I parked the car at the curb, several houses down from Eleanor Kaminski’s, and sat there for a few minutes before getting out and heading slowly down the sidewalk. I didn’t especially feel like being there, but at the same time, I didn’t feel right about standing her up when I told her that I would come back. There were lights in several of her windows but the front porch light was off, and I wondered if that was a sign,...

Mrs. Kaminski had a huge bush. I realize it was a different time, but the thatch of hair camouflaging that pussy was substantial even by 1979 standards. Even though I fully expected some such situation, when I finally managed to get her shorts down over her broad ass and large, sturdy thighs, the great tufts of pubic hair sprouting out either side of the crotch of her underpants left me momentarily taken aback. But only m...

The next morning, the day of the wedding I wasn’t going to attend, Eleanor Kaminski was waiting for me at her back door at 9 a.m. She was wearing a man’s white broadcloth shirt, a little frayed at the collar, and nothing else, Like some model in a Swedish pipe tobacco commercial. She unbuttoned it as she led me through her kitchen, and when we reached the hallway she stopped and turned, dropped the shirt to the floor, and...

The quotidian fuckfest that was the Suzie Bowen Experience continued apace. Unfortunately, the time we spent together that didn’t involve sex seemed more pointless than ever. Not that there was a lot of it. Her affinity for orgasms at someone’s hand other than her own was probably equal to mineOften we had to limit ourselves to quick blowjobs, handjobs, and finger fucks. One night, while her mother sat in the living room...

Even though we waited online at the snack bar for ten minutes, it turned out neither one of us was hungry. I bought a large soda for us to share. As soon as we got back to the car, Suzie Bowen put the soda on the floor, got up on her knees on the bench seat, and stripped off her polo shirt again. She leaned forward and kissed me, then went once more for the button on my jeans.“Can you pull these down some?” she said, and...

I punched in for my shift feeling a little seedy and worse for wear. For one thing, I could have used a shower. I washed up a bit in Eleanor Kaminski’s bathroom, but it wasn’t enough to completely purge the funk of our exertions on her floor. I kept catching stray whiffs of Mrs. Kaminski’s talcum-powder-suntan-lotion-herbal-shampoo-spray-deodorant-cigarette-smoke bouquet—a strange, cloying, chemical mix—with undertones of...

Eleanor Kaminski lay completely naked atop her bed, starfish-like. Her head was thrown back, stuck between a couple pillows and jammed against the oak headboard—some cheap, ugly French Provincial thing they probably got at Sheely’s after a long layaway. Her throat glistened. She kept saying “Oh my God... Oh my God.” The room—at my particular coordinates, anyway—smelled like cunt and dirty ashtray and a chemicaled pine fro...

O, love and summer, you are in the dreams and in me.--Walt Whitman, The Sleepers Wednesday was the last day of my little lawn service business. It was like so many other days in that summer of 1979, hot and close, the air an atomized poison of car exhaust and dew steaming off roof shingles. I was nervous about seeing Eleanor Kaminski one more time, afraid it was going to be awkward. I had already begun to feel a certain a...

My other employers booked no daytime hours for me on Wednesdays so I could service my yardwork clientele. I mowed five different lawns all within a few blocks of each other. I started around nine in the morning, and it usually took me about six hours or so. The Kaminski’s yard was the last one on the list; its promise as well as the extra adrenalin it incited helped me push through the tedium and fatigue of it all. I fini...