Many years ago, right after I graduated from high school, I joined the United States Air Force. It was a normal thing for me to do back then. Almost everybody went to work right out of high school, either by joining some branch of the armed services or getting a job. Usually, the job would be in a local factory or cannery or similar place. Hardly anybody went on to college at that time and that place. I was only 17, and there was no job available then, and none that I wanted even after I turned 18. The armed forces, the Air Force in particular, seemed like the obvious choice.
Seven months later, on my way to my first permanent duty station, I stopped in my home town for a few days. I was 18 by then, and had managed to wangle an identification card that listed my date of birth as three years earlier than the actual year. This meant I could drink in bars and, if asked my age, could "prove" that I was old enough to be there. I used to do quite a bit of that, mostly when I was in places where nobody knew me.
In my home town, though, if I wanted to hang out with my buddies, it usually couldn't be in a bar. They were all about my actual age, or even younger, and not lucky enough to have inaccurate identification cards as I had. This was not a problem because we could get together in one of the local restaurants. They just served beer, which was what I wanted anyhow, and the others settled for soft drinks. It was January, and much too cold to hang around outside.
My second night there, an old pal and his girl friend and I went into one of our favorite places. I ordered beer, and provided identification when asked. The others were not carded, because they asked for Coca Cola. A few minutes after we were served, another young woman, a close friend of my buddy's girl friend, joined us. She was on her way home from work, and wore blue jeans and a long winter coat, which she hung on the coat rack before joining us. I recognized her immediately, having gone through several years of elementary school and four years of high school with her. Her name was Darlene Lane, and I had never been close to her in all those years, although I had tried.
She had dark hair and her face was rather homely, but her body was what I would then have called "pleasantly plump" but now would call "zoftig". In high school, she had a reputation as being very promiscuous, ready to fuck anybody. That was just a rumor, although widespread. I knew it was not completely true because, in my shy, bumbling way, I had tried to get into her pants, only to be firmly rebuffed. After that, I had little to do with her, so I was surprised when she greeted me warmly and took a seat closer to me, than to her friend.
"Hi, Darlene. What'll you have?" I asked her. After she told me, I went to the counter to fetch and pay for the particular soft drink she favored.
"Thanks, George." I was rewarded by a very pretty smile, and Darlene's face suddenly became much less homely. She not only smiled, but leaned closer and squeezed my hand. It felt good, and I wasn't used to such gestures from girls or women, so I leaned a little closer to her too.
That evening was very pleasant and I learned a lot about Darlene. She had started working at a local cannery right after finishing high school, and didn't like it very much, but thought it could have been worse. I was not surprised to hear she was still sharing the same small, two-bedroom house with her mother. That night, she seemed much nicer than I remembered her.
I told Darlene about myself too, how I was an Airman Third Class on my way to an airbase a few hundred miles north of town. That was actually quite close; I would be able to return home occasionally and she seemed glad to hear that. A few years earlier, when I had attempted an assault on her rather dubious virtue, she had essentially told me to hit the road, and not come back. That night, though, Darlene seemed much more interested in me than she had been before, partly, I suppose, because I was a more interesting.
We ordered another round of drinks and, wanting to continue to find favor with Darlene, I paid for them. She rewarded me with another smile and squeezed my hand again. This time, she left her hand on mine, and that felt even better.
After finishing her Coke, Darlene announced she would have to leave. "I have to take my mother's hearing aid to the repair shop, and they close at nine." She got up to leave, and I went with her to the exit, stopping to help her on with her coat. When I walked to the door, she held my hand until we stopped on the front steps.
"Do you think you're going to be here tomorrow night, George?"
"Probably. I know Pete and Ellen like to hang out here."
"Okay, I'll see you here then." Darlene hesitated briefly, before leaving, but she turned and smiled and waved to me just before turning the corner on her way home. After she was out of sight, I wondered if I could have kissed her, or if she had wanted me to.
I finished my beer, and decided to call it a night as well. It was fun hanging out with friends and drinking beer, but I also wanted to be with my family as much as I could. For the rest of the night, I chatted with my parents and my brother and sister. I went to bed late and woke up late the next morning.
At that time, I didn't have a car, and didn't really need one, because the town was small enough that I could walk anywhere I wanted, and that's what I did, seeing all the things I had missed over the last seven months. After eating dinner at home, I walked back to the same restaurant. Pete and Ellen were there again, and Ellen had some surprising news for me, which I was glad to hear.
"I talked to Darlene today, and she tells me she's going to try to get your class ring from you tonight."
I looked at the ring when I heard that. I had gotten it almost two years ago, late in my third year of high school. Since then, it had adorned nobody's finger but mine, because no girl or woman had ever demonstrated any interest in being in a relationship that would involve her wearing it. For all my life, I had been so shy that even talking to a girl to try to establish a personal relationship took a tremendous effort of will. Compounding the problem, I had no qualities that would induce any girl to take the initiative toward me. Bashfulness can be an endearing trait in a young child or even in a girl back then, but it is a curse to a boy or young man.
If Darlene wanted it, I had no problem with the idea, but I hoped to lose my cherry to her before that happened. I thanked Ellen for the news, and coolly drank a bottle of beer while waiting expectantly for Darlene to put in an appearance. I was still shy but, as it had the previous night, the beer would dissolve most of the problem, and the new confidence I felt after hearing Ellen's news would eliminate the rest.
She finally did arrive, much later than she had the previous night, and it was worth the wait. Obviously, she had gone home first to clean up and change her clothes. As soon as she entered the restaurant, Darlene headed for our table, and I got up to greet her and help her remove her coat. She didn't really need any help, but that was a boyfriend thing to do, and that was how I wanted her to think of me. Under it, she was wearing a nice wool dress that emphasized her large breasts and hugged her other curves very nicely. My desire to lose my virginity grew even stronger.
