I had been friends with Peter Verhooven since grade school. We'd played little league as well as getting into a lot of trouble together, but of a more innocent variety, unlike many of the kids of today. As we had gotten older and reached our teens we stayed friends even though we now had as many differences as we did similarities. In spite of that we were as close as ever with the fact that we lived within a ten minute walk of each other certainly being a contributing factor.
Our friendship in fact directly led to me losing my virginity during the summer when I was eighteen years old, not that I could ever have told him that or shared the story. Peter was the baby of his family with a sister who was three years older than he was and a brother even older who'd moved out on his own. His father was of German/Dutch ancestry and his mother's side was Italian. His sister Linda was a good looking girl with dirty blond hair and buttery skin who had inspired many fantasies in my short life.
On more than one occasion she'd given me fodder for my masturbatory activity. Like this one time she had been wearing a hoodie with the zipper down and no shirt or bra underneath it and depending on the angle I was looking at her from I caught many glimpses of her soft breast and pink nipple. Once I even made out with her after she had recently broken up with a boyfriend. Both Linda, my friend Peter and I had smoked some hash and afterwards she had met me in the driveway and beckoned me to join her in her garage. She asked if I wanted to kiss her and I eagerly assented. Linda told me to keep my hands to myself and just follow her lead. I'll never forget how soft her lips were or how great she smelled.
We only kissed for a couple of minutes when she was spooked by the next door neighbor coming home. I never got another chance to repeat this but the worst part was I never could say anything about it as it would have gotten back to Peter. When we were seventeen his parents had divorced but I think they had been having problems for a while before that, because I remembered times where I was over their house and you could cut the tension with a knife.
So Peter's father had moved out of the house and his mother had resumed working due to the situation but otherwise things seemed to remain the same. They were hardly the only family to go through divorce at that time as the sixties had let the genie out of the bottle in regards to the stability of family life in America. As the seventies passed and the eighties approached I doubt there was a corner of America that escaped the societal upheaval.
Be that as it may, it wasn't like I sat around worrying about the disintegration of the American family. I was a teenager having fun as I listened to music, hung out with my friends, worked out, got drunk or high, worked part time jobs after school and ineptly chased girls. Most of my difficulty with girls stemmed from me being somewhat shy and I also had the tendency of being tongue tied around members of the fairer sex. Being drunk or high somewhat mitigated that but it also had the effect of scaring away girls who weren't partiers or didn't wish to hang out with guys who were.
Plus when under the influence I might well have the gift of gab but often what I said was nonsense or stupid and certainly nothing that would endear me to a young lady. The only girl I actually liked as a person had broken my heart when I caught her drunkenly making out with a bitter rival of mine which definitely didn't help my confidence. So there I was, eighteen with no girlfriend while guys not as good looking as me managed to score with girls due to a glib tongue.
This particular summer afternoon I'd worked my part time job for a few hours and after getting off I was looking for something to do. On my way home I had smoked some primo Thai weed as I cut through the park and feeling mellow I decided to stop by my friend Peter's house to see if he wanted to hang. It was one of those sweltering summer days that in retrospect seem more enjoyable but at the moment when the sweat is dripping down your body you long for the cooler temperatures to come.
His house was green and believe it or not there was a white picket fence in the front. I headed up the driveway and went to the back door that led to the kitchen as that was the entrance I always used. After climbing the steps I rapped lightly on the glass section of the door. If no one answered I'd usually throw pebbles at his bedroom window which was located in the back of the house. The sound of a radio playing was clearly coming from the nearby open kitchen window so I knocked louder this time.
After that I heard the sound of a chair scraping along the floor followed by footsteps after which the back door opened. To my surprise it wasn't Peter or his sister who answered the door but his mother who normally was at work at this time of day. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she stood in the doorway and her eyes were red as if she'd been crying.
"Oh hello Thomas," she said as she always referred to me by my full Christian name instead of Tom or Tommy like most people did.
"Hi Mrs. Verhooven, is Peter here?" I asked but before she had a chance to answer there came the sound of glass breaking from inside the kitchen.
"What's that?" she said turning away from me and toward the noise. "Buttercup no; get away from there."
After saying this Mrs. Verhooven moved away from the door. Buttercup was their family cat and as I stepped inside pulling the door behind closed me I saw the feline leap from the kitchen table and scurry off in the opposite direction. An open bottle of red wine sat alone on the table and there was a broken wine glass as well as a pool of wine on the kitchen floor.
"Stupid cat," she said to no one in particular as she grabbed a towel from by the sink and bent over to wipe up the mess.
To be honest maybe I should have been polite and asked her if she wanted any help but I was entranced as I watched her. Mrs. Verhooven had always been an attractive woman but there was something about the way she looked that day that had me mesmerized. She was wearing a gauzy floral print dress which seemed to shimmer as she moved and usually her black hair was up in some kind of bun-like hairstyle but that afternoon it was hanging free with long strands of it sticking to her neck due to the humidity.
As she wiped up the dark red fluid I couldn't help but notice her big, round ass and ample hips swaying back and forth as she moved. Maybe it was due to the sweltering heat or the fact that I was high or just that I was a horny teenager but without realizing it my hand crept to my crotch and fondled my growing erection. Suddenly my brain came to life but before I could move my hand Mrs. Verhooven turned my way. I'm not sure which of us was more surprised - me for being caught playing with myself as I ogled her or Mrs. Verhooven at discovering her son's best friend was rubbing himself while he stared at her big Italian ass.
Her mouth opened wide with shock and the next thing I knew she cried out and dropped the towel before lifting her hand. There was now blood seeping from a cut in her hand as she winced in pain from the wound. That cleared my head somewhat and I sprang into action, first helping her to her feet before guiding her to the sink. My eyes examined her cut and it didn't look too bad, certainly not deep but there appeared to be a sliver of glass still imbedded in her flesh. Turning on the cold water I held her hand under the flow and with some satisfaction I watched the glass forced from the cut and into the sink.
"Keep it under the water until the bleeding stops," I told her before asking "where do you keep the first aid supplies Mrs. Verhooven?"
It took her a moment to answer as she appeared somewhat confused by the turn of events but she then told me upstairs in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Before heading up there I took a wad of paper towel and covered the mess on the floor with the hope that if the cat reappeared it would keep it away from the shattered glass. I bounded up the stairs two at a time and removed peroxide and band aids from the cabinet before returning to the kitchen.
Mrs. Verhooven still had her hand under the stream of water but the blood had slowed to less than a trickle. Quickly I wiped her hand dry then I poured some peroxide over the cut. She made a face but didn't say anything. Next I applied a band aid tightly then inspected my handiwork.
"Well Thomas, will I live do you think?" she asked with a smile.
