed cauliflower. Add in some rolls and some rice to serve with the chicken. It’s all simple enough, but requires the timing you only get through experience. Jeana was very proud to have made it, and her mother approved heartily, commenting that she couldn’t get her daughter to do anything in the kitchen! Jeana’s father was somewhat more suspicious of it all, or he was until I told him that the recipe was actually very similar to chicken saltimbocca, except the ham wasn’t prosciutto, and we left out the cheese. Once I told him there was an Italian version he quickly came around, which got smiles from both of the ladies. This must have been a recurring event.

The big doings in January occurred in school. I was college bound. As long as I was enrolled at Towson High and taking classes there, they would pay for me to go take classes over at Towson State. I was signed up for a semester of calculus and a semester of physics. This actually proved tricky. I had my schedule from Towson High, and I would need to find classes which would fit into this schedule. Otherwise I would need to rearrange my high school schedule.

This was trickier than you might imagine. In the future, you would be able to schedule everything over the Internet. You could register, pick out classes, determine schedules, and so forth all by computer. Not in those days. You basically had to stand in long lines and do everything in person. I had already enrolled and pre-registered, and received a packet of information, but so had everybody else. I went over there early in the morning the day of registration, parked, and took my packet and found the line for A-B, and went to the end. By mid-morning I was at the head of the line. A registration person read over my paperwork and walked away to a massive table filled with boxes of computer punch cards. She fished out two punch cards, one for the physics section I wanted and another for the calculus section I wanted, and handed them back to me. I was directed to another table and another line. In this line I was to find that the physics section was already overbooked, and asked to go back for another try. Supposedly they only issued enough punch cards for each class, but it always seemed that something went wrong.

This pretty much sucked, since I wanted to get both sections in the morning, along with the lectures, so I could do my other classes at Towson High in the afternoon. I argued a bit and was directed to a third table and yet another line. Here was a higher ranking professor type, who heard my story and nodded in understanding. He signed a slip giving me permission to take the class and sent me back to the second table and line again. It was after noon before I was out of there, and I considered myself lucky.

I also registered for the SAT test. I would take it in March. I had done well the last time around, and I expected to do even better this time.

What with college starting, high school continuing, and Jeana occupying all my free time, I decided to quit at Pot Springs Pizza. Yes, I was losing maybe $40 a week (don’t forget, the minimum wage at the time was only $1.60 an hour) but I surprised myself in the stock market. 1972 was going to be the end of a great bull market. I was going to need to hire a tax accountant this year, for sure, and at the end of the year, sell almost everything and hunker down for a bit. My next major gambit was going to be when oil prices spiked next year, when the Arabs and Israelis went at it again, just like I told Dad once. As it was, if I didn’t get stupid, I would make enough in the market to pay for my independent lifestyle, make up what I had forked out, and still turn a tidy profit for the year.

I stayed away from the house. I simply had no interest in dealing with all the drama. Suzie called me about once a week. She told me that Dad had read the letter I gave her, but only after she had given it to him. He hadn’t wanted to, but he went out and bought her a foot locker and replaced the door knob on her bedroom door. It didn’t seem, however, that Hamilton was focusing any attention on her whatsoever. His hatred was aimed only at me.

Nana was moved into a nursing home on Charles Street. I visited her once, but she didn’t really know who I was, so I didn’t go back. Suzie moved into her room, as planned all along, and Dad moved her new door knob.

When it was Mom’s birthday, I got her a present and wrapped it, and then drove around the Hutzlers parking lot until I spotted her car. I still had my keys to the old Dodge Dart, so I unlocked it and placed it and a card on the passenger seat. She called me later, and while I was still screening all my calls, left me a thank you message. A few weeks later, for Dad’s birthday, I had Tusker pick me up a gift bottle of a very expensive bourbon, and I repeated the same procedure, leaving a note to Mom to give it to Dad. If I had taken either gift home, Ham would have chucked it.

Again, I found myself settling into an interesting rut through the spring. Monday through Friday I went to school, both schools, studied, did homework, and otherwise did the scholarship routine. Friday night through Sunday afternoon was Jeana’s time. We would always go out, bowling or a movie or a party or something else she would pick out, and then spend time back at the apartment.

She already knew she was leaving the school at the end of the year. Towson High was severely overcrowded, so they had built a new school to the east and were moving about half of the tenth graders over there. Only the juniors and seniors were staying in Towson. Jeana was scheduled to move to Loch Raven, and was very worried we would be apart. I promised her that I would still be around, would still have a car, and would still be in love with her. While I couldn’t be with her in school, this semester we weren’t together all that much anyway, and we seemed to be doing all right. She was still worried, but I assured her we would make it work.

Jeana was constantly full of surprises for me, pleasant surprises. In early February, when we were in my apartment one afternoon, I had just gotten her naked on the couch, and had fingered her and eaten her to a mindblowing orgasm. I was still dressed, and I began to pull my own clothing off, so that I could have some fun, too. Jeana stopped me, however, and said, “The girls all said you were incredible at eating pussy, and boy were they right!”

“Well, if I die tonight, you and your friends can all chip in and have that chiseled on my tombstone. Good Lord! What else do you girls talk about?” Jesus Christ! Those girls chattered like magpies about shit that if they caught a bunch of guys talking about would get the guys killed!

Jeana laughed nervously. “Well, they wanted to know how I liked sucking your cock.”

“Oh, really?” That was something we hadn’t done yet. “And you said?”

“I told them I liked it, and most of them said it was a lot of fun with you,” she blurted out in a rush.

I know I had a wicked grin on my face as she told me this and she couldn’t have looked more guilty than if she had been caught red-handed with the Hope diamond. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re such a truthful young lady,” I commented.

“Carl!” she protested. “You’re not being very helpful.”

I laughed loudly at that. “And just how should I be more helpful? Hmmm? I’m not the one telling falsehoods and untruths, am I?”

“Carl!”

I finished undressing and sat next to her on the couch. Little Carl hadn’t diminished any, and was standing at attention. “Well, why did you tell them that?”

She looked very sheepish. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was a little girl.”

I just rolled my eyes. “Trust me, you’re not a little girl.”

“Do you like, uh, blowjobs?” she asked.

I had to grin at that. “Jeana, every man ever born likes blowjobs.”

“So how come you never asked me for one?” she asked.

That was actually a good question. “Well, for one thing, all the other girls I have ever been with, and I will neither confirm nor deny any names, were all much more experienced than you. Like, they weren’t virgins, and they all had sucked a cock or two before me. And besides, it’s considered a little rude — ‘hey, baby, how about sucking down a heavy load’ isn’t the politest thing a guy can ask a girl.”

“Ooooh, yuck!”

“See?” I had to smile at her reaction.

“Well, that’s pretty crude, but I bet you could have asked me nicer,” she replied.

I shrugged. “Would you like to find out?” I glanced meaningfully at my erection.

Jeana’s eyes followed mine, and she blushed, but she also nodded. “What do I do?”

I have to admit, I had never been asked for lessons on this subject before, but I thought I just might enjoy the idea. I tossed a couple of throw pillows on the floor at my feet. “Well, I would suggest that you get on your knees between my legs for starters.”

Jeana grinned, and scooted her pretty little ass off the couch on knelt on the pillows. I spread my legs, and she was up close and personal with Little Carl. She looked up at me expectantly.

“I guess a little anatomy lesson is in order.” I pointed out most of the major features using the most common names. I never learned the medical terms. “Now, very important. Down below everything are my nuts, or balls.” Jeana nodded and reached out and touched them, a little more forcefully than I like. I practically jumped off the couch. “Jesus! Be careful!”

She looked stricken. “Sorry.”

I calmed down and sat back in front of her. “What I was going to say is that they are very, very sensitive! Some guys like a girl to play with them, but some don’t, and I am definitely in that group. Before you ever touch them, ask permission.”

“What!?”

“Ask!” I mimicked a low and sultry voice. “Oh, baby, I want to kiss and lick your balls! Do you want me to play with your balls while I suck your cock?” She looked shocked at me. “Get the idea?”

“Carling! I’ll never do that! I’m with you!”

I smiled. She was only sixteen and this was the one great love of her life. I knew better. “You’re right, and I apologize. Just do me a favor and leave the little guys alone, okay?”

She smiled at that. “Okay. So, what should I do first?”

“Well, think of me as a lollipop, and see what happens.”

Jeana nodded and extended her tongue, and began to softly lick the shaft from bottom to top. However, I must have scared her off of using her hands, so I tended to move away from her. I told her that the no hands rule was only for my nuts, and that I really liked it when she played with my cock otherwise. That got me a very large grin, and she reached out and took control of the situation. She continued to lick my shaft and cockhead for several minutes, and started jacking me off at the same time.

That was going to get her a surprise soon, so I said, “Go a little slower, unless you’re trying for a speed record. Now, the next step is open your mouth, and put me inside.” Jeana’s mouth came open and my cockhead slipped in. I groaned at the wet warmth, but then I felt her teeth, and that wasn’t as nice. “Careful there, remember, no matter what you do, no teeth. Open wide and stay that way!” Jeana opened her mouth more and began bobbing her head up and down.

“Oh, that’s so good! Just keep doing that! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” My mind totally lost track of the lesson plan. Jeana was doing just fine on her own. She even put a little suction on the end, and was jacking me so nicely. “Don’t stop, just like that, don’t stop…” My hips began moving up and down, involuntarily trying to push in deeper. “That’s it, that’s it, oh, oh…” Come started pumping up my shaft. Jeana gagged and coughed, but soldiered on gamely. My jism spurted into her mouth, and some dribbled back out of her lips, but she managed to swallow some of it, and a little more got on her face.

When I was pumped dry, I looked down at her jism smeared face. “That was amazing!” I said weakly.

Jeana looked up at me happily. “I did it right?”

“You did it more than right, honey.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

I smiled. “This is a test that is very easy to grade. If the guy comes, you passed.”

Jeana giggled. “Has that ever happened? You know, somebody fails the test.”

I shrugged. Marilyn had given terrible blowjobs. They were okay for making me stiff before we screwed, but she never got the hang of just doing it for full release. She would always try to give me deep throat, which she really couldn’t do, she never totally got her teeth out of the picture, and she tended to stop just before I came, to try a new trick. “It can happen.”

Jeana noticed her face was covered with jism, so she stood and ran off to the kitchen sink and washed her face. I stood up and followed her. “So, we know I liked it, but what about you? I don’t want to do anything you don’t like to do.”

Jeana dried her face and I decided to run that dishtowel through the laundry before using it again. “It was okay. I mean, it’s not chocolate ice cream, but it was okay.”

“I meant, did you enjoy doing that, or did it feel wrong to you or something?”

“Huh?”

I had to be careful here. In the future, a certain strain of super-feminists would proclaim that all sex, but especially fellatio, was demeaning and cruel to women. “Well, I’ve heard some women think it’s demeaning to them.”

She gave me a look like I was a little crazy. “I bet they wouldn’t say that if you were the one doing the eating, and not them!”

“You’re probably right.”

She grinned at me. “You think I should practice some more?”

I grinned right back. “You can never practice too much! Why don’t we go get on the bed first? Have you ever heard of sixty-nine?”

Jeana smiled. “I’ve heard of it, but maybe you should teach me.”

“Maybe I should.”

From there on in, oral sex on both our parts became an integral part of our lovemaking, and we both practiced as often as possible.

The rest of the semester went forward in a bit of a blur. There were times I felt definitely overstretched, but Jeana was always there to settle me down and take care of me, and I tried to do the best I could by her. I always knew in the back of my head that ultimately we would end up separating, but if I could delay that, it was a good idea. I kept my weekends open for anything she wanted to do. Usually once a month I would cook a Sunday supper over at her house and teach her a new recipe.

The biggest issue I had was balancing attendance at two different schools. I pretty much had an open hall pass over at Towson High, since my schedule depended on my class schedule over at Towson State. A fair bit of my high school classes I ended up doing self study in the library. I still tried to spend time there every day, to see my friends at home room or lunch, and go to lacrosse games or school plays and such.

I also applied to college, but just one college, RPI — Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. I wanted to go back. Before, it had been just one of three schools I applied to and was accepted at. Now I only applied to the one. Why there, when I could have gotten into almost any school now? Because I liked it! The city itself, Troy, is a dump, but the school was small and intimate, and had a frighteningly high IQ. You’ve heard the expression about learning something from the guy ‘who wrote the book’ on the subject? At RPI, the professors quite literally wrote textbooks on the subjects they taught. Some of these guys were simply world class. I took at least half a dozen courses where the books we used were written by the professors, and they were used around the country. In 1973, the year I would start there, the Nobel Prize in Physics was won by a fellow at GE who had gotten his doctorate at RPI and his thesis was the basis for the Nobel Prize.

Besides, I learned much more from RPI than simply what was in the classes. The school itself is in the top 25 engineering schools in the nation, at least according to the various polls and rankings on the subject. They had an attrition rate of about 50 %; in other words, half of all students flunked out. It was incredibly tough.

At every other college, every semester you would have that one class that everybody dreaded, that one teacher who piled on homework, gave ruthless tests, and graded like Attila the Hun. However, you could always tell yourself that this was the only class that semester that would be like that, and then sleep through everything else.

At Rensselaer, all of your classes were like that. I graduated down in the bottom third of my class, but I did graduate, and I have never in my lifetime faced a tougher intellectual standard. I’ve heard Marines say the same thing about boot camp; that if they could survive that, they could survive anything. It was the same for me at RPI. No matter what happened to me and no matter how tough life was, I survived RPI, I could survive anything. Maybe this time I wouldn’t be in the bottom of the class.

Let me put it another way. Even when drunk and stoned out of your mind with a bunch of equally drunk and stoned college assholes, you could end up in a scientific discussion. I remember once being stoned and drunk with another couple of guys, and we actually designed a microwave system using negative feedback control systems to stop cars from tailgating. Thirty years later a similar system would become a common option among high end cars.

The application process was fairly simple, but it took time. There was no Internet then, so you couldn’t just apply online. I had to call long distance and have a packet mailed to me. At the end of the semester my grades would be mailed from Towson High and Towson State. When the SAT scores came back, they would be mailed directly to RPI. I put in for early acceptance. The last time around I had scored 1340 on my SATs, which definitely beat my B-/C+ school grades. This time around I should have straight As and a higher SAT score. I expected to get in on early acceptance.

By the end of the semester, I learned I had beaten my previous SAT scores by a fair bit. My old 660 in reading/writing was now a 720. My old 680 in math was all the way up to 780. I still took this with a grain of salt. Hamilton was going to end up with a perfect 800 in both. Still, 1500 was a more than respectable number. When I mailed my packet back to RPI at the end of the semester, I was fairly sure I would be accepted early on.

At the end of the semester, just before the end of school, I took Jeana to the Junior/Senior Prom. This prom was held in the school gym, and was the only really formal dance held there. Mind you, things were much more formal at that time than they would be in the future, but it was still even more formal than usual. The Senior Prom required that you be a senior, although your guest could be younger than that. Generally a lot of senior guys had girlfriends who were juniors or even sophomores. (It was almost unheard of for a senior girl to be dating a junior or sophomore.) The Junior/Senior Prom was the same rules, but now included juniors, so I could attend and take Jeana as my date. The other rule was that juniors had to wear a tuxedo, but seniors didn’t. I think this was because they had to rent a tux for the Senior Prom already, and renting one twice would be too expensive.

Thankfully I looked actually fairly good in my tux, which spoke volumes about how my workouts and early morning runs had me in shape. Back when I did this previously, in high school and at my wedding, it was almost impossible to find a tuxedo that didn’t make me look like what I really was, impossibly skinny and wearing a too large rented suit. I skipped on the wacky colors some guys were getting, and simply went with basic black, although I did manage to find one with a vest and not a cummerbund. What a useless piece of clothing!

It didn’t matter in the long run, though, since nobody would be looking at me, and everyone would be looking at Jeana. She had piled that long brown hair up on top of her head, leaving her neck and shoulders bare, and looked like a goddess. She had on a long green gown, tight through the bodice and hips, but flowing around her legs, with a halter top. She looked amazing! What in the world this girl was doing hanging around with me was something I continued to ask myself, and I never came up with a decent answer. I just thanked God she saw something in me that I didn’t see.

When we left her house that night, Jeana informed me that her mother had lifted her curfew. As long as she got home before dawn, nobody was going to say a word. She had told her parents that there was going to be a major party after the dance, which didn’t get out until midnight in any case, and they relented.

“So does that mean you are planning on leaving the prom early, and skipping the party?” I asked teasingly.

“No on One, yes on Two,” she replied. I eyed her and she smiled. “If you knew the trouble it took to get my hair up like this, you wouldn’t ask.”

“You look so beautiful, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait until then. What if we’re dancing and I get a sudden urge right out there on the dance floor?”

She laughed. “Remember that thing I do for you sometimes?” She held a hand up and curled her fingers, then moved it in a pumping fashion. “You’ll just have to head off to the bathroom and take care of that urge yourself.”

“That’s cold, lady, cold!” I protested.

“On the other hand, if you behave yourself, you’re going to get a very nice surprise later on.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “It’s a surprise, remember?”

Jeana looked spectacular that night. Oh, sure, there were more than a few girls there who looked spectacular. It was, after all, a prom, and they really tend to go all out for that sort of event. Still, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. A lot of guys thought so as well, and Jeana basked in the attention she got. It took all my willpower not to hustle her out of there until the end of the dance, although I made sure I informed her how strong the urge was. She took pity on me about halfway through the last set, and we left early. Fortunately, it being June, it was warm and neither of us needed coats. We headed back to my apartment, getting there a few minutes before midnight.

“When do I get my surprise?” I asked.

Jeana wagged a finger at me. “Don’t be so hasty. Maybe if we had a glass of wine first?”

I think I broke a new land speed record opening up a bottle of Pouilly Fuisse. I poured a pair of glasses and toasted her. “To the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“And to the equally handsome man who took me dancing,” she replied. We sipped our wine, and I eyed her expectantly. “What’s on television?” she asked coyly.

It was my turn to wag a finger at her. “If we have to watch TV, I’m taking your Pouilly Fuisse and giving you Ripple!”

She smiled at me over her glass. “Well, this is too nice for that. Would you hold my glass for a moment? Thank you.” I took her glass, and she reached behind her back, and I heard the zipper on the dress come down. Then, as she stood there and smiled at me silently, she undid the clasp on the halter top. Her gown slipped to the floor pooling around her feet. My heart almost stopped, seeing her standing there. I knew she had to have been without a bra, since the halter top pretty much precluded that. What I hadn’t expected was that Jeana was wearing sheer stockings, and not pantyhose, and that she had skipped on the panties. Now she simply stood there in her stockings and three inch heels, and calmly sipped wine with me.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. Suddenly my mouth was dry and I felt a flush hit my face.

“I’m not overdressed am I?” she asked with a smirk.

“No, the look is perfect for you.” I cleared my throat. “Uh, would you mind if I took off my jacket?” And everything else?!

Jeana sat down and settled back against one arm of the couch. I didn’t strip down completely, but I did kick off my shoes and took off the jacket and vest and bow tie. “I have to tell you, honey, the gown was gorgeous, but this definitely is better.”

She laughed. “I thought you might like it!”

“Oh?”

“I’ve seen your Playboy magazines. I know what guys like.”

I blushed at that. Now that I was living on my own, with a PO Box as an address, I could get Playboy delivered to me. I was too young to be able to buy it in a store. High heels, stockings, and a smile were perennial favorites. Jeana had seen it every once in a while on an end table, but I never knew she had actually looked through it. “Hey, I read it for the articles.”

“So I should get dressed again?”

“I don’t only read it for the articles.” I finished my glass of wine and set it down and moved closer to Jeana. She simply smiled, finished her glass, and set it aside herself. She made short order of my remaining clothing, and then we made love right there on the couch, with her arms wrapped around my neck, and those unbelievable stocking clad legs wrapped around my waist, and her heels urging me on from time to time.

Afterwards, we went into the bedroom. I pulled her hair loose, but kept her stockings and heels on, and she got on top for the next go, and then we did our final set missionary position again. It was the most incredible way to finish the school year.

Chapter 21: Senior Year

Tuesday, November 7, 1972

It was about halfway through the fall semester of my senior year. All sorts of things were going on. Today was the day Tricky Dick was reelected President of these United States. The man was a seriously flawed but seriously underestimated man. Nixon probably had the finest mind for foreign policy of any President since the end of the Second World War. He also, very surprisingly considering he was a hard core Republican, signed into law a plethora of domestic regulation legislation, including the Clean Air Act, the EPA, the war on cancer, and the Title IX reforms that increased women’s presence in sports, all of which his future Republican successors would blame on the Democrats as socialism. He was also incredibly paranoid and committed any number of crimes as the President. Angel or demon? I’ve been following politics since his time and I still don’t have the answer. He was certainly no worse than some of the buffoons who followed him.

Today was also the day I received my early admission notice to Rensselaer, along with a big packet related to financial aid. I shitcanned that. I wasn’t going to get anything in financial aid through the college. For one thing, looking through the FAFSA financial aid forms I noticed that it required a list of my assets. The average student at the time might have been able to save up anywhere from a few hundred bucks up to a grand; I had over seventy grand in the brokerage. No need based scholarships for this student.

There were a couple of different alternatives. One was that I was way, way up in the class standings. Apparently A grades at a college counted extra in the class rankings calculations. The odds were good that I would get some scholarships given simply to the top student in a field, probably math. However the scholarship I was really banking on was different. I was applying for a ROTC scholarship.

I had given this a fair bit of thought, both this time and the first time around. I skipped it then. Back when I was choosing colleges and trying to figure things out, we were still involved in Viet Nam, and despite the glowing reviews of the beauty of Southeast Asia given by the recruiters, that was an insane and stupid war. My parents wouldn’t have stopped me from joining, but they wouldn’t have helped me along either. While I could join the army at seventeen, I would need their signatures to do it, and there was no way in the world they would sign off on me quitting high school to do that. I could get a military scholarship or drop out of college and join.

That brought me to a second reason I didn’t do it way back when. I went to school as a chemistry major, and the BIG topic in military science in the Seventies was something called binary nerve agents — nerve gas. Now, mind you, I was always a good lab chemist. I had excellent technique and routinely handled toxic and carcinogenic materials with ease. Nerve gas scared the bejeezus out of me! Forget about getting it on you in any way — just looking at it funny is enough to make you twitchy the rest of your life! I knew that if I got out of a high end technical college like RPI with a chemistry degree, my duty station was going to be Dugway Proving Ground, hoping like hell the wind didn’t shift and spread gaseous hell all over me. No thanks!

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I knew the Army could actually be done safely. After we got out of Viet Nam, the Army saw relatively little action for about another decade. Grenada was in ’83 and fairly small, and Panama was in ’89 and not much bigger. Things didn’t start getting dicey again until the ’90s. If I got out of RPI with a math degree or two, I would almost certainly be assigned to a nice warm non-chemical lab somewhere.

Furthermore, the military is actually something of a family business for the Buckmans. We’ve been here since the 1750s, and while we managed to avoid the Revolution, every generation of Buckmans since has served in some form of the military, right from the second generation, which served in the Maryland Militia during the War of 1812. (That might not be the best of examples, considering the Maryland Militia led the retreat at the Battle of Bladensburg. A Buckman probably led the way. We gloss over those details.) Mind you, we’ve never been movers and shakers, and I don’t think anybody got much higher than a sergeant or lieutenant, but we always served.

We actually had a wall in the family room with photos of family members in uniform that I can remember from when I was little; my mother laughingly called it the ‘Wall of Heroes.’ There’s a photo of my grandfather (Dad’s dad, who I’m named after) in his army uniform from World War I, complete to campaign hat and puttees. There were several photos of Dad in his naval uniform during World War II. Over the years it would include Hamilton in his army uniform when he joined the Maryland National Guard, and Suzie’s husband and two of her sons, who were in the Marines, and Parker, who went Navy. I was actually just about the only family member who never served. There was never any pressure on us, but we always knew it was an honorable choice to make, and one which would be approved of. After Mom passed away, Suzie took over the wall and mounted it in her house; it will probably pass down to one of her boys.

Probably the biggest reason that I was going the military route was that I just wanted to do something I had never done before. Was I supposed to go through this life just repeating what I had done before? Or could I do better? It wasn’t about the money, either. I had already proved to myself that my knowledge of future events could pay off for me. I wouldn’t be poor, and would probably be much richer. Still the idea of just watching the money roll in was too sterile. Yes, I could do it, but couldn’t I do more?

So I pushed myself to do things that I had never done before, things that I could say I had earned on my own, and not because I knew about the future. I did aikido and worked out. I was going to get a doctorate. Now I was going to try the Army. I wanted to be challenged. Before, in my first life, I had always wanted jobs where there was a challenge and a payoff, sales for instance, or something that would let me stand out.

I had solidified my acceptance with a school visit to RPI over the summer. One of the things I remembered dramatically from the summer of ’72 were the school visits I made that summer. The first visit I was to make was to the University of Rochester (accepted) and then Syracuse University (not impressed.) Both were to be done the weekend of June 23–25, which just happened to be the same days that Hurricane Agnes came ashore and ran straight up the Chesapeake Bay, ripped north up the Susquehanna River valley, and died in western New York. Dad insisted we all drive up, and it took us eight hours to go north about 60 miles, give up, and turn around.

Now, to a Marylander, hurricanes are more of a nuisance than anything else. We don’t get all that many, being north of the expected tracks for the average hurricane. Further, the real damage from a hurricane will come from two sources. The high winds can throw a lot of debris around, and the storm surge can flood things. Still, unless you live near the water’s edge or in low lying areas, the water won’t get you, and as for debris, a sturdy house protects you and you stay away from the windows. Generally, unless it’s a Category 4 or 5, you just wait it out. I remember when my parents retired, they took a trip out to Arizona, just in time for a very freaky Pacific hurricane that ran up the Gulf of California. The locals were going crazy, but my folks were just going, “So what?”

I didn’t remember the specific dates of Hurricane Agnes, but I did know the normal hurricane season runs from June through November, and the hurricanes are named alphabetically, so Agnes would have been in the beginning of the season. I made my visit at the end of July, about a month after Agnes blew through.

The visit was interesting. Troy is about 350 miles north of Baltimore, so I was going to drive up on Friday, do my interview Saturday morning, and then drive back in the late afternoon. Normally there are two routes, a coastal route and an inland route. The coastal route takes I-95 up to New York, and then the New York Thruway up to Albany. The inland route takes you up the Harrisburg Expressway, I-83, to Harrisburg, and then I-81 up to Binghamton. From there you take I-88 up to Albany. From Albany you take I-787 to Troy. The only problem was that in the early Seventies, most of I-88 was still under construction, leaving partial rides on Route 7. I took the coastal route.

I stayed in a noname motel in Watervliet Friday night. In the future, especially after 9/11, you couldn’t do that without credit cards, but I simply paid cash and nobody cared. The next morning, dressed in a blue blazer and pressed khakis, I showed up at RPI and parked near the Student Union. Inside the Admissions office I was first met by a student who gave me a fascinating tour, although it was fascinating as much for what the young man got wrong as what he got right. He was a sophomore and probably had learned where the bathrooms were just the previous week. I had forgotten more about the school than this kid had learned.

After a delicious lunch in the freshman dining hall, with food of a quality only seen during parent visits, I met with an assistant to an assistant for the interview. The biggest issue the interviewer had was where my parents were. My response, that ‘I was pretty independent.’, didn’t quite penetrate. He kept asking about how they were going to find out about financial aid, and what if they had questions about the school. He finally passed me along to another person higher up the food chain who was much more at ease with me and actually took the time to review my transcripts and SAT scores. He was most impressed with the two papers I had my name on, and quizzed me closely about them.

A lot of colleges proclaim they want a varied and well balanced student body. They really stress they want students who have diverse interests. Rensselaer had a slightly different perspective. They wanted really smart nerds. Diverse interests were limited to making sure they met the various minimum quotas of minorities the federal government was looking for. When my second interviewer asked about my hobbies, I pulled out my wallet and showed him a picture of Jeana in a short sundress and high heeled sandals. He just grinned and said he had had similar hobbies when he was in high school.

Now, with my acceptance to RPI in the bag, I just needed to apply to the Army by the end of the year. My grades would be more than sufficient, and I was sure I could pass any background check. I just needed four letters of reference. I asked Pastor Joe (himself an Air Force vet), Mr. Steiner (a Marine on Guadalcanal), Mrs. Rogers, my math tutor, and Professor Milhaus, the chemistry professor who had helped during the Science Fair. All agreed to write me letters of recommendation, although Mrs. Rogers and Professor Milhaus thought I was throwing away my talents. It was easy enough to ask, since these were the same people I got to write my letters of reference for admission to RPI. I would need to have an interview with an officer after they got my formal application and letters, and enough of a background check to make it worth their while to take me.

Summer break had been enjoyable. I took three classes at Towson State, all in the social sciences field. RPI had an unusual requirement, in that while you had to take eight humanities or social sciences, one a semester, they didn’t care what they were. There weren’t even requirements to take any English courses. This didn’t become an issue until I went back to school in the ’90s and was required to take two semesters of English Composition and Literature. The teacher was an adjunct who taught eighth grade English at a local school and I had been published back when she still playing with her Barbie dolls. I already had a master’s degree by that time, but they wanted me to take English (gym, too, but I got out of that.) It was ridiculous.

Since school was out, I had to pay for the summer classes out of my pocket, but that was it. This was in the time before college costs began rising faster than medical costs. It was just a few hundred dollars for the three courses, Intro to Psychology, Intro to Sociology, and Western Civilization I (intro to history.) RPI had a dismal humanities and social sciences curriculum, as could be expected from a college of nerds. Towson State was much better in the liberal arts.

That, however, was the tough part of summer, and it wasn’t all that tough. The easy part was spending a lot of time with Jeana. Sometimes we were in her basement, sometimes I would pick her up and bring her back to the apartment, and sometimes we would ride our bikes up around Loch Raven to see the submarine races. We never saw too many submarines, but Jeana sure saw an awful lot of my periscope that summer. We worked on our all over tans too, which was a lot of fun, especially when it came time to rub on the sunscreen. Even if we weren’t working on the all over tan, Jeana in a bikini was an awe inspiring sight, even a religious experience. At least the phrases that came to mind were certainly religious — “Oh my God!” and “Sweet Jesus!” were just two of many.

Some of the more memorable dates involved going to the movies — the drive-in movies! Timonium still had the Timonium Drive-In in those days, up off Timonium Road, and while they generally played family friendly fare, by the second showing, the kids were asleep and people were getting frisky in the back seats. A couple of times I saw a few babies snoozing while their youngish parents got it on in the front seat. It all reminded me of the time I took Marilyn to the Malta Drive-In in upstate New York, a venue which actually showed X rated movies. She was wearing a sundress, fishnets, and high heels, and not much else! I forget what the movie was, but it didn’t have a candle to what we were up to or what was going on around us!

My senior year I took a second semester of calculus, a second semester of physics, and a first semester of chemistry. I figured that by the end of my senior year I should be able to finish off RPI’s science and big chunk of the liberal arts requirements, along with most of the calculus I would need through sophomore year. I was toying with the idea of very aggressively burning through some credits, more than I had considered before. Originally I had been thinking about 35–40 credits, but with the addition of the liberal arts during summer school, there was no reason I couldn’t bring that total up to 50–60, the equivalent of two years of college. RPI’s policy was to accept grades that were B or better, and so far I was working at an A level.

That would leave all the advanced math and computer courses to be done at RPI. That was a lot more important in those days than in the future. At the time, computer programming courses had to be very cognizant of the computer they would be run on. In the future, personal computers would run C++ or Java or other more advanced programming with no differences based on the computer. Not so in the early days. My first programming course at RPI was Fortran 4, with a Watfor compiler specifically for an IBM 360 mainframe running batch processing using punch cards. Just a few years later I was programming in Basic for a terminal version of an IBM 370 at Fairleigh Dickinson, using a teletype machine while working on my MBA. Meanwhile, at work I was programming with a different flavor of Basic on a PDP-11 minicomputer with a keyboard and monitor. Better to learn the language while using the computer I would be working with.

My time back at the Buckman house was very limited. I was invited on the family vacation to Rehoboth Beach, but since they would be staying at a Bed and Breakfast and I would have to share a room with Hamilton, I turned it down. For once my parents didn’t push it. I did visit for Suzie’s birthday party, although I watched Hamilton like a hawk to make sure he didn’t destroy my present to her. Otherwise I stayed away. Sunday had been my 17^th birthday, so I went over for dinner and presents, which was quite strained. There was even a present from Ham, but it was obvious Mom had bought it, and she damn near had a leash on him all through dinner and the party afterwards. I thanked him and it was all he could do to keep from spitting at me.

I spent as much time as possible with Jeana. There was a part of me that got very depressed when I looked at Jeana and thought of the future. In a year’s time we would be splitting apart. I was going to college 350 miles away, and she would be staying back home, a heartbreakingly beautiful girl in her senior year. No way was she going to wait for me, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to. I had no idea how that was going to go. Would she break up with me? Would I have to break it off with her? Our feelings for each other now were far deeper than they had been before.

Many years before, on my first shot, we had broken up at the end of that first year. Later, in college, I had called her out of the blue, and we had gone out to dinner, to see if there was anything still there. There wasn’t. We had changed, me as much as her. She was far more worldly and sophisticated, no longer a little high school kid, and to be fair, my life had moved on as well. Thomas Wolfe was right, you can’t go home again.

Right now, however, I was still dating the prettiest girl in town. I still couldn’t figure out what she saw in me, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. (Hell of an analogy, Jeana didn’t look at all like a horse!)

As I told Jeana, we wouldn’t have to break up when she went to Loch Raven High. What with my schedule for classes over at Towson State, it was actually fairly easy for me, at least half the time, to drive over and pick her up. She rode home with me instead of on the school bus, and if we just managed to make a stop along the way at my apartment, nobody seemed to notice. I actually felt relatively comfortable hanging around with her and her friends over there, since it was a new school primarily made up of transfers from Towson High. On my first go-around, I dated a girl my senior year who attended Dulaney Valley, our archrival to the north, and I always felt very uncomfortable there.

Now, not only could I take Jeana to school dances or plays at Towson, she could invite me over to Loch Raven for their events. Every girl likes to be taken to events, and Jeana was no different. The interesting thing to me was school plays and band concerts. After Marilyn and I started working for her father in the mid-Eighties, we built a house in a small town outside of Cooperstown, with a central school K-12 of barely 800 kids. School plays and concerts were awful, because the tryouts consisted of making sure everybody had a pulse. At Towson High, with three grades consisting of almost 2,000 students, we had enough people that they actually had tryouts and the kids had to learn their lines and compete for parts. Our senior year musical was The Music Man, and the male lead ended up going to Hollywood and becoming a real actor, though in character roles and bit parts. Still, there was an obvious depth of talent available.

The last few weeks of April through the last few weeks of May are prom season. This year I could take Jeana to three formal dances, and she went nuts figuring out dresses and outfits. We had the Senior Prom at Towson, and Junior-Senior Proms at both Towson and Loch Raven. I would only need to rent a tux for my senior prom; for the other two, a dark suit and new shirt would be sufficient. This was all in the day before people started getting crazy, with renting limos and party rooms at hotels and such. The most elaborate thing any of us did was when Tusker, one of the more flamboyant bikers and Vo-Tech students, and possessed of shoulder length red hair and a magnificent mustache, went all out on an all white tuxedo, top hat, and walking stick. He looked spectacular!

Tusker was a good friend of mine, and he was a real character. He had flunked his sophomore year and been held back. He had actually run for class president in our senior year, on the platform that he had an extra year of experience! Made sense to me! He lost, but still managed to beat out some of the other senior suckups.

Jeana wore a couple of cocktail dresses to the junior-senior proms, but did the evening gown routine again for our senior prom. Mrs. Colosimo insisted I come early each night, so she could get pictures of us, and my mother made me bring Jeana over the night of our senior prom, so she could get pictures. Jeana hinted to me that she was wearing something similar to last year for each prom, which I took to mean stockings and not pantyhose. This made me really look forward to finding out, and more than a little surprised that she would consider this while wearing above-the-knee cocktail dresses. She did, however, so I decided to surprise her as well.

At the end of the last break during the Towson High junior-senior dance, the first of the two junior-senior dances, I pulled her around the corner in the gym, into a very dark spot, and before she could stop me, I reached under her dress and pulled her lace panties off. I tucked those in my pocket and led her back out to the dance floor. Jeana was very nervous about this, as stockings themselves were extremely daring for the time, and she stayed on my arm the rest of the evening like glue. She did whisper in my ear, however, that she was incredibly turned on, and wanted to leave almost as soon as I did this, and not out of embarrassment. We never even made it back to my apartment before she was crawling across the bench seat of the Galaxie and pleading for me to stop and screw her right there in the car. I just smiled and drove to the apartment, where I took care of her in a more comfortable setting.

Chapter 22: End Of The Year

Saturday, June 9, 1973

School was over. Finals had been this week, and now they were done. Towson State had finished a couple of weeks earlier. I was basically all set. I had the credits I needed to graduate, early acceptance at RPI, and even my formal letter of acceptance into ROTC. I was signed up for a few more humanities and social sciences classes at Towson State this summer, to kill some time and pick up some more easy credits.

The most amazing thing to me was that I was the class valedictorian. This was the student with the highest grades in the class, and it seemed as if the college credits I had aced weighed more than high school credits. The really crazy part was that neither time I went through this I had been asked to join the National Honor Society. This just proved to me that it was totally about favoritism and school politics and nothing about grades. When Parker went through high school, he ended up as salutatorian (number 2 in grades) and was asked to join. When Maggie followed him a few years later, with even better grades, but a don’t fuck with me attitude, she wasn’t asked to join. How I became valedictorian without being asked amazed me.

But valedictorian I was, and now, instead of sitting with my classmates, I would sit up on the stage and have to make a speech. Graduation itself was being held off campus, since we simply didn’t have the facilities to handle it. I had a graduating class of about 660, and if you figured each of those 660 had 4–5 family members coming, you needed seats for almost 4,000. We actually were having graduation over at Essex Community College, over on the far side of the county.

I wasn’t sure I was inviting anybody, except maybe Jeana. Once I moved out of the house, I changed my address with the school to my new PO Box. However, this was in the days before massive databases, and school records were a hodgepodge of written records, some kept in the school office, some at the county Board of Education, and still others spread around to places like the counseling office. Before I even had a chance to decide if I wanted guests, my mother called to say she had received the tickets already. I just shrugged silently and got a spare ticket for Jeana. If Hamilton showed up and fucked with me, I’d just kill him on the spot and let Dad handle it.

I really thought hard about my speech. When I was 17 the first time, I was terribly afraid of public speaking. I didn’t become comfortable with speaking in front of groups until I was older and going to grad school. Once you are in an MBA program, you end up speaking to lots of classes about business plans and presentations, and I got over my nerves. I wasn’t worried at all now about speaking. I just wondered what the acoustics would be like. The school gives you a bunch of suggested topics a few weeks ahead of time, with lots of crap like how we are marching into the future, and bullshit like that.

I didn’t like those topics, and when it finally came to me, I wasn’t sure the school would allow me to make the speech. I went ahead and wrote it anyway, and submitted it to the Principal. He read it, and then reread it. “You really want to get up on stage and say this?” he asked.

“I do.”

He replied, “You aren’t going to make any friends with this.”

“Maybe that’s why I need to say it.”

He gave me a hard look and then shrugged. He signed off on it with the words, “It’s your funeral.” He handed it back to me.

Now it was time to speak. We had all marched in together, in alphabetical order, but I was at the front of the line, and I had marched up to the stage. Several other faculty members were up there in gowns and mortarboards, along with the guest speaker, a local county representative or something of the sort, a politician. We marched in, girls on the left and guys on the right, and sat in the lower seats facing the stage. Parents and guests sat on the sides, up in the bleachers (but a lot more comfortable chairs than regular bleachers) watching. After everybody and their brother got through talking, but right before we got our diplomas, it was my turn. I stood and went to the podium. I was more worried about tripping in the damn robes than in anything else. Mine were too long and dragged on the floor. I reached inside and pulled out my speech and set it on the podium and looked out. I took a deep breath. Showtime! I was about to lose every friend I had gained in the last four-plus years.

When I was asked to speak today, I wondered what I should speak about. I wondered what legacy our class would leave behind, and even more importantly, what legacy our generation would leave behind. As a nation we are rapidly approaching our third century of existence. Are we as a generation prepared to handle it?

Two hundred years ago, a generation of Americans with names such as Washington, Jefferson, and Adams were already talking about their legacy. They would go on to declare independence, fight a war, and write a constitution, and then build an entire new country. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.

Four score and seven years later, another generation of Americans had a disagreement about the future of that new country. They had another war, but they ended slavery and conquered a continent. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.

I had to be careful here. Maryland was still south of the Mason-Dixon Line and even though the Civil War ended over a century ago, there were still some people in the neighborhood who called it The War of Northern Aggression. Once a new preacher came to town and put The Battle Hymn of the Republic on the hymn list for Sunday service, and half a dozen people got up and marched out of the church!

Our parent’s generation climbed out of the Great Depression, defeated Tojo, Mussolini, and Hitler, and then went on to put a man on the Moon. Theirs was a legacy of service and sacrifice.

Now it is our generation’s turn. We even have a name, the Baby Boomers. We were born between 1946 and 1964, and we here are right in the middle of that generation. Our parents survived the Depression, and after fighting in World War II and Korea, decided to come home and relax. Well, we’re the result of that relaxation. As a group, we are the largest, the richest, the most privileged, and the most pampered generation of Americans yet born. I look at the legacy we are building, and so far it isn’t very impressive.

If the power goes out we complain because we can’t watch our favorite TV show, yet my father was born in a farmhouse without electricity or running water. We complain about war and burn our draft cards, but my mother would go on vacation to the beach and see ships burning where German submarines sank them. One day our parents will be known as the greatest generation of Americans, and we will be known as a bunch of whiny bastards! If previous generations left us legacies of service and sacrifice, ours seems to be a legacy of entitlement!

Okay, I stole the ‘greatest generation’ line from Tom Brokaw, but by the time he writes it in the new future, nobody here will remember. Also, the Principal had wanted me to lose the word bastards, and I told him I would change it. Somehow it got left in.

This not a legacy I wish to leave behind. A member of our parents’ generation once said it best. He fought against tyranny and oppression, was wounded in that fight, and then survived to become a great American leader, only to end up paying the ultimate price for his service. John F. Kennedy told us to not ask what our country can do for us, but to ask what we can do for our country. I cannot change the behavior of a generation. I can only change my own behavior, and tell others what they can do to change their behavior. I cannot make commitments about how others will behave, but I can make commitments as to how I will behave. Therefore, I plan to make the following commitments.

First, I am going to college. There is no surprise in that. I dare say that every valedictorian in America will go on to college. No, my commitment is to go to a school that teaches science and engineering. Scientists and engineers invent and build things, and inventing and building things seems a whole lot more productive than buying and selling and squabbling about things.

I hoped that wouldn’t insult the salespeople and lawyers in the crowd. I wondered if they would even be aware I was talking about them.

Second, I commit myself to serving our country. Again, it is not too surprising that a valedictorian has some scholarships lined up. Mine is through the Army. I will be a soldier. We live in a great nation, and one that has enemies. I doubt I will make it a career, but I intend to help protect this nation, so that future generations will have the chance to make their own legacies.

And finally, I plan to make some money, maybe quite a bit of money. No, that is not the commitment; that is just the American dream. No, my final commitment is that when the time comes, every April 15^th, to pay my taxes, I will do so with a smile. Taxes are what we pay for civilization, said a member of the generation that ended slavery, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. They pay for roads and bridges and sewers and water and police and firemen and garbage collectors and everything else we need to function. So I will pay those taxes and not complain, because I much prefer living in a civilized world than in an uncivilized world.

Those are the prices I will pay, to leave our nation a better place. What price will you pay, or will you decide not to pay anything? My challenge to you is to commit to improving this nation and to leave behind a legacy of service and sacrifice like those who gave us this chance. Thank you.

I stepped back from the podium. I had been so nervous about what I was saying, I hadn’t really noticed the reaction I had gotten. Was anybody even listening, or were they all just sitting there waiting for this interminable day to end? I looked out at the audience, and they were just sitting there staring at me in silence. Okay, this had been a notable bust. I moved back to my chair, hoping to not make any more of an ass of myself than I could.

Then the applause started. I looked up and saw my classmates applauding and climbing to their feet. Stunned, I looked out and found the audience doing the same. I didn’t understand! I had just insulted every member of my class and called them whiny bastards, and now I was getting a standing ovation. This was simply incomprehensible. I just stood there as the building erupted in cheers and applause, and the Principal shook my hand. I didn’t know what to do. After a minute or so, I sat down and we finished the ceremony. I collected my diploma, my classmates trooped across the stage and got theirs, and we marched the hell back down the aisle as our parents applauded. I felt totally drained, and my shirt was drenched with flop sweat.

I was mobbed by my classmates out in the parking lot. I peeled off my robe and just leaned against the side of the building near the doorway. Ray found me and handed me a flask, and I think I chugged a couple ounces of something potent before I handed it back, coughing. He just grinned at me. “That was amazing!” he said with a big grin.

I didn’t understand. “I don’t get it.” I had just dumped a Cleveland Steamer on my fellow Baby Boomers, and everybody was cheering for me? This made no sense whatsoever.

It got crazier. All my friends, and even some kids I barely knew, came up to me and shook my hand. Finally I grabbed Ricky Santorin, one of the guys in the college prep group like me, and asked him. “Ricky, what’s going on? Everybody says they loved my speech, but I don’t understand why! I just dumped on everyone!”

“No, you didn’t,” said Mrs. Rogers, coming towards me. “You challenged them. You challenged them to be better than they were, and they responded. Right now every parent in that room is wondering if any of you will live up to that challenge.”

Ricky laughed. “My parents are wondering about paying to send me away for four years. Their challenge will be getting me to graduate!” I had to join in the laughter at that.

Mrs. Rogers smiled. “Then here’s a fourth challenge, Mr. Buckman. You come back to your high school reunion in five years and show us what you’ve done to meet your challenge. Your classmates will be waiting on you!”

Ricky laughed at that and pushed me back against the wall. We fumble-farted around for a bit, and then Jeana came bounding up, followed by my family. My parents had brought Suzie with them; Hamilton had declared a sudden stomach ache and nobody wanted him there anyway. Ricky took off and I hugged Jeana and then Mom. Dad I simply shook hands with. Mrs. Rogers said, “I was just commenting to your son how impressed I was with his speech. I can’t recall every hearing one quite like that.”

For once even my mother looked at me proudly, although Dad looked at me with pride and a certain degree of skepticism. “Me either,” he replied. “Since when did you know I was born in a house without water or electricity?”

“Since every summer when we go to the family reunion and you tell us all about it!” I winked at Suzie and she joined me in reciting, “Walking barefoot to school, through the snow, thirteen miles, uphill, each way!” Every summer the story got longer and more dire, until all three of us kids began reciting it before Dad could get around to it. Dad had lived on a farm out in Arcadia until shortly before the war, at which time they moved into the working-class Pimlico section of Baltimore. “I told Aunt Peg about it one time and she told me the truth.”

Mom laughed at him, and Dad just smiled and said, “Your Aunt Peg lies.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

At that point it became surreal. The Principal came up to me, dragging the speaker, the county politician who had talked before me, and a third man, a young fellow who announced he was with the Baltimore Sun. Everyone congratulated me on my brilliant speech, and the county representative suggested I had a fine career ahead of me in politics.

It must have been a very slow news day for somebody to be reporting on a high school graduation. It was actually kind of strange. The reporter already had a copy of my speech that he had gotten from the Principal. I had no idea it was copied and available. “That was an amazing speech, Carl. Are you planning on going into politics?”

I stared at him for a second. “God, no! I would like to think I have more self respect than that!”

Several people laughed at that, although my parents and the politician were mortified. “You don’t think much of politicians?” asked the reporter.

I thought about it for a second. “Politicians are a lot like puppies. They’re cute and warm and loving and like to lick your face, but as soon as you put them down, they like to go to the corner of the room and pee on the carpet. The difference is that with a puppy, you can yell at them and rub their noses in it and hit them with a rolled up newspaper, and sooner or later they learn not to pee on the carpet. Politicians never learn. No matter how much you yell or how much you rub their noses in it or how hard you hit them, they always end up peeing on the carpet.”

The reporter grinned at this, and the Principal and the politician ran away like I had just puked on their shoes. Dad just shook his head and rolled his eyes, and Mrs. Rogers smiled

“Are you visiting anytime soon?” asked Mom, which caused Mrs. Rogers to look at me funny. I had kept my apartment secret from everybody at school but Jeana.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I was thinking I’d take Jeana out.” I turned to her. She was in a very pretty little sundress, nice and light and airy, perfect for a June day. “Did you want to go out to lunch? How did you get over here?”

“Your parents picked me up. I’ll go with you,” she answered.

“We can go out to eat, if you’d prefer,” Mom said.

I was tempted to say no, but decided to make nice. “I’ll find you in the parking lot in a few minutes. I’ll follow you.”

My parents and Suzie left, and I found myself with Jeana and Mrs. Rogers. “Carl, I know this isn’t my business, but you only visit your home?”

I shrugged, and then took a deep breath. Mrs. Rogers was a good person and a good teacher. She had taken a chance on me. “I moved out two years ago. I have an apartment in Towson.”

Mrs. Rogers’ eyes snapped wide open at that. “Two years!” She looked over at Jeana, who had an arm through mine. “Oh, my!”

“I’m pretty independent, Mrs. Rogers.” I gave a quickie explanation of the problems with my brother, without getting too detailed. “It was just simpler for all of us.”

“Well, I just don’t know what to say. I’ll be very interested in what you have to say for yourself at the reunion in five years.”

I grinned at that. “With your shield or on it, Mrs. Rogers,” I replied, quoting the orders given to Spartan hoplites before going off to war. Either come home carrying your shield, victorious, or come home being carried on your shield as a makeshift stretcher. No other choices were allowed. Conquer or die.

“Precisely.”

Jeana and I moved off to the parking lot and I followed them to a restaurant in Cockeysville. After that, I drove Jeana back to my apartment, for a little personal time. It was still only mid-afternoon, so I went over to my liquor cabinet and pulled out a pair of wine bottles. “White or red?” I asked her.

She smiled. “Let’s go for the red today.”

I nodded and put back a bottle of chardonnay. I glanced at the bottle of red. “How about a nice little cabernet?” I grabbed a couple of wine glasses and the corkscrew, and peeled the foil off the wine bottle. I pulled the cork and poured some in our glasses and handed hers to Jeana. “Here’s to graduation. Thank God that’s over!”

Jeana laughed. I took the bottle and my glass and led the way back into the living room area, and set them down on an end table. I sat in the armchair and smiled at her, and she sat down sideways on my lap, being careful not to spill her wine. I picked up my wine and sipped it. “Have I told you today just how beautiful you are?”

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to remember, but I just can’t be sure,” she responded teasingly.

“Well, it’s true. You are very, very beautiful.” I sipped some more wine and gave her a leering look up and down her body. “And that’s a lovely little dress you have on, too.” She was wearing a white linen sundress that left her shoulders bare except for a couple of very thin straps. “Is it new?”

“You noticed!” she said with surprise.

“Of course!” I eyed her lewdly. With the hand behind her back, I found the hook-and-eye catch and flicked it open and the grasped the zipper and tugged it down.

“I think you have ulterior motives, Mister Valedictorian!”

I gave her my most innocent look and set my glass back on the end table. “Oh, how can you say such a thing? I’m just trying to be helpful! Could you imagine what your parents would say if you came home with a spilled wine stain on this nice white dress? They’d be furious!” I pulled the straps down off her shoulders. Underneath the dress Jeana had been wearing an almost transparent strapless bra, and I doubt it came from K-Mart.

“You’re so thoughtful.”

“I am, I am!” I set her glass to the side and, as she lifted up off my lap, I tugged her dress completely down and off. Jeana was left sitting on my lap in her bra and matching transparent white panties and her ankle-strapped high heeled sandals. Suddenly I felt quite warm, and not because the air conditioning was set too low. “You look spectacular!” I handed Jeana back her wine and she sipped at it silently, while starting to fiddle with my tie.

I popped the clasp behind her back and her bra slipped off as well. “Worried about wine stains there, too?” she asked.

“I really think that would set your Mom off.”

“What would set my Mom off would be simply knowing that I had a bra like this!” she replied.

“Would they kill you first, or me first?”

“I think it’d be a tag team event. Dad would work on you while Mom would kill me, and then they’d swap off.” Jeana handed me her glass, and then lifted her delicious little rump and slipped off her panties. “Forget about them and drink your wine! Don’t you remember? I’m going away tomorrow for ten days. This is our last chance to be together. Hurry up! I need something a lot more stimulating than wine!”

I laughed at her and kissed her, and then helped her strip my tie and shirt off. She was right. Tomorrow morning the Colosimos were heading back to New York for vacation with their family. We needed to screw our brains out this afternoon, since after I took her home today, it was Celibacy City for the next week and a half. We finished off our wine while we made out in the armchair, and then ran into the bedroom to get more comfortable. I was exhausted and sated by the time I drove her back to her parents after we made dinner. We made love four times that day — missionary, cowgirl, doggy, and then missionary again. Jeana had an appetite and ability for carnal dissipation that was world class!

Summer was beginning, and we were planning to spend massive amounts of time together before I went off to college. I was still taking a few more humanities courses this summer, but I would still be able to spend time with her getting hot and sweaty. During the coming week, however, I was able to spend time getting into the swing of summer school over at Towson State.

It was almost two weeks, actually, before I was able to see Jeana again, and our actions were a little limited, since her monthly friend was making an appearance. Furthermore, her parents were acting very suspiciously around us, as if they didn’t want to leave us alone. At one point I asked Jeana what was going on.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s something my Aunt Theresa said to her. My cousin, Mary Jane, who’s a year younger than me, got herself knocked up. The entire vacation that’s all we talked about,” she replied.

“So, do they know what we’ve been up to?” I asked.

“No. You’re still alive!”

I semi-laughed at that, but only semi, since Mr. Colosimo gave me a number of hard looks. I wondered if her mother had found Jeana’s stash of lingerie. Well, a man has to die of something, I suppose. I always used to joke with Marilyn that I wanted to die when I was 80 while diving out a window, being shot by a jealous husband. Her typical reply was that with what I had to offer, I’d die alone in my bed.

The following week Jeana was back in shape for fun, and we were both in the mood for some serious action. Now, however, there was an air of necessity about it all. The 800 pound gorilla in the room was that I was leaving in a few months. It was one thing to date somebody at a school five miles away, but Troy was at least 350 miles away. What would happen when we split apart like that? Would we break up? Try to keep it together? Meet new people?

This was on both our minds, and weighed heavily on us. On my first trip, I didn’t have a girlfriend when I went to college, having broken up with my girlfriend mid-summer. What would we do when I left at the end of August? I didn’t know, and while I wanted desperately to spend as much time with Jeana as I could, I was feeling bittersweet and depressed about it. Jeana’s parents were also being more obstructive. Now that her cousin, her younger cousin, was pregnant, it was like they finally realized that their gorgeous little girl was dating a guy with a car.

That first week we were back together went much like previous ones. Some days I would go over to Jeana’s house after her folks went to work, some days I would pick her up and we would go out, and then back to my apartment. Friday nights and Saturday nights we would go on official dates. Things cooled down some with them, but you could still tell they were watching us a lot more closely than before.

It was the following Friday night that the schedule changed, somewhat. Jeana’s parents had to go to a dinner downtown, so they were going to be out for many hours. We went out to dinner, but then Jeana suggested we go back to her place and screw around. I shrugged and agreed, and we drove back to her house. Jeana was very turned on, and flashed her panties at me on the drive home. Once inside her house I expected that we would run to the basement, but she couldn’t even wait that long! “No, I can’t wait! I want to do it right here!” she said, dragging me into the living room.

“Here? In the living room?” I asked in disbelief. This was the one place we never fooled around.

“I was talking to Mary Jane, and she told me that was where she and her boyfriend used to do it. It made me so hot!” Jeana pulled off her tank top and her bra, and then pushed down her shorts and bikini panties. “Hurry up!”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

“No! Come on, get undressed!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her, and started working on my jeans.

“Jeana, did you tell your cousin that we were screwing, too?”

“Oh, yeah, we talk about everything. Come on, get undressed.”

Oh shit! Now I knew what was going on with Jeana’s parents. Jeana told Mary Jane, Mary Jane told her mother, Mary Jane’s mother told Jeana’s mother… hell, by now half the Colosimo family knew about us! I could feel my life ending. Still, I was being sexually assaulted by a naked centerfold quality girl. The blood had flowed to my small head, and I went along with Jeana’s insane plan. I sat down on the couch and stripped down as well. After all, Jeana’s parents wouldn’t be home for at least another three hours, and I figured I could drag us down to the basement after this first round.

As soon as we were naked, Jeana was in my arms, with one hand stroking my rock hard cock, while she moaned as I roughly fondled her big tits. She was feeling very aggressive that night, and she pushed me flat on my back on the couch. The next thing I knew, Jeana had reversed her own position and had crawled onto the couch on top of me. I found myself staring up at her very wet and very inviting pussy, and I totally lost any capacity for thought when her lips started sucking on my cockhead. Groaning, I gave in. I wrapped my hands around that plump ass and pulled her down, and began slurping away on her pussy lips and clit.

Jeana liked that, as she gave a happy shriek, and ground herself down on my face. She continued sucking and jacking on my cock. I knew we were going to finish in this position by the moans she was making. Sometimes it’s just foreplay, but other times it’s a main event. I just concentrated on Jeana’s clit. We wouldn’t be long before I popped and we could scamper downstairs.

Jeana was bouncing on my face, pussy juice streaming out of her as she orgasmed. After another three or four minutes, I could feel my balls tightening up and my hips were humping up, driving my cock into her mouth. I mumbled something to indicate I was going to come, but I don’t know if she heard me. It didn’t matter, since it was pretty obvious what was about to happen. I held back as long as I could before giving in. Just as I cut loose, Jeana pulled her mouth off my dick, like she wanted me to give her a facial. I just pulled her ass down as my cock started spurting.

“OH MY GOD!” That wasn’t Jeana’s voice! It was the voice of her mother.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?” That wasn’t Jeana either, but her father.

So much for romance! Jeana’s parents came in the door just as I started coming. Jeana must have heard something because she pulled away from me, just in time to get a full facial, with them staring at her in amazement. This change in position, however, sat her ass down even more fully on my face, and cut off my breathing. While my cock finished pumping (totally out of my control, an anatomical reflex once it gets started) I began struggling to get out from under Jeana before they killed me or she smothered me. As her parents screamed, I flailed away and simply succeeded in rolling us both off the couch and onto the floor.

I landed on top of Jeana, and the next thing I knew I felt a sharp pain in my side as something hit me from behind. I tried scrambling off my girlfriend, only to find myself face to face with a murderous Mr. Colosimo. He took a swing at me, and for once, my aikido skills vanished. I took a roundhouse punch to the face and felt my nose give way. I could even hear the bones breaking! Blood spraying, I flew backwards and landed on the coffee table, which collapsed under me. There was all sorts of fresh pain from my backside now, but I suppose the collapse saved me from even more. Just then I noticed a tea cup flying across the room at me, but since I was now on the floor in the wreckage of the table, it flew through the air above me.

Mrs. Colosimo was shrieking incoherently as she threw her tea service at me. Jeana was screaming and crying as she tried to use her body to shield me from her enraged father. Suddenly the old joke of dying by being shot by a jealous husband seemed all too realistic! I scrambled to my feet, taking two more shots from tea cups, grabbed my pants off the floor, and raced out the still open front door. I didn’t stop until I got to my car.

Then, as the neighbors came out of their houses and stared at the commotion, and listened to the uproar inside the Colosimo house, I yanked my pants on and climbed into my car. I just had my keys out of my pocket when Mr. Colosimo came roaring out of his front door running down the driveway towards me. I locked the doors, started the car, and tore out of the neighborhood as fast as I could!

I stopped at the corner of Joppa Road. I looked in the mirror and found my face was covered in blood, and I hurt all over. I needed to get to a doctor. It probably would have been smarter to stop and call for an ambulance, but I could make it to a hospital faster if I just kept driving. As blood dripped down my face and onto my bare torso, I drove over to GBMC and parked near the Emergency Room. Barefoot, I picked my way through the parking lot, limping as I did. I must have managed to cut my left foot open, either in the house or running down to my car. I limped into the emergency room, where I was spotted by a nurse.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

I limped closer. “Long and painful story.”

She grabbed my arm. “How did you get here?” She pulled me through some automatic doors and pushed me into a cubicle.

I climbed onto an exam table. My ribs hurt and my ass was killing me, and my broken nose was throbbing. “I think I need a doctor.” I lay back, but ended up sitting back up when my ass started bugging me even worse.

The nurse had decided I wasn’t dying in the next few seconds, so she grabbed a clipboard and started the hospital routine of asking my name, rank, and serial number — the standard hospital crap. All I could grab when I ran out was my pants, but fortunately I had my wallet in my back pocket and my keys in a front pocket. I pulled out my wallet and gave the nurse my health insurance card, and then lay back down in the most pain free position I could manage. She left me and stepped out of the cubicle.

About five minutes later, two more people came in. One was a young fellow in surgical scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck who was obviously the doctor. The other fellow was a few years older, and was wearing the uniform of the Maryland State Police. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. GBMC is the major trauma center for the northern portion of Baltimore County, and they are always getting accident or fight victims into the Emergency Room. It’s not as bad as Johns Hopkins down in the city, known to one and all as the ‘Baltimore Knife and Gun Club’, but it was bad enough that you could usually find a cop nearby.

The cop stayed with me as the doctor started examining me. I tried to get him to drop his little investigation, but he wanted to know what was happening. Meanwhile the doctor and the nurse, a different one than before, started cleaning the blood off me and stripped my jeans off, leaving me in a hospital gown. They had the worst of the blood off my face, and the doctor was getting ready to bandage up my nose when my parents came barging in. Things were just going from bad to worse!

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“You’re still our son and still a minor. The hospital called us,” explained Dad. “What happened?”

“Carling, what happened to you!?” cried Mom when she saw me. Okay, the maternal instincts could kick in when needed, but I knew I’d never hear the end of this.

“I keep asking that myself,” commented the trooper.

“Were you in an accident?” asked Dad, eyeing both me and the policeman.

“No.”

“Well?” asked both Dad and the trooper. Even the doctor and nurse stopped what they were doing to listen in.

I just groaned. “Okay, I’m just going to say that this is nothing that the police can do anything about, and I won’t be pressing charges, no matter what. My girlfriend’s parents came home a lot earlier than we expected. Okay?”

It took everybody a few seconds to visualize what had happened, and then the babble started up again. Mom was ‘extremely disappointed’ in me. The nurse and doctor just rolled their eyes. Dad tried to stifle a grin and a laugh.

The trooper didn’t even try to not laugh. He folded up his notebook and stuffed it back in his pocket. “And you don’t want to press charges?”

“No way, no how!” I answered.

He shrugged. “It could have been worse, you know.”

“How?”

“It could have been your girlfriend’s husband.” That got him a number of groans, and he laughed and left the room. I’ve known a lot of cops over the years and I knew I was going to be the topic of conversation back at the barracks that night.

Mom continued to lecture me while I was worked on, and Dad didn’t try to stop her. After my nose was taped up, I was laid face down on the table while the injuries to my backside were examined. The large bruise above my left ribs was poked and prodded and I was told X-rays would be taken. “What caused that?” asked Dad.

“Mrs. Colosimo hit me with her sterling silver tea pot, I think.”

Dad grunted at that. Then they started poking and prodding my butt, and Mom kept scolding me. Forceps were used to draw several wooden slivers from my ass, and then I was bandaged up. I explained these were from a coffee table, and I got a tetanus shot along with some penicillin. The cut on the bottom of my left foot was worse. They dug a shard of what appeared to be a tea cup out of that, and I needed four stitches to close it up. I was in almost as much pain when I left as when I got there! I was given a prescription for pain killers, sent off for X-rays, and finally escaped somewhere around midnight.

It was actually a good thing that my parents were there. I was in no shape to drive. Mom drove my car (Dad threw a blanket over the blood stains on the seat) and Dad drove me in his car. I had thrown away the bloody torn jeans and was dressed in hospital scrubs and slippers. We stopped at an all night pharmacy and got some pills, and then I went home. My parents followed me inside.

They watched as I went into the kitchen. I popped open the pain killers and read the directions. One every four hours. Screw that. I took two. Next I opened up my liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Canadian Mist. I grabbed a few glasses. “Anybody want a snort before I go to bed?” I asked.

Mom was dumbfounded by my possession of liquor, my father, not so much. “You shouldn’t be doing that with those pills,” he told me.

“Carling! What are you doing?”

I was pushing my luck, but I just didn’t care anymore. I poured about a shot’s worth into one of the glasses and pushed it across the counter to my father, and then poured a second for myself. I raised an eyebrow to Mom, but she was in a state of high dudgeon and didn’t answer. I shrugged. I turned back to Dad. “Mud in your eye!”

“Same to you.” We both lifted our glasses and downed the whiskey in a single swallow.

“You two are both disgusting!” said Mom.

“Shirley, let it alone,” Dad said in a tired voice.

“Carl, I hope you’ve learned your lesson!”

What lesson would that be, Mom? Not to have a girlfriend who blabs about getting laid to her family? Or not to let her screw you in the living room? Or to run faster when being pursued by a homicidal father? I was too tired to argue. “Good night, Mom. Thanks for bringing me home. I really do appreciate it. Good night, Dad.”

“Well, I never…” she continued, but Dad took her by the elbow and led her out.

I had another shot and went to bed.

I woke up the next afternoon, after sleeping around 14 hours straight. My telephone was ringing, and I grabbed it rather than wait for it to go to record. Unfortunately it was my mother, and not Jeana. Mom wanted to know why I hadn’t answered her earlier calls (“Because I was asleep, Mom.”) and whether I should move home until I was feeling better (“No thank you.”) I’d rather move in with Mr. and Mrs. Colosimo than that!

I rolled out of bed and put my feet to the floor, only to be really woken up by a stabbing sensation in my left foot. I had forgotten my stitches. I gingerly hobbled into the bathroom. I looked about as good as I felt — like a week old sack of shit. Mr. Colosimo must have really tagged me with that roundhouse right, because in addition to my busted nose, I had a pair of black eyes, a contusion on my cheek, and a split lower lip. My ribs hurt like hell, and I was going to be limping for a couple of days. Being a black belt in aikido didn’t seem to count for much against a really pissed off father.

I brushed my teeth carefully, which still managed to cause my split lip to open up a bit, so I swallowed another pain pill. I had been warned against showering for a few days, and simply grabbed my robe and wandered out into the front half of the apartment. The answering machine was lit up, but the only thing on it were five calls from my mother. Nothing from Jeana.

I moped around the apartment for the rest of the weekend, on a subsistence diet of pain killers, beer, and chicken noodle soup. Were you aware that every single civilization in the world has some form of chicken noodle soup, and that every one of them is guaranteed by mothers to cure every disease known to man, up to and including cancer? It’s true. It wasn’t working on bruising, so I wasn’t moving around much.

I did hear from my father Sunday night. Mr. Colosimo called him at the house and demanded to speak to me, and when I wasn’t made available, threatened me, Dad, Mom, our family, our relatives, and Daisy the Dog with every manner of threat possible. Dad responded in kind, which Mom was happy to tell me had been very childish. I didn’t think a Sunday afternoon drive to see Jeana would be very helpful. Jeana didn’t call.

Monday morning I woke up early. I had classes and needed some time to prepare myself for school. I wrapped some Saran Wrap around my foot and managed a quick shower. I was able to replace the bandage on my face with a much smaller one, changed the Band-Aids on my ass, and somehow changed the bandage on my foot with a smaller one I could put a shoe over. I was still limping badly, but I could get around. My face still looked hideous, with the bruising now beginning to enter the really ugly green and yellow stage. Luckily, the split lip was mostly healed up. I got quite a few stares from my classmates.

By mid-week I still hadn’t heard from Jeana. I had tried driving by the house a couple of times, but they must have had her under lock and key. Her mother’s car was there, and the one time I parked and walked towards the house, I heard them arguing inside. I skipped out. Dad called me Wednesday afternoon to tell me a large box had arrived for me at the house. I went over and found it contained the clothing and shoes I had left behind at Jeana’s during my hasty departure. Also in the box was a forceful note in her father’s handwriting telling me to never show my face again around their house. A small envelope was the saddest item, since it contained the locket, tennis bracelet, and an ankle bracelet I had given Jeana, along with my class ring. There was no note from her. I declined the offer of dinner and took the box home with me.

I waited a day, just staring at the box, and at the envelope, and then called Ray. He had been dating Marianne Monroe for a few months, and Marianne was a friend of Jeana’s. Ray and Marianne had broken up, but he still had her number. I called her and invited her out to lunch on Friday. We met at a place over in Towsontown Mall.

“Wow! Jeana’s old man really worked you over, didn’t he?” was the first thing she said to me.

“You heard about that, huh?”

She nodded and grinned. “Jeana called me the next day and told me what happened. You look pretty gross.”

“Thanks. I actually look better now. Last weekend I looked grotesque.”

We talked about my injuries for a moment, and then I asked, “How’s Jeana doing? I’ve tried calling, but they’re screening their phone calls, and whenever I’ve tried driving by, one of her parents is around. What’s she said to you?”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “It’s not good, Carl. I think she’s been grounded for the rest of her natural life. They took away her car keys and one of her parents is staying at home with her until school starts. They’ve even been talking about sending her to a girl’s only Catholic boarding school.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah! You’ve got about as much chance of seeing her as you do of getting into a convent,” she said.

I shook my head. “Do you think you could get in to see her?” I asked.

Marianne’s eyes popped open at that. “Hey, Carl, don’t get me into this!”

“Marianne, you’re not going to get into it. You’re just going to see her. That’s all.”

“No way am I going over there while it’s like this!”

“So, how did you hear about all this?” I asked.

“Jeana called me on Sunday.”

“I thought you said she was in solitary?”

“Close. I guess the warden must have relented. I know her Mom was nearby, because she was whispering part of the time,” she admitted.

“Great! You can go over to her house and carry a letter for me.”

Marianne started waving her hands at me. “No way! No way!”

“Marianne, get real. They’re not going to strip search you. You just get her alone and slip her the letter. It’ll be easy!” It took me several minutes to convince her to go along with me. I handed her the envelope and she put it in her purse. Business done, we spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about her upcoming senior year over at Loch Raven and my college plans.

It was a short letter, simple and to the point. Packed in with the letter was the jewelry she had returned to me. I kept my class ring.

She never called or wrote. I checked with Marianne, and she reported she had given Jeana the note, and Jeana had read it, but she never called or wrote.