The Trojan Lasagna

The Trojan Lasagna

This story is dedicated to all of us who grew up with the sound of radio station WLS, AM 89 in Chicago, playing on our transistor radios. (It’s no coincidence that Lujack and Landecker are used as last names.)

Thanks as always to RiverMaya for being my Muse and the writing angel on my shoulder. Thanks also to AzureAsh for being my ‘editor with a thousand eyes’, and my MBR (Mystery Beta Reader) for his oversight and input. As I continually revise right up to publication, any errors are mine.

All sex between 18+ people.

For those musical historians out there, yes, while the story actually takes place 3 years before Skid Row released I Remember You, just chalk it’s inclusion to poetic license.

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“Freeze this moment a little bit longer;

Make each sensation a little bit stronger;

Experience slips away – time stand still.”

– Rush

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Fairburn, Indiana, (population 8,345) — March, 1986

Let me just say it straight up: my time in high school sucked balls.

If I were tall and blonde and in the athletic crowd like the jocks and cheerleaders, or in an elitist upper-class crowd like the rowing team, I have no doubt my high school experience would have been golden. That was not the case, however.

Instead, I was skinny (122 pounds) and average-sized (5’8″) book-smart nerd with zero athletic ability who came from a lower-class household in the upper-class high school district (thanks to recent school re-districting), so yeah, like I said, the years from 1982 to 1986 sucked balls. Four years of what was supposed to be an education was a figurative shit-flavored Twinkie, with my education being the skimpy cream filling.

Teased and bullied by the popular kids? Check.

Humiliated in gym class? Check.

Ignored or mocked by girls I had crushes on? Check.

Never invited to parties? Check.

My only consolation was academics. I regularly kicked the shit out of the grading curves so hard that my classmates jealousy referred to me as ‘the curve-wrecker’, and not always behind my back. My consolation for those 4 miserable years was a 1550 SAT college test composite score out of a possible 1600, so I was offered academic scholarships from several colleges and universities.

Academics aside, though, I was a pretty lonely guy. I wasn’t ugly by any means, but with my brown hair, brown eyes and unremarkable physical stature I was pretty much…invisible.

I lived with my mother Maria and dad David (a waitress and plumber, respectively) in our two-bedroom house, situated on the East side of the Toledo, Peoria, and Western railroad tracks that divided the town. In Fairburn, the phrase ‘from the wrong side of the tracks’ was very apropos.

East side houses meant small, barren lawns behind chain-link fences with gravel driveways and carports, whereas West side houses meant opulent lawns, white picket fences, and long winding driveways leading to 3-car garages. Property values on the East side of the tracks jumped 2x when you crossed over to the West side.

As my senior year drew to a close, senior prom was the big social event prior to graduation. My parents had even asked me if I was thinking about asking someone, since their senior prom was where they decided they wanted to be with each other forever. Yes, I know, it sounds very ‘Back-To-The-Future’, but in their case my father didn’t have to punch out the school bully; to the contrary, he had a much easier time of it!

Given the fact they’d married right after graduation and coincidentally my older brother Terry had been born 39 weeks after their senior prom, I’m guessing Pops got into mom’s panties pretty easily that night. After being married 24 years, they were still crazy in love, so I guess things had worked out.

Anyway, I told them I didn’t have anybody special in mind and hadn’t asked anyone, but my mother just kissed my cheek and assured me, “Love will find a way, Josh.”

My dad’s gruff response was more to-the-point, “Son, you need to ask somebody. How can you win the lottery if you don’t even buy a damned ticket?” He was right of course. The problem was it was a long-shot bet, and there were no girls at my school willing to gamble on me. Anyway, as the days leading up to prom fell away, my mood fell more and more deeply into the dumps.

That changed the day a U-Haul truck pulled into the driveway next door. Our elderly neighbors, Ethel and Robert Samuelson, had reached a point where they could no longer care for themselves, and the Health Department had found housing for them in a local retirement home. Their adult children quickly came in, pillaged what few valuables their parents had, threw out their furniture, slapped a coat of paint on everything and put the place up for rent.

When I heard the racket next door — the driveway was literally twelve feet away – I looked out my bedroom window and saw a couple of dudes unloading stuff out of a moving van. Two little children, a girl and a boy, were running here and there, but my heart stopped when I saw the woman who appeared to be their mother.

She was wearing a yellow sundress, with her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail which reached the center of her back. The bodice of the sundress accented her full breasts, while the loose skirt did little to disguise the curve of her full bottom. Her face was round, with a cute, freckled turned up nose. She was the single-most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

I must have sat there for an hour, just watching her as she repeatedly went in and out of truck, unloading smaller items into the house. Despite having two children, the new neighbor had a very youthful face. The thought occurred to me she could easily pass for a teenager.

I sat at my window until she shooed the children inside, closing the front door as the moving truck pulled away. The sun was going down, so I closed my curtains and laid on my bed. After watching her, I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, one that most normal teenage boys experience when they see a hot woman. Grabbing a couple of facial tissues, I unzipped my jeans and grabbed my cock, then took care of business as I imagined what kissing the new neighbor lady might be like as we danced at my senior prom.

I’d just finished and zipped myself up when my dad opened the door to my room and stuck his head in and announced, “Dinner’s ready.”

I snapped, “Geez, Dad, have you ever heard of knocking?” Looking around, he spotted the crumpled tissues on the floor next to my bed. His eyes met mine, and he smirked, “I hope it was a ‘she’ you were thinking about,” he wisecracked, “I would like grandchildren someday, after all. Now go wash up. Mom made lasagna tonight.”

With that, he left. All through dinner, as my parents discussed my brother’s recent engagement I tuned out, focusing instead on what I could do to get the attention of the woman next door. Then it hit me. A new house, lots of things unpacked, and two small children — the answer was food. A plan formed in my brain, and I immediately put it in motion.

Mom was talking to my father about caterers for my brother’s rehearsal dinner when I blurted, “Hey, Mom, the lasagna was really good tonight. Can you show me how to make it?” She looked at me, her eyes wide like I had grown another head.

“YOU want to learn to cook?”

Thinking quickly, I fired back, “I’m 18 now, Mom, I’m going to need to take care of myself when I’m on my own…” She raised her hand to silence me, smiling now.

“Say no more! You don’t have to ask twice!” Grabbing a notepad, she wrote down the ingredients. “I’m giving you a shopping list. You want to learn to cook? You can learn how to shop for ingredients too!”

First thing the next morning, I hopped in our old Celica and drove to the supermarket. When I got back home, I measured out all the ingredients and staged them like I saw on the cooking shows. My mother was impressed, and we set to work. Three hours later, I pulled the baking dish out of the oven, and it looked perfect. The cheese was golden brown on top, and it smelled great.

Nodding her approval, Mom said, “Since I have a roast cooking in the crockpot, I guess we can freeze your lasagna for later.”

Now came phase two of my plan. “Actually, Mom, I was thinking I’d give it to the new neighbor that moved in yesterday to, y’know, welcome her to the neighborhood. I figured with two little kids and with her still unpacking and all, she’d appreciate some already-made dinner.”

A look of shock crossed my mother’s face; for the second time in two days, I’d surprised her. Then she took my face in her hands, and kissed my forehead. When she pulled away from me, she had tears in her eyes. “Joshua Lujack, speaking as a mother who once had two little ones, that’s a wonderful thing to do. I’m proud of you, son.” She looked at my epicurean masterpiece. “Let me help you wrap it in tinfoil.”

A couple of minutes later, I was standing on the threshold of my new heart’s desire: my neighbor’s front porch. I rang the bell, and heard little feet running around. The door was pulled open, and I found myself looking down at the face of a little brown-haired girl. “Hello,” I said, “I’m your new neighbor Josh, and I brought you a housewarming gift.”

The little girl stood for a second as if determining if I were friend or foe, then her verbal dam burst, and the words poured out of her. “I’m Etta and I’m 5 years old and my brother Jayden is 3 and he likes cherry popsicles but I like orange ones and my mommy’s name is Rosalie and she’s 27 and my daddy’s name is Robert but he and mommy aren’t married anymore because he went to live with Ariel who’s twenty-two years old and mommy says Ariel’s a coal-digger so we live here now, and I like cats but we don’t have one do you?”

As my brain was processing Etta’s information dump, her mother came running up. “I’m so sorry, Etta’s such a talker, once she gets going, she doesn’t stop.” She held her hand out. “Hi, I’m Rosalie.”

I took her hand, and it was soft and warm, just as I’d imagined. “Hi, I’m Josh Lujack, I live next door.” I held out my left hand that was holding the lasagna pan. “I brought you a housewarming gift, I figured with two small kids, a lasagna might come in handy and save you from cooking while you unpacked.”

She took it and smiled. “Actually, Josh, you’re a lifesaver! I was going to splurge and order a pizza, but this is so much better! It smells delicious, too, and it’s still warm! Come, Etta, let’s get this on the table!”

The little girl ran down the hallway, and Rosalie followed, calling over her shoulder, “Will you be joining us for dinner, Josh?” At this invitation, a feeling of victory swept through me. Like Odysseus in the Trojan horse, my lasagna had helped me breach the walls and I had made it into my neighbor’s good graces.

We sat and ate dinner together, Etta talking almost non-stop while her brother silently looked at me as we ate. In between Etta’s monologues, Rosalie confirmed that what Etta had told me was correct. She was newly divorced after her husband had experienced a mid-life crisis and taken up with Ariel the ‘coal-digger’.

Since she’d been a stay-at-home mom for Etta and Jayden, Rosalie was living mostly on savings, alimony from her ex-husband and child support payments until she could get a job. I shared with her how I was a senior in high school with my sights set on going to college, although I hadn’t decided which one yet.

After dinner, while I cleaned up the dishes, Rosalie got the children bathed and ready for bed. As I was drying the last dish, Rosalie came into the kitchen with a sheepish look on her face. “Thank you for doing the dishes, Josh. That was very sweet of you.”

“Not a problem. My parents taught me early that husbands and wives should always share chores.” As soon as I’d said the last word, it dawned on me how that sounded. “I meant, men and women, sorry.” I could feel my face redden. Talk about putting the cart before the horse!

Rosalie just chuckled. “I understood what you were saying, Josh, not a problem.” Then it was her turn to look uncomfortable. “Listen, um, this is going to sound funny, but…” she laughed nervously, “Jayden has a request. He wanted me to ask you if you’d read him a bedtime story.”

Now I laughed nervously. “ME? Jayden didn’t say a word all through dinner, I thought he didn’t like me!”

“Well, you’ve seen how Etta will talk the ear off anyone who listens, but Jayden is different. He’s a kid who studies people before deciding if he likes them or not. I don’t know what his criteria is, but apparently you met them, so he asked me to ask you. If you don’t want to, I understand.”

Wow, this little kid who I just met decided he wanted me to read to him? It gave the kind of indescribable thrill you get when you put on a coat you haven’t worn for months and find a $20 bill in the pocket!

“Sure I want to! It would be my pleasure.” I followed Rosalie into the kid’s room where the kids waited. The children had single beds on either side, a small bookshelf on the wall between. I asked Jayden what book did he want me to read.

Sucking his thumb, the boy pointed to a thin book on the floor, The Tawny Scrawny Lion. I remembered this story, it was one of my favorites when I was a kid, about a hungry lion who was convinced to be a vegetarian by the very rabbits he was hunting.

I happily declared, “Oh, wow! I love this one, I know it well!” I looked at Etta and asked, “Do you like it?”

She set me straight by saying, “Oh, I’m a big girl, I don’t need bedtime stories like Jayden does, but I don’t mind listening.”

“Well, OK then!” As Rosalie looked on, I found a little stool, sat down next to Jayden’s bed, and began reading out loud. By the time I got to the part where the bunnies were feeding the lion carrots for the first time, the little guy was fast asleep, so I closed the book and began to get up. I was interrupted, however, by Etta whispering.

“You can’t stop, you haven’t reached the end!” As soothing as my reading had been to her brother, I realized I still had Etta’s enrapt attention. No way was I getting out without finishing the story, so I sat back down and read the last few pages where the lion becomes a full-on vegetarian and the bunnies’ best friend. I looked over and saw that Etta was now asleep, so I eased my way out and gently closed the door.

Rosalie was waiting in the hall, smiling. “You seem to have a way with children,” she said softly, “do you have any younger siblings?”

“No,” I whispered back, “just my older brother, who’s 23.”

“Well, then, you’re a natural. You’re going to be a fantastic dad when the time comes.” Leaning close, she kissed my cheek. “You’re a rare one, Josh Lujack. Thank you.” Wow.

I was elated as I left her house that night. My plan was nicely coming together so far. When I walked into our kitchen, I grabbed the Betty Crocker cookbook and picked out several not-too-difficult meals: Pork chops with pan-fried sliced potatoes, quick chicken-pot-pie using refrigerator rolls for the biscuits, and roast beef in a crock pot. I made a grocery list, and would pick up the ingredients the next day.

The next morning, the smell of coffee woke me up. I opened my eyes to see my mother sitting on the edge of my bed with a cup for me, a cheerful look on her face. “Good morning, handsome son,” she said in a funny sing-song kind of way. I sat up and took a sip. It was delicious, cream and two sugars, just the way I liked it.

“What’s up, Mom? Everything OK?”

“This morning I went next door, and introduced myself to our new neighbor Mrs. Foley. We had such a nice chat! When she realized I was your mother, she couldn’t stop saying good things about you, and about what a good man I raised.” She lovingly caressed the side of my face with her hand. “You’re a good man, just like your father. You’re so smart and sweet and…” Seemingly bursting with pride and lost for words, she kissed my forehead, then stood up. “I’m proud of you, son. Now get dressed, breakfast will be getting cold.”

I got up, took care of my morning bathroom routine, and got dressed. When I came down, Mom was looking quizzically at my grocery list. “Joshua, what’s this about? I already bought groceries this week.”

“Since the lasagna went over so well and Rosalie’s — er, Mrs. Foley’s kitchen is still being unpacked, I thought I’d cook a few more meals for her.” My mother eyed me suspiciously.

“With all this cooking, I’m beginning to think you might have a little crush on her.”

I kind of smirked, and admitted, “OK, yeah, I kind of do. Is that such a bad thing? She’s really pretty, and she’s super nice.”

“She’s also older with an ex-husband and two small children to take care of. She’s not some teenage girl you can just take up with on a whim.”

Now I began to get defensive, and my response was a little heated. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mom, the line of teenage girls interested in me is pretty damned short right now, the way it’s been for all four years of high school. If I can get Rosalie interested in me, I don’t give a damn that she’s older than me or that she was married before. Yeah, she’s got two kids, so what? I happen to like being with them, and they like being with me! I love you, but if you have a problem with that, well, that’s just tough shit!”

My Mom looked at me in shock, her face flushed. She was the greatest mother a guy could ask for, yet I’d just sworn at her, which was a first. I had to give her credit, though, she didn’t go apeshit on me the way I’d expected. Instead, she took a deep breath and spoke calmly.

“Josh, you’re 18. Your father and I can’t tell you where to go or who to see, that’s entirely your choice, but as your mother, I’m sure you understand, I just want you to make good choices, that’s all.”

“I get that, Mom, but like you said, they’re my choices. It’s also entirely possible to make bad choices that end up turning out great! I mean, you and Dad had Terry early on, but that turned out all right, didn’t it? My brother is great!” That was no lie. Terry, six years older than me, was the quintessential big brother until he went off to college.

Mom held up her hands, conceding defeat in this discussion. “OK, son, you’ve made your point. As your mother, it’s my job to worry about you. Just, please, tread carefully. I don’t want to see anyone end up hurt, especially Rosalie. It’s hard enough for her already, going through a divorce.”

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The next few days, I cooked my ass off. When I took over the day’s meal, Rosalie would mildly protest, but then gush about the food when it sat steaming and delicious on their plates. I could sense her warming to me. And as I read to Etta and Jayden every night, I was warming to them as well. I wondered if I was actually starting to love these kids. Was this what being a father felt like? I made a mental note to ask Dad about it later.

On Wednesday, following the advice of Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth to “screw your courage to the sticking place”, I was ready to make my move. After reading The Tawny Scrawny Lion to the kids for what felt like the 57th time, I left them in their room asleep and walked out to the kitchen where Rosalie was finishing up the dishes.

She was standing there in a pair of jeans and a paint-stained sweatshirt, with her hair done up in a loose bun and no makeup, and looked like a million dollars to me. I would have given anything to walk up and wrap my arms around her, but it was far too soon for that. I internally coached myself ‘one step at time there, boy, one step at a time’.

“The tawny scrawny lion is once again a vegetarian, and the kids are asleep,” I announced, and she smiled at me. Then she took a step closer. Now we were face-to-face, just a few inches apart, and took my hands in hers. This just kept getting better and better!

She said in a soft voice, “Josh, thanks to you this week has been fantastic. I’ve gotten so much unpacking done because I didn’t have to think about cooking dinner. On top of that, since you’ve been reading to the kids at night, they seem to be adjusting to this new place a lot faster than I expected. You’ve been so great, I don’t know what I can do to ever thank you enough.”

A rush of excitement ran up my spine! This was the opening I’d been waiting for, and I wasted no time. “Actually, Rosalie, there is something you can do.” She lifted one eyebrow curiously, and I took a deep breath for courage. “See, this being my senior year, and with me not really having a girlfriend or anything, I was wondering…would you be my date for prom?” THERE! I’d done it, it was out, and for a brief moment I felt relief…until I realized I still needed her answer.

She shook her head, not in refusal but in disbelief. “Wait. You actually want me to be your prom date, or is this some kind of a joke?” I could see she was getting pissed off. Time for corrective action.

I held her hands up to my chest, right over my heart, and said with every ounce of sincerity I could muster, “Rosalie, I swear this is no joke, I’m completely serious. I’ve never been to a dance, and everybody at school thinks I’m an unattractive nerd. I want to go to this dance with the prettiest girl in Fairburn, and in my eyes that’s you.”

I must have convinced her; the look on her face went from angry to stunned. “You’re serious.”

Now that I’d convinced her I was serious, I pressed my advantage. “I’m dead serious. As serious as a heart attack. As serious as a preacher on Sunday. As serious as a gravedigger. Rosalie Foley, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life, and I’d be proud to have you as my date. I want to show everybody at the dance that I’m not the loser they think I am.”

And then it happened. Rosalie put her arms around my neck and pulled me in for my first kiss. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and I was having a hard time breathing, but DAMN! My dream woman was kissing me! If for some reason I’d died right then, I would have left this world a very happy man.

“Josh Lujack,” she whispered, “you’re no loser. You’re smart, thoughtful, sweet, and the best cook I ever met. I’d absolutely love to be your prom date.”

A sense of elation like I’d never known started coursing through me; I felt like it was Christmas morning, my birthday, and the 4th of July all at once, with the Tooth Fairy crashing the party to sneak a $20 bill under my pillow. I would have whooped with joy, but I didn’t want to wake up Etta and Jayden.

In a quiet but excited voice, I hugged her and gushed, “That’s awesome, Rosalie! You really are amazing, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces! All the kids who’ve been ridiculing me these past four years will go crazy to see me with a hot date!” Then my brain switched into planning mode. “It’s still a few weeks away. When I buy the tickets, I’ll tell the prom committee ticket sellers you’re my girlfriend from another high school or something. They’ll start gossiping, and their curiosity will drive them nuts!”

Surprisingly, Rosalie hugged me back. “You know, I missed my senior prom ten years ago. I’d broken my foot doing gymnastics, and none of the boys in my high school wanted to take a girl in a cast. It will be kind of be fun, making up for lost time.”

I was totally pumped now. “Rosalie, that’s GREAT!”

She got serious for a second. “We have to do this right, though. Do you have a class ring?”

“Yeah, I do, but I never wear it. I bought it because my mom insisted I should.”

“Well, your mom is pretty wise. You need to give it to me so I can wear it on a chain around my neck, and I’ll dig out my old class ring from Bishop O’Rourke High School, so you can wear it on your little finger.” I must have had a confused look on my face because she explained, “It’s what you do when you go steady with someone. You want this to look realistic, don’t you?”

I nodded, “Well, yeah.”

“Just to make sure, I have to ask: Are there any other girls you’re interested in besides me?”

I shook my head, “No, not at all. You’re my one and only.” That was truer than she knew.

Then she added, “Also, so the senior prom doesn’t look like our first date, we should probably go out a couple of times and get to know each other better so we actually look like a couple, that way it won’t look awkward.”

Multiple dates? OK, this I could definitely get behind! I tried to be nonchalant in agreeing, “Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, we should do that.”

After a few moments of silence, she demanded, “Well?”

Now I was confused. “Well what, Rosalie?”

She semi-scolded me, “If you want a date, you have to ask. It doesn’t happen by itself.”

Internally, I was kicking myself, I was so embarrassed. How could I not figure that out? Swallowing my nerves for the second time that night, I asked, “Rosalie, will you go out with me?”

She put her hands on her hips as if being impatient and demanded, “When? I can’t just drop everything for a boy. You never know, I might have plans. We cute girls are pretty popular.” She wasn’t making this easy, teasing me this way. “You do think I’m cute, don’t you?”

That put me on the defensive. “Well, yeah, of course I do.” Then in my own defense, I added, “Being a good neighbor wasn’t the only reason I made lasagna for you. As soon as I saw how cute you were, I wanted an excuse to talk to you, OK?”

I blushed now, embarrassed at my own confession. Then, I realized I still hadn’t given her a date! “How about Saturday night? Will that fit in to your busy schedule?”

Sticking her lower lip out to feign pouting, she replied, “I’m not busy Saturday, but that’s so far away! Can’t you take me out Friday instead?”

Oh my gawd, that pout! It was so adorable I could barely stand it! It made me want to do whatever it took to make her happy. I hoped my body language didn’t give it away to her, but it was crystal clear that all Rosalie had to do was stick out that lower lip and I was hers to command. My throat went dry at this realization.

I hastily agreed, “OK, Friday then!” Then I realized we needed something to do! Thinking quickly, I blurted out, “How about if I take you miniature golfing?” They way her face lit up, I knew I’d finally got something right. She clapped her hands a couple of times.

“What a wonderful idea! I haven’t played mini-golf in years, I used to love it! I can’t wait, it’s going to be SO much fun!”

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By the time Friday night had rolled around, my adrenaline was pumping, and my senses were on full alert. In hindsight, had we done this on Saturday I might not have made it. Keeping my excitement bottled up that long, I would have surely exploded.

I checked my look in the mirror, and thought I looked passable. I had a collared polo shirt that used to be my brother’s, newly-ironed khakis, and new beige topsider boat shoes that Dad bought but had never worn. To top off my ensemble, I’d put on just a little bit of body spray. No use assaulting her olfactory nerve on the first date.

Walking up to the door, I noticed there was a nice car in the driveway, a white Mercedes SLC Roadster with the license plates ‘LNDECKR’. Either Rosalie had struck oil in her backyard, or somebody from the West side was visiting. When I rang the doorbell, I found out it was the latter. She was an older woman with a very pretty face that resembled Rosalie’s, but several inches taller than Rosalie, almost regal.

She had long all-white hair, and was wearing jeans and a logoed sweatshirt from a college so upper class you’d have to pay tuition just to say the name of it. The gold rings on her fingers were competing to see whose diamonds were the most sparkly. This was a total ‘west of the tracks’ look, for sure!

The woman looked over her shoulder and shouted, “Rosalie, your paperboy’s here.” Then she grinned, “Just kidding. You must be Josh, come on in. I’m Donna Landecker, Rosie’s mother. I’m babysitting my grandkids tonight so you two can have a little fun.”

Putting her right arm around my shoulders, Donna walked me down the hallway. “You going out with Rosie strikes me as a little unconventional, but Etta can’t stop talking about you. I figure if you have my granddaughter’s approval, you must be OK.”

Then she whispered conspiratorially, “My daughter never dated much when she before she met Shithead and married him, so I want you both to have a great time. Since you’re kind of young yet, here’s a little something to help out.” She slipped a wad of cash into my back pocket, ostensibly to make sure it was secure, but I suspected it was also to give my butt a quick feel.

Given how Donna was stunning in her own right, I didn’t mind the attention one bit. If anything, the way she was treating me felt like she viewed me as a serious suitor for her daughter, giving me even more confidence. I replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Landecker, that’s really nice of you.”

Donna leaned over and kissed my cheek, and it was very pleasant. She not only looked good, but she also smelled nice, too! Then she whispered, “Someday when you have a daughter of your own and some young goofy kid with love in his eyes shows up to take her out, you be nice to him, too, OK?”

Coming from anyone else, being referred to as a ‘young goofy kid’ would have been an insult, but I could tell Rosalie’s mother had meant it affectionately, so I merely agreed, “You bet I will.”

Then Rosalie came out of the back, her brown hair done up in a loose bun, wearing just a hint of makeup: a little eyeshadow, and pink lipstick. She had on ass-hugging jeans and a pair of white sneakers, with a modest sweatshirt that did a poor job of disguising the considerable curve of her breasts.

My eyes wide, I blurted out, “Wow, Rosalie, you look great!”

She eyed me up and down admiringly, and responded, “You don’t look so bad yourself there, handsome! New outfit?”

I may have blushed a little. “Yeah, being a first date and all, I wanted to impress you.”

Donna laughed, “Oh, honey, you’re long past impressing my daughter. My girl has been as twitchy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs today, thinking about your date.” Now it was Rosalie’s turn to blush; her mother was fast becoming one of my favorite people.

We walked together to my car, a bright yellow 1968 Ford Galaxie 500 four-door that my parents had bought me for my 16th birthday. Ever the gentleman, I opened the passenger door for my date, and she gracefully slid in. (I couldn’t stop myself from admiring her butt in those jeans.) Running around to the driver’s side, I got in myself, and we were off!

I remarked, “Your mom seems really nice.”

“Oh she is, in small doses. It wasn’t easy growing up with her. She’s always been gorgeous, and pretty much every boy I brought home seemed more interested in her than me.” Rosalie eyed me suspiciously, as if waiting for me to agree that Donna was hot, which she was, of course, but not as hot as her daughter.

Diplomatically I replied, “Well, you’ll be happy to hear that while your mother’s certainly no slug, her looks pale in comparison to yours.”

Rosalie turned her head and looked at me oddly, like she was trying to decide if I was kidding. “Hey, I’m serious,” I assured her, “it’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road with you next to me!”

My date seemed satisfied at my answers, so I turned on the radio. The weather was clear, so despite the distance to Chicago, WLS radio (the ‘Big 89’ on the AM band) was coming in clearly. The first song playing was Wang Chung’s Everybody Have Fun Tonight, and I took that as a good omen:

“Everybody have fun tonight, everybody Wang Chung tonight.” Oh, yeah….

When we arrived in the parking lot of the Worlds O’Fun Mini-Putt, I was in the best mood that I’d been in for a long time. Getting our balls, clubs, and scorecards, we went to the first tee – and we were off! For the first eleven holes we were both pretty evenly matched. We swapped the lead a couple of times; ability-wise, we were pretty well-matched.

Despite my best efforts to crush her score, I was also trying to be attentive and gentlemanly. I’d praise her shots, keep count of her strokes at each hole, get her ball out of the cup when she putted out, and basically anything else I could do to be an attentive boyfriend.

As I was setting my ball on tee 12, she suddenly asked me, “Josh, please tell me truthfully, what compelled you to cook for us when you saw me? Was it just because you took pity on us, figuring I wouldn’t have been able to cook for the kids for a few days?”

I took a deep breath, measured my swing, then tapped the ball. The ‘fairway’ — all 5 feet of it — had statues of open-mouthed alligators on either side, waiting to swallow my ball and deposit it in the rough if it took a wrong turn. It didn’t, and my ball went perfectly into the hole. A hole in one. I was on FIRE, baby!

My confidence bolstered by my amazing shot, I answered the question. “Honestly, pity had nothing to do with it.” Walking over to the hole, I reached down I pulled my ball out of the cup. “You want the truth? OK, I’ll tell you. For almost four years I’ve been a lonely, nerdy, unpopular kid at my high school that never gets a date, and frankly, I’m sick of it. Just one time, I want things to be different, for my classmates to see me as something other than a loser. This senior prom is a big deal to me because it’s my shot at being someone different for once. I couldn’t get any of the girls in my high school to talk to me, much less go to the prom with me. I thought it was hopeless, then I looked out the window and… there you were.”

I walked over and took her hands in mine. “When I looked out that window, I saw a woman in charge of her own life, one who wouldn’t be swayed by stupid high school cliques or by peer pressure. I thought to myself, ‘now this is the kind of woman that would be perfect’. Then I figured if I were nice enough to her, despite me being 18, maybe she’d get to be interested in me, too. That’s when I came up with the idea of lasagna.” Impetuously, I kissed the back of her hands. “It was the best idea I ever had.”

Rosalie turned to me looking shocked, as if I’d just slapped her with a small trout filet. Turning back to the game, after placing her ball on the tee she made a nice putt, but the ball went into the alligator on the left of the fairway, the ball ending up behind a bump on the green. Not a clear shot, and it took her two more shots to finally sink it. Finishing up, her score on the hole was a 3, whereas I’d done it in 1. Still saying nothing to me, she concentrated on recording our results on the scorecard.

We walked to the tee of hole 13, a castle-themed hole with a drawbridge. As she lined up her shot, she finally responded. “Josh, this is about more than a date to your senior prom, isn’t it?” Her ball ran straight and true, getting across the drawbridge just before it lifted up. Rattling around, it popped out of the castle and ended up on the green, only a few inches from the hole.

I lined up my tee shot, and took my stroke. Rattled by her question, my stroke was a little hot; instead of following the straight path of Rosalie’s ball, once across the drawbridge it bounced off the wall to the left and went down a hole with a small sign over it reading ‘This Way To Dungeon’.

My ball ended up popping out onto the end of the green furthest from the hole. It was going to take me at least three putts to sink it. Disappointed with myself, I took a deep breath and answered Rosalie’s question.

“OK, yes, I admit it. While I very much want you to go to the senior prom with me, I don’t want it to end there. I’ve gotten to know you and the kids, at least a little. Frankly, I really want to make this a long-term thing. I’ve been offered scholarships by several universities, one in Chicago, some really far away in New York and Los Angeles, and one very close by. I was ambivalent about where to go, but if I’m in a relationship with you, I’m accepting the one that’s closest. Being with you and the kids makes me happy, Rosalie. The idea of us having a long-distance relationship won’t work for me. That’s the truth.”

Taking her hand, I led her towards the green. I realized I liked holding her hand, and made a mental note to do it as often as possible. “Now come on, let’s putt out this hole.” I ended up with 4 strokes on the hole, while Rosalie got it in the hole with 2 strokes. Once again, our scores were dead even.

Hole 14 was a mini-forest; your tee shot had to make it through a literal miniature forest — five 4″ thick tree limbs, stuck in the ground in a staggered pattern with fake leaves on top — before making it to the green. As I was setting my ball on the tee, I asked her, “What about you, Rosalie? I just opened up my heart and showed you what’s inside. It’s your turn now. What do you want? Do you feel the same, or am I just blinded by my own optimism?”

I putted, and my ball glanced off the trunk of the middle tree and ended on the far side of the green. As she placed her ball on the tee, Rosalie was looking uncomfortable now. She put a bit more force in her putt than she needed to, and the ball caromed off the middle tree as if it was heading into the next county.

Now brimming with kinetic energy, it bounced around the perimeter of the green, then took a lucky turn, ending up two inches from the hole. A light touch tapped it in, giving her 2 strokes on the hole. I had to admire Rosalie’s ability to perform under pressure. It took me 3 more strokes to finish; once I tapped it in, she answered my question as we walked to Hole 15.

“To be honest, Josh, I don’t know what it is that I want. I wasn’t ready for any of this — or ready for you. I’m still an emotional mess from my divorce. I’ve filed papers, but while we’re physically separated, I’m still married. Right now, we’re trying to avoid court by using a mediator to work out alimony and child support. You’re a sweet man who makes me feel like a queen, but while I truly enjoy your company, I’m just not ready for a serious relationship. I know that’s not the answer you want, but it’s the only one I can give you.”

She was right, of course. I was naively hoping she would respond to my feelings in kind, but I hadn’t really thought about her emotional state. My parents were still together and crazy about each other, so what the hell would I know about divorce?

“I’m sorry, Rosalie, you’re right,” I told her, “It was dumb of me that I hadn’t considered that at all. I’m sorry if I pressured you in any way.”

She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around me. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’ve been nothing but wonderful to me and my children. Robert had me convinced I was unattractive, but you convinced me that wasn’t true. At a time when I felt about as low as I could go, treating me like you have has raised me up again.”

“You know I’ll wait for you, right?”

“Yes, and just knowing that is almost as good as going to therapy. You may be young, Josh Lujack, but you’ve been very good for me.”

By the end of our game, Rosalie had beaten my score by 5 strokes. The competitive part of my brain was disappointed, but the emotional side was upbeat. I’d bared my feelings to her, and she’d bared hers to me. While what she told me wasn’t exactly the love story I was hoping for, at least I knew how she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for me to be her Prince Charming, not yet anyway. But hey, at least she liked me. She’d agreed to go to prom with me, had kissed me, and told me I was good for her. It was a start.

We went to the movies for our next date. The feature was Peggy Sue Got Married, with Nicolas Cage and Kathleen Turner. It was about an adult woman who faints at a high school reunion, waking up to find she’s a teenager in high school again. After the show I teasingly told Rosalie the movie was supposed to be a comedy, not her biography. She playfully punched me in the arm, but as we were getting in the car, she put her arms around my neck and kissed me.

This gave me some hope, and I was sorely tempted to ask if she’d thought any more about us but didn’t because I didn’t want to pressure her. When I walked her to her door and kissed her goodnight, it wasn’t a quick peck, it was long and passionate, so I took this as a good sign as well. Baby steps, right?

++++++++++

Midwestern thunderstorms are like dandelions, sprouting up regularly from April through September. The one that was drenching us now was no exception. It had been chomping at the bit since morning, dark clouds flashing with dry lightning as the humidity became unbearable. Then around 4pm, nature unleashed her fury, and the rains came in the form of a deluge.

The storm had raged for about an hour when there was a knock at the door. I answered, and it was Rosalie. Etta and Jayden were with her.

She apologized for dropping in, but explained, “My aunt Dorothy had an accident and broke her leg. She’s in the hospital, so Mom and I are going to see her and take her some things. This is a big thing to ask, but can I impose on you to watch the kids for a few hours until I get back?” I looked at Mom and she nodded, so, opening the door, I waved them in.

“Come on in, kids, have a seat, I rented the Tron movie from Blockbuster, you want to watch that with me? I’ll microwave us some popcorn!”

Etta grinned and shouted, “Yaaay! Popcorn!”

Following his sister’s lead, Jayden took his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to quietly repeat “Yay”.

Rosalie gushed, “Thank you SO much, Josh,” then called out to my parents, “and thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lujack!”

Mom smiled and answered, “Not a problem, Rosalie, glad to help. I hope your aunt’s not seriously injured.”

As Rosalie turned to go, I looked out the window and saw Donna waiting behind the wheel of her Mercedes SLC. She smiled and waved at me, and I waved back. For some reason, I flashed back to the first time we met and she’d treated me like I was an adult, not a kid. The thought of it gave me a warm feeling, like Donna and I had a mutual admiration for each other. It was nice.

I got the movie set up in the VCR while Mom jumped in and made the microwave popcorn. I sat on the couch between the two kids, but they quickly snuggled up under my arms on each side. By the time the movie ended, they were both asleep, so I just sat there with them, enjoying their tiny snores.

Rosalie finally came and picked them up around 8 pm. The rain had let up, so Rosalie carried Jayden while I carried Etta back to their house so she could get their teeth brushed and tuck them in bed.

Rosalie had a standing rule that we were never to kiss in front of Etta or Jayden; as the old saying goes, ‘little pitchers have big ears’. She was concerned that if the children saw us, they might say something to her estranged husband Steve, and it might cause complications with their divorce. Since both the kids were asleep, she broke her own rule and gave me a nice kiss goodnight as I left and whispered, “I like being your girlfriend.”

I walked back home with a smile on my face and a lump in my pants. That lump instantly shrank when I walked back in the living room, however. Mom and Dad were waiting for me with serious looks on their faces. Before I could say a word, Dad blurted out, “We need to have a talk, son.”

This was kind of unexpected. My grades were fantastic, I stayed out of trouble, didn’t go to parties or drink, and never stayed out past my curfew. I had no clue as to what had them so upset.

“What’s going on? Do I have overdue books at the library or something?”

‘No, honey, it’s nothing bad,” Mom quickly assured me, “your father and I just have some concerns about you.”

Immediately I became defensive, and snapped, “Concerns about WHAT? I’ve never so much as had an after-school detention!”

Dad tried to calm me, “Take it easy, Josh, and allow us to explain. You were 11, so you might remember how Terry’s senior year in high school, he was a real hellion. He was always going to parties and staying out late, generally having a blast before he left for college. Your mother and I constantly worried about him getting into trouble, but thankfully he never did.”

I remembered those days all too well, as I was the loyal little brother who unlocked the backdoor after Mom and Dad went to sleep, allowing my brother to quietly sneak back in without waking them when he came home from partying. Even now, I idolized Terry.

“Well, yeah, sure, my brother liked a good time, but he wasn’t stupid about it. He didn’t want to make you guys look like bad parents. But he still got good grades and turned out OK, right?”

Mom jumped in, “You’re right, Josh, Terry did just fine for himself. In a couple of months he’s marrying Janine, and she’s a wonderful girl. We’re very proud of him. But it’s not him we want to talk about, it’s you.”

My anger returned. “What, you’re proud of Terry but not proud of me? I busted my ass in school! I mean, shit, have you forgotten about my SAT scores?”

Dad angrily interjected, “Watch that swearing, Mister. That’s not what we’re saying! Of course we’re proud of you! You’re twice the student your brother ever was!”

“Then what’s the purpose of this conversation?” I think my parents had forgotten I was on my high school’s debate team. I could do this all night and all day if need be.

“Throughout high school and college, your brother was the quintessential party boy, more interested in having a good time than seriously settling down.”

“Yes, but now he’s settling down with Janine, so, again, what’s the problem?” This was infuriating.

I could tell my father was getting frustrated, but if he thought I was going to make this easy, fuck that. He responded angrily. “Frankly, son, you’ve skipped the partying part and you’re acting like a damned middle-aged man! Instead of out there partying and getting drunk, you’re reading bedtime stories to the neighbor’s kids, or feeding them popcorn during a movie!”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard, but Dad pretty much slammed it home when he declared, “You’re just too damn young to be this serious.”

Now it was my turn to be frustrated, and I scolded him, “OK, I’m confused. You’re telling me you’re disappointed in me because I’m a good student who’s NOT running around getting drunk on my ass and then sneaking back into the house? Is that what I’m hearing? Because if it is, we need to put you in a rest home, because I think you’re becoming senile!”

Before Dad could explode completely, Mom put her hand on his chest and said firmly, “David, please sit. You’re not handling this well. Let me try while you calm down.”

One thing about my father, he was smart enough to know when mom was right, and not too stubborn to listen to her. I admired that about him; some time ago, I’d vowed to myself that when I got married, I’d try to be just like him. I’d never admit that to him, though, especially now when he was being such a damned butthead.

“Now Joshua Alexander,” my mom said — I knew things were serious when she called me by my first and middle names — “what we’re trying to say is that we saw how good you were tonight with Etta and Jayden. What we saw went way beyond mere babysitting. Those children adore you.”

I nodded, “I’m glad. They’re great little kids, and I enjoy being with them. I enjoy taking care of them.”

She nodded. “It’s plain to see that you’ll be a very good father…someday. But Joshua, please listen to reason! You’re only 18, after all. The point your father is trying to make is you’re not acting like an 18-year-old. You’re not doing the fun things that the average high school senior does, you’re doing things that a grown, mature man does. It’s like you’ve fast-forwarded over your youth. This is what worries us. Don’t get me wrong, Rosalie is lovely, and it’s very sweet of her to go with you to prom, but she’s an adult with 10 more years of life experience. Her goals and yours might be too different for something like this to last. Prom is one thing but what if…”

I cut her off. “What if she gets pregnant at prom like you did?” Mom looked at me, wide-eyed with shock. I scolded her, “Oh, come ON Mom! Stop acting like it was a big secret. I got straight A’s in Math, I didn’t need a calculator to figure out that Dad knocked you up on your prom night!”

Dad stood up and shook his finger. “Don’t you dare be disrespectful to your mother!”

I shut him down immediately. “Disrespectful? I’m being exactly the opposite! You and Mom did things normal teenagers do, she got pregnant, and things still turned out great! You’ve raised a family with two healthy and happy kids, and you’ve been faithful and loving to each other for 24 years!”

I turned back to my mother. “Let me ask you: After growing up and seeing you and Dad be the way you are, why is it a bad thing if I want to be just like you two? WHY?”

Mom and Dad were both speechless now; stunned by my logic and praise, I had them on the ropes.

Now I went in to hammer home my point. “Etta and Jayden are just two innocent little kids whose world is being turned upside down by their parents’ divorce. They need all the comfort they can get, so if I can give them some by reading them a story or making them dinner or watching a movie with them, I’m going to. It’s certainly what Dad would do if he were in my shoes. Why is my wanting to be just like him such a bad thing?” Still no response from them, so I hit them with my final volley.

“You say you’re worried I’m missing out on my youth? You’re too late on that, I already missed it! I may be a good student, but for four years my social life has been nonexistent! I may have wanted a prom date, but what I really need is a damned girlfriend!”

I was breathing hard, feeling really angry and resentful about all the fun times I missed out on. I took a calming breath to regain control, then kept going, in a calmer voice now.

“I fell for Rosalie the minute I set eyes on her. Thanks to Mom teaching me how to cook, I got her to like me enough where she agreed to go to prom with me. Since then, I’ve told her how I feel, and what I want. She still hasn’t made up her mind about the girlfriend part. The scars from her divorce haven’t healed yet, so she still has to decide if she wants the same things I do.”

My mother was crying softly now, but whether sad tears or happy ones, I hadn’t a clue. Dad’s anger had thankfully dissipated. I’d just indirectly let him know I admired him; how could he be pissed off at me for that?

I continued, “Make no mistake, I’ve thought this through multiple times. If Rosalie decides I’m not what she wants, well, it’ll suck, but at least I gave it my best. I’ll enroll at Chicago University and disappear, away from here and out of everybody’s hair.”

Dad quietly asked me, “What if she decides she does want the same things you do?” I couldn’t believe it, he actually sounded encouraging!

“If she decides she does want me, I intend to marry her as soon as she’ll have me. I’ll have an amazing wife and kids, while you two will have a sweet daughter-in-law, plus grandchildren like you’ve been teasing me about wanting. Then, I’ll enroll in a university locally because no way would I want to be apart from my family.”

At that, I was all done except for one final question, “So, are you with me, or am I on my own now?”

My parents finally capitulated. Mom said, “You’re our son. We love you, and no matter what choices you make, we’ll always be on your side.” Dad nodded in agreement but said nothing, just patted me on the back and went to bed.

++++++++++

Fairburn, Indiana — June, 1986

Finally, the big night was almost here. That Saturday morning, I picked up my rented tuxedo and patent leather shoes, then swung by the florist shop to get Rosalie’s wrist corsage and my matching boutonniere to wear on my tux.

When it was finally time to pick up my date, I pulled the Galaxie into her driveway. The white Mercedes belonging to Rosalie’s mother was parked in front, so it was no surprise when Donna answered the door. She was barefoot, wearing an old sweatshirt over some tight jeans, and with her hair up in a loose bun. Not for the first time, it occurred to me that if this was what Rosalie’s mother looked like at this age, Rosalie would continue to look fantastic as she got older.

Maybe I was taking too long enjoying the ‘Donna Landecker experience’, because she said, “Thanks for the compliment, Josh, you’re looking quite distinguished yourself there.”

That snapped me out of it. “Hello, Mrs. Landecker. Is Rosalie almost ready?”

She laughed, “Josh, no woman in this family has ever been ready on time for anything. She’ll only be a few minutes, though.” Then she stepped in close to me and murmured, “You do look fine, Josh Lujack. My daughter is one lucky girl.”

If getting a quiet compliment from my date’s hot mom wasn’t enough, Donna shocked me further by leaning in and giving me a quick kiss on the lips. I’d never been drunk in my life, but I imagined the way that kiss got my head spinning was a close approximation. All I could do afterwards was whisper, “Wow.”

“Sorry, Josh, I couldn’t help myself,” she apologized, smiling, “you look so good I just had to sneak a taste.”

I managed to gather my wits back enough to stammer out, “You don’t need to apologize, Mrs. Landecker.”

“So, you liked it? Maybe just a little?” I had no idea how to even respond to that question, but the look in her eyes told me that I needed to say something. I decided to keep it simple, and, more importantly, truthful.

“Liked it? How could I not? Next to Rosalie, you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met!” The look of happiness in her eyes told me I’d chosen wisely.

“It will be our little secret then,” she said in a quiet voice, then sighed, adding, “You’re quite the gentleman, Josh. Never before has a man I kissed said ‘Wow’ afterwards. For the first time in my life, I’m actually jealous of my daughter.”

Unsure of how to react to that, I felt myself blush a bit. As an 18-year-old virgin, this was all very overwhelming. Then she said, “Will you do me one favor?”

“S-s-s-ure, anything,” I stammered.

“From now on, please call me ‘Donna’. Calling me ‘Mrs. Landecker’ makes me feel like a retired school teacher.”

Given that I was about to take my dream girl to my senior prom and her extremely attractive mother had just stolen a kiss from me, a two-word answer was about all I could manage at this point. “Yeah, sure.”

Before things could get even more awkward for me, I heard a whoop of joy, then Etta and Jayden ran up and wrapped themselves around my legs. Glad of the distraction, I knelt down to talk to them. Etta asked, “Josh, are you going to read to us tonight?”

“Not tonight, kids, I’m taking your mother to a nice dance.” Judging by their groans, this was not a popular answer, and I added, “I’m sure Grandma Donna can read stories way better than I can.” Then I heard a woman gently clearing her throat; looking up, I became breathless at what I saw.

Rosalie stood there, looking incredibly gorgeous. She was wearing a blue strapless tube-top maxi dress with an ankle-length skirt, slit on one side. The shiny metallic dress accented every curve she had. She was also wearing matching shoes and a silver sparkling clutch purse. Her hair was no longer in a ponytail, now it was done up in a beautiful French braid. Her ruby-red lipstick instantly made me hunger to taste that mouth, but I knew I had to be patient. With any luck, that would come later. Nonetheless, I could already tell that when we walked in to the ballroom, I’d be the envy of every guy in there.

My mouth went dry, but I managed to say “Rosalie, you look fantastic.” She walked up to me and took my hand.

“You look pretty good yourself there, Mr. Lujack,” she said as she put her hand to my face, “now let’s go and make this night unforgettable.”

++++++++++

As we drove to the dance, she asked me, “Are you as nervous as I am?”

“Are you kidding me? What do you have to be nervous about? You’re perfect! I’m the one who has a reason to be nervous. Not only am I going to the first dance in four years of high school, but I’m bringing the hottest girl there!”

“You’re not the one who’ll be 10 years older than anybody else there. If somebody figures out how old I really am, they’ll probably call the cops and have me thrown out.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a silver hip flask. Unscrewing the top, she took a drink, then offered it to me.

To be polite, I took a swallow. The burning sensation took me by surprise, and I had to pull over so I wouldn’t wreck my Galaxie due to my coughing fit. Once I regained my breath, I apologized. “Sorry, I wasn’t quite ready for that. I’ve never had hard liquor before.”

Rosalie just smiled, “Don’t feel bad, I’m sure you’ll have several firsts tonight.” I put the car in gear, and in about 5 minutes we’d reached the Hotel Valencia, where the prom was being held. “Park over in the far corner, please,” she instructed, “preferably away from the overhead lights.”

Finding an isolated parking spot, I did as instructed. Undoing her seat belt, Rosalie slid across the big bench seat and put her arms around my neck, then pulled me in for a kiss. This was not like the tender and innocent first kiss she’d given me, this one was a fully passionate kiss-me-like-you-miss-me kiss, and I felt her tongue press my lips open.

As I relaxed my jaw, Rosalie slipped her tongue right in, and teased my own. My hands moved as if they had a life of their own, caressing the dress material over her breasts. She moaned into my mouth, and suddenly I found myself with a very stiff occupant in my tuxedo slacks.

When Rosalie finally pulled away, my hands were trembling. (Honestly, if not for the warm feel of her body underneath my fingers, I could have qualified as a maracas player in a salsa band.) Every nerve in my body was now tingling, as if my central nervous system was getting overloaded. While I’d been enraptured the time she’d stuck out that pouty lower lip, after that kiss I would have given up college and taken up a life of crime if she’d asked. I’d been that swept away.

I tried to find my voice again. About all I was able to get out was, “Rosalie, that was….” And then I was lost for speech.

Sensing she had me in thrall, Rosalie giggled at my partial aphasia. “Please don’t think I’m a bad girl. I’m a good girl. The difference between a good girl and a bad girl is that a good girl can still be bad, but she’s not bad with just anybody. She’s picky about who she’s bad with, and I want to be bad with you.”

Then she asked seductively, “But what do YOU want, Josh? Do you want this good girl to be bad with you?”

I was having a hard time believing this was actually happening. “Yes,” was about all I could muster.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised,” she said as she reached down to unbuckle my belt and unzip the fly of my slacks. “Did you honestly think that all that work you put in cooking those wonderful meals and reading stories to my children was going to go unrewarded? Couldn’t you tell my panties got wet every time you put food on our table?”

“No.” With all the blood running from my brain to my crotch, single-word answers were about all I could handle.

“I promised to make this the best night of your life, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.” Uh oh, this was going to require more than a one-word answer. Somehow, I was able to muster up the answer.

“I want my penis in your mouth.”

“That’s not what you want, Josh,” she teased. Sure could have fooled me! Her fingers were now lightly stroking my member, and I was doing my best holding back so as not to make a mess. The tux was rented, after all!

“Only doctors, nurses, and virgins call this a penis. Bad girls call it a cock. So tell your bad girl what you want.”

I worshipped this woman so much it felt like blasphemy to say the words, but her fingers dancing on my member really gave me no choice. “I want my cock in your mouth.”

“Much better,” she purred, still stroking me, “do you like what I’m doing?”

“Gawd, yes.” I was back to two-syllable responses now, still struggling to hold in my release.

“You have a very nice cock, Josh. Nice and thick.” Suddenly, she took me in her mouth and slurped. “And tasty. Is this the first time anyone’s done this for you?”

Was she kidding?!?!? “Yes.”

“If it’s your first time, you’re not going to last too long. Do you want to cum in my mouth, Josh?”

“Yes…” No reason not to be polite, so I added, “please!”

I felt Rosalie’s fingertips lightly caressing my scrotum – no, scratch that, this bad girl was fondling my balls — and it was like a trigger had been pulled. My whole body stiffened, I shot my load, and hell yes, it was pretty amazing. I must have pumped out three or four jets of baby batter into her warm and wonderful mouth; she swallowed it all, averting an extra cleaning charge when I returned the tux. When she pulled away, as she tucked my softening rod back into my pants, she affectionately kissed the tip.

“Such a nice cock,” she whispered, “promise me you won’t share it with any of the girls in there.”

“Oh, I promise, Rosalie, I promise!” Now that my penis, er, cock was limp, blood flow had returned to my brain, so I could speak in full sentences again.

Taking a small compact out of her purse, my date looked in the small mirror and applied more red lipstick. “How do I look?”

Was this a trick question? My answer was the obvious one. “You look like the most beautiful woman in the state of Indiana.”

Rosalie’s eyes got a little wet from emotion, but she still managed to hold back her tears. “That’s nice to hear. I’d kiss you but I just put on more lipstick, I don’t want to smear it. Do you mind if we wait for a bit before we kiss again?”

Truth be told, I wanted nothing more than to kiss Rosalie and pour my heart out to her about how I loved her and how wonderful she was, but the promise of kisses to come would have to hold me for now. “No, I don’t mind,” I said, “your kisses are worth waiting for.” While I did lie about minding the wait, that last part was very, very true. Rosalie was now my queen; I was willing to wait, however long it took.

++++++++++

As we approached the Hotel Valencia’s ballroom, it was humming with noise — lots of voices and music, along with the background tinkling of glassware. My heart was really pounding now, although I was unsure how much of it was because this was the big moment we’d been building up to all these weeks, or if it was from the adrenaline rush from my beautiful date having just gone down on me in the parking lot. At this moment in time everything seemed surreal, regardless of the cause.

Like the scratching of a record needle on vinyl interrupting a song, all my feelings froze when I saw Jim Dillon standing at the entrance. Jim was an obnoxious West-side bully who came from a very rich family. To put it mildly I totally loathed him, but as senior class President I couldn’t avoid him; he was required to be at the door of the ballroom to welcome all the seniors to the dance.

When he saw me and Rosalie, his lecherous eyes drank her up. “Hey, curve-wrecker,” he sneered at me, “where’d you find this hottie? Hopefully, you’ll do something stupid so she’ll dump you and dance with me instead!”

Humiliated, I looked around and saw several other senior couples staring. I didn’t know how to respond, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment. Before I could even think of a retort, Rosalie fired back, “That makes no sense. Why would I want your kid’s meal hamburger when I can get plenty of meat from Josh? No way I’m letting this stud go!” She slid her hand on my ass for emphasis.

My spirits were immediately boosted when I heard several of the couples murmur, “Ooooooh!” My queen had just executed a perfect denigrating burn on the class President, and in full view of other West-siders to boot. I was both impressed and grateful.

Before Jim could respond, one of the chaperones — the Dean of Discipline, Mr. Wexler, who, due to his red hair and ruddy complexion always resembled a scowling fireplug – walked up and spoke to Rosalie.

“Excuse me, miss, but while we want you to enjoy the dance, the rules forbid inappropriate physical contact.” Seeing Mr. Wexler, our class President quickly occupied himself with other newly-arriving couples. Mr. Wexler was the scourge of the faculty and students to the point where even the affluent rich kids avoided him.

“Sorry!” Rosalie quickly removed her hand from my butt.

Jumping to her defense, I explained to Mr. Wexler, “Sorry, sir, she didn’t know, she goes to a different school!”

He scowled, “Hmph. Doesn’t your school have rules, miss?”

Rosalie answered, “They do, sir. I just love my boyfriend so much, in the romance and excitement of the moment I got carried away, I’m sorry.”

Then, a miracle happened: for the first time in my 4 years of high school, Mr. Wexler actually smiled. Addressing my date in a kindly voice, he said, “Very well. Enjoy your dance, just keep the rules in mind. Mark my words, someday when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.” Then he walked away, presumably on the prowl for other indecorous physical contact.

Once he was out of sight, I turned to Rosalie, shaking my finger and mimicking him: “Someday when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.” We both laughed, giddy that our subterfuge was plainly working. I said to her, “See? I was right! Everyone believes you’re a high-school girl!”

Rosalie didn’t say anything, but the smile on her face spoke volumes. It was at this point that Principal Starr got up on stage and made a few announcements, after which the DJ got the music started. He played a mix of upbeat hip-hop tunes and slow romantic ballads. I’d never learned how to dance, but the slow dances I could fake, so we mostly danced to the slow ones. With Rosalie in my arms, I found myself wishing more than once that I could make time stand still.

After a few songs, we sat at a table and sipped some punch. When Rosalie excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, to my dismay Jim Dillon came and sat next to me, a smug look on his face. “I figured out your secret, Lujack,” he told me. “Your date’s no high school girl.”

Emulating my favorite Star Trek character Mr. Spock, I raised one eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“I can tell by the way she looks. She’s too hot for high school. She’s probably a freshman or sophomore in college!”

I put my hands in the air, as if surrendering. “OK, dude you got me. She’s a freshman at Fairburn Community College. I met her when we were taking the same course last summer.”

He jumped to his feet. “HA! I knew it!” He got up to leave, but before going said to me, “You may have a hot girlfriend, but you’re still a fucking loser, Lujack.” What an asshole.

About 10 minutes later Clarice Johnson, the stuck-uppest of all the stuck-up cheerleaders, came up to me. Grabbing my arm, she blurted out, “Lujack, your girlfriend is SO nice! I don’t know how a dork like you got her to agree to be your date for prom, but I hope you’re not stupid enough to break up with her when you go to college!” Then she turned and went off to join her friends.

Rosalie came back a few minutes later, smiling. I had to ask, “What exactly have you been up to?”

She giggled. “While I was in there, there was a girl, Clarice, who was crying because her date was acting like a jerk and pressuring her for sex. I dried her tears and reminded her that she wasn’t his property, she was an attractive woman who had the power to make her own decisions. I also reminded her that if he didn’t respect her, there were plenty of other boys who’d be happy to step up and take his place. I don’t think she’d ever been told that before.”

“Well you certainly made a good impression. When she came out, she told me I’d be stupid to ever break up with you when I go to college.” Looking around to make sure no chaperones were watching, I put my arms around her, leaned down and kissed her softly. “I happen to agree, do you?”

Judging by her reaction, I could tell Rosalie was emotionally torn. She didn’t say anything, but took me onto the dance floor and held me close as we slow-danced. The song was Stuck On You by Lionel Richie, which at that moment pretty much described my feelings about her. As we moved across the dance floor in each other’s arms, I told her, “You promised me you were going to make this the best night of my life. I’m telling you right now, you have.”

She gave a little laugh, then whispered, “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself so far, Mr. Lujack, but the best is yet to come.” I felt her hands pressing my butt, pressing my crotch into hers. This did not go unnoticed by the little friend between my legs, and he started to stiffen.

Rosalie noticed my excitement, and said, “After this dance, let’s you and I go somewhere quiet. I have the perfect place in mind.”

++++++++++

Turns out the perfect place she had in mind was a room on the 23rd floor. In the elevator on the way to our hotel room, Rosalie told me how she’d discovered her husband was cheating via some Hotel Valencia receipts that he’d accidentally dropped while doing an expense report.

A phone call to the hotel’s business office revealed he actually had an open account with them, and by pretending to be his administrative assistant she got them to fax her over the receipts from the previous 12 months. A little date verification revealed some of his out-of-town business trips were, in fact, him meeting his homewrecker girlfriend here instead.

Knowing Robert was such a bad record-keeper that he’d see a Hotel Valencia charge and not think twice about it, Rosalie had called the hotel and used his account to book us a hotel room.

Standing in the elevator, I was in a state of jubilant near-shock. The evening had practically turned Kafkaesque; what had started out as a simple prom date with my dream girl was transforming into a clandestine tryst with my lustful queen. Strains of the Rush song Time Stand Still echoed in my brain, because I never wanted this night to end.

++++++++++

Once in the room, Rosalie took charge. Handing me a couple of hangers from the closet, she pointed at the bathroom. “Go in there, get undressed and hand up your tux. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I promptly obeyed. “I’m all set,” I called out.

“It will be a minute, I’m hanging up my dress,” she called back. Just the thought of her being naked made me hard again. Then I heard her call out softly, “OK, come on out.”

I came out of the bathroom; the only light was moonlight coming in where the curtains were parted. Rosalie was sitting up against the headboard with the covers pulled over her body, with only her head and bare arms visible. She eyed me up and down, then purred, “Well, don’t you look tasty,” then pulled back the covers slightly and patted the mattress invitingly.

Obediently, I slid in next to her. Fueled by lust, my senses were heightened. I felt the warmth of her body as I slid next to her, and her oh-so-feminine natural scent was better than any perfume I’d ever smelled. I asked, “Don’t I get to see you naked, too?”

She was silent and unmoving for a minute, then confessed. “Josh, it was fun pretending to be a high school girl tonight, but I can’t pretend I have the body of a high school girl. My bra hid how my boobs droop, and control-top pantyhose held in my mommy-tummy. Plus, I have stretchmarks and tiger stripes on my abdomen. There’s no way I can hide that fact that I’ve had two children. I’m afraid you might not like what I really look like naked.”

I stroked her hair, then leaned over and gently kissed her. “In my mind, you’re already perfect. Nothing is going to change that,’ I whispered, “nothing.” This seemed to allay her fears, and she slid back the covers and moved around so she was now straddling my legs, facing me. Her body was glorious; putting my hands on her shoulders, I leaned forward and began kissing her neck. “You’re already perfect,” I repeated, moving my hands down to her breasts. They were the breasts of a fertility goddess, big and soft with huge aureoles and pointed nipples.

Despite being a virgin, I didn’t need an instruction manual to tell me what to do next. I took her nipples in my mouth, alternately sucking and nibbling each in turn. Rosalie sighed happily and threw her head back in pleasure, and I felt her fingers wrapping around my erection, gently stroking it. Now it was my turn to moan in pleasure, and I let out a long low groan.

Then I felt my lover lift up slightly and guide my hardness into the warm wet place between her legs, then plunging downward to impale herself. I’d never felt anything so wonderful and cried out, “Oh, Rosalie!” Not exactly Shakespeare, but it was all my overwhelmed brain was capable of.

Just when I thought I’d never feel this good again, she began to rise and fall on me. If she hadn’t gone down on me in the parking lot, I would have shot my load right then, but thanks to our pre-prom workout I was able to hold off a little longer. I leaned my head forward and attempted to kiss her, but was only semi-successful due to her moving on me. I kept repeating, “You’re perfect, I love you,” until she stiffened and pushed herself down on me hard, holding there as she shuddered.

Then she rose up and got off, laying on her back now. “Now it’s your turn,” she whispered, and guided me into the missionary position. Seeing her laying with her legs spread, I plunged in, thrusting inside of her until I felt my climax building. She gently ran her fingernails up and down my back, pushing her hips up to meet my thrusts and urging me on. Finally my release came, and I shot multiple jets of my seed into her.

I collapsed, and slid off of her and onto my side. She turned so we were facing each other. Reaching over, I began to place soft kisses on her forehead, eyelids, nose, and finally her lips. “That was better than anything I ever imagined,” I told her, “I never want this feeling to end. Marry me.” I hadn’t planned to say that last bit, it just slipped out. But now that I said it, I wasn’t sorry in the least because it was true.

Rosalie pulled me in close to her and kissed me deeply, to the point that my softening cock began to return to hardness. After the kiss, she whispered, “You’re such a wonderful man, and I’d be lucky to have you, but you know I can’t marry you until my divorce is final.”

Hope rose in me, and I asked, “Are you saying you’ll marry me when your divorce is final?”

She shook her head, “I’m saying nothing is for sure right now, so I can’t give you an answer. Can you understand that?” I felt my hopes plummet. I was new to these adult feelings, and didn’t know what they all meant. I gave the most honest answer I could.

“It’s complicated, but I guess so. But you know I love you, right?” I felt her hand gently caressing my face.

“You’ve made your feelings quite clear, and I can’t describe how good that makes me feel. I’m just sorry I can’t give you the answer that you want right now.” Then I felt the fingers of her other hand cup my scrotum, then begin to caress my now-soft cock. Thanks to my 18-year-old refractory period, my hardness returned immediately. She whispered, “I think it would be nice, though, if you could…”

Needless to say, I could, and we did. One more time before going to sleep, once when she woke me in the middle of the night, and one more time when we woke up. Afterwards we called for breakfast room service, and as we shared our coffee and cinnamon rolls I realized we hadn’t used a condom. Since I hadn’t expected to end up in a hotel room, I hadn’t brought any.

“Rosalie,” I said gently, “I’m afraid I’ve not been very responsible. In all the excitement, I kind of forgot about condoms.”

She pulled her face to mine and kissed me deeply. “Don’t worry, I just got off my period,” she replied. “I’m not near ovulating yet, we should be OK.” We’d put the hotel-provided bathrobes on before our room service arrived, and as she’d leaned forward her left breast popped out. Not bothering to cover it up, she teased, “Oh, my, look at that, I took your virginity, now here I am being a bad girl again. Do you want me to be a bad girl for you again, Josh?”

Turns out, yes, I did. Twice. One time in bed, then again in the shower. Having 18-year-old stamina has its advantages.

++++++++++

The weeks following the prom went by quickly. I graduated then started working a part-time summer job to save up spending money for college, putting together bouquets and making deliveries for Goldman’s Florists.

After the amazing prom night I wanted to start spending a lot more time with Rosalie, but she said no. Her big fear was that Etta and Jayden might say something to their father about me that would raise his suspicions and mess up the divorce mediation.

As far as her kids were concerned, she wanted them to keep thinking of me only as their friendly neighbor. I understood, but I hated every minute of it. My parents didn’t really say anything, but I could tell they were relieved that, despite my single-minded adoration of Rosalie, my relationship with her appeared to have come to a screeching halt the day after prom.

When I wasn’t working, I spent a lot of time in my parents yard, mowing the grass, weeding the garden, and various other yardwork. I’d often peer over the low fence separating the properties just to catch a glimpse of my Rosalie. It was like a knife in my heart when I’d see Robert come pick up Etta and Jayden on his court-assigned visitation days, they’d scream “DADDY!” with such joy at the sight of him.

To be honest, I was crazy with jealousy; it should have been me and not Robert that the kids were screaming with joy at. Apparently, although he was a shitty husband he was trying to be a good father. Even so, he’d betrayed my Rosalie, so I loathed that prick.

The moment that really killed me though, was last time he came to drop the kids back off. To my surprise, as he left, he gave Rosalie a hug. Even worse, she hugged him back! I couldn’t understand why she’d even let that unfaithful scumbag touch her. It just wasn’t fair that this cheater got to put his filthy hands on her while she’d forbidden me, the guy who adored her, from being with her. It was tearing me apart.

As smart as I was academically, I was an absolute idiot when it came to relationships. The signs were there, but my infatuation with Rosalie had made me blind. Like the ancient city of Pompeii, I was completely unprepared when the eruption came.

I’d just pulled in to the driveway and turned off the motor of the Galaxie after finishing an afternoon of deliveries for Goldman’s. As I got out of the car, Rosalie was standing in her driveway, waving me over. My heart soared. Finally! After several weeks of no contact, I was anxious to talk to her again, so I walked quickly over. Not able to resist, I extended my arms to give her a hug but was rebuffed by a firm hand to my chest.

Seeing the hurt look on my face, Rosalie was immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry, Josh, but I can’t hug you.”

Taking a light-hearted approach, I said, “Why? Do the kids have chickenpox or something?”

She didn’t smile. “The kids are fine. It’s just that in the last few weeks, things have changed.”

“Not on my end, I’m still…” before I could say anymore, she put two finger to my mouth.

“Not for you, Josh. Things have changed for me. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Robert broke up with Ariel. He says he’s been a fool, and he doesn’t want a divorce. He’s begging me to reconcile.”

I definitely did not see that one coming, and the look on my face must have said it all. My whole body went numb; I felt my life crumbling down around me in slow motion.