Bounce

This story has words/concepts involving genitalia and sex.

Part 1 - ATTRACTION

The tube -- of grey articulated plastic -- bounced back and forth, up and down, as Simon moved through the secretarial area. The tube’s hard plastic tip swung in arcs around and around, the articulations on the tube adding a bit of bounce, a bit of chaos, to the circulations. Jutting out of the small vacuum canister, this energetic tube reminded Simon of a swinging elephant trunk at first. The more he used it, however, the more it reminded him of a big dick. Simon hoped it reminded Ava, that exotic, dark-haired Executive Secretary, of a big dick too. 

Simon noticed her weeks ago, the fact that she noticed him occurred not long after that. Since then, he spent a lot of time vacuuming paper shreds and whatnots. He became a very efficient cleaner. The best thing about his job at Star Drugs was the variety built into it. And the fact that Hermione, the office manager, let him choose his daily schedule.

When he first got his driver’s license, he applied at all sorts of jobs in the Springfield area. He tried retail; selling shoes at Miller’s just wasn’t his thing. He’d also been caught peeking through the gap where the shoe stockroom wall met the dressing room wall. The gap, hard at first to see through (it required some time to become adept at using it), gave a rather substantial view of dressing room #4. When his manager, who was definitely gay, caught him peeping he used the quickest answer he could come up with, “I thought those girls were shoplifting, I was only checking on them.”

Simon had many talents, but his ability to lie quickly was truly one of his best. Well, perhaps not unique; his mother, a fan of serial killer stories, had mentioned last week (over morning coffee) how talented Ted Bundy was at lying. Was he a serial killer in training? He didn’t think so, he didn’t even like to kill insects, much less people. He still felt bad about that horseshoe crab he’d killed in North Carolina when he was ten. He had (had!) to find out if the crab’s blood was really blue. Turns out it was.  

Tony, the shoe store manager, kept his poker face when confronted with the “shoplifting” lie. However, the stack of papers Tony was holding (April’s shoe inventory list) accidently bounced across Simon’s lower abdomen, specifically over the zipper area. Hmmm. Simon was mortified but kept a straight face; if you’re going to lie, lie well, he thought. This embarrassment will pass, and so will Tony’s memory of it. Anyway, big deal, I’m not going to quit over it, he thought. 

His next job (no, he didn’t quit Miller’s after the peeping incident) was at Sears. He befriended men, some of them his father’s age, who’d been selling washers, dryers and refrigerators for years and years. He developed a newfound admiration for these old-timers; he even overlooked their dated ideas and bad jokes. Still, when a friend told him about the job at Star Drug’s new headquarters in Franconia, he skipped out on the Sears guys. 

Simon had to drive his beat-up old truck a little further to get to Star Drug headquarters, but he loved the atrium and the building itself. Hermione treated him like a son, and he knew they’d be close. He was serious about saving some money from this job; his truck needed some work to make it this far each day. And of course, he was saving money for college, or at least the idea of college. He was pretty sure that sex was easy in the dorms. Or so he’d heard. And, he’d get away from Springfield. That was his number-one goal for sure. 

Strangely enough, the swinging “elephant trunk” allowed him to first meet, and later talk to, Ava. Every morning, during his janitorial duties, he’s swing through her work area. They began to talk and joke with each other. She didn’t treat him like a silly kid, she also didn’t mind bending over her desk when he was around. Did he imagine it or was she always searching for an itinerant paper-clip when he was nearby? Her cocoa-colored breasts were lovely and full; he tried not to look but his eyes disobeyed his commands whenever she went paper-clip hunting. He was pretty sure she knew he was looking at her body.

Often, his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Harry, Ava’s boss and the owner’s son. Harry Roth was a good-looking, cocky, piece of shit. Simon was pretty sure Harry wasn’t sleeping with Ava though she might find him attractive, but she wasn’t about to sleep with Harry, Simon was sure of that. Still, he kept an eye open as he swept, washed, fertilized and vacuumed his way through the spring and then summer of 1977. 

When the sun’s angle shifted in mid-August, Simon noticed many of his high school friends getting restless. College courses, handling tuition costs and scholarship applications – all of these replaced the usual teenage conversations about romance, music and partying. His best friend Manny enrolled in a vocational institute, to study computers and operating systems. Simon wasn’t even sure what an operating system was. All this planning and enterprise caught him by surprise, maybe he’d better start making some plans too. 

He was cleaning the coffee maker in the break room when Ava asked him about his plans for the fall. “I’m going to apply to take a few courses at NOVA if I can afford the tuition and books. I’m planning on studying horticulture. I’m a little worried about college math, it wasn’t my best subject in school,” his face filled with anxiety as he mentioned this. 

“You’re so good with plants, the atrium has never looked this good,” she replied. “Even Mort notices it.” She smiled slightly and went on, “I’m planning on having a party next Friday. Maybe you’d like to come over? It’s a summer’s-ending party. It’ll be fun.” 

He couldn’t even remember what he did after that, the rest of Friday was a fog. All he could really think about was going to Ava’s house for a party! There’d be older people at the party, that would be interesting. Maybe even fun. He wondered if they would have any dope at the party. He wondered if she got high. If she had it, he’d be able to drink hard liquor, maybe even bourbon, at the party. Simon liked to imagine himself drinking bourbon with a really hot chick on his arm.  

When he’d gotten home that afternoon he looked up Ava Gutierrez in the yellow pages. She had an unlisted number, so he couldn’t track down her address. He thought she might be the first person he’d ever met with an unlisted number. For some perverse reason, this made her even more exotic.

He knew next week would drag by, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything but her party. And it sure did. Simon found all the plans he made for this week – a variety of little tasks that he would promptly forget - unattainable. He didn’t send in his NOVA course registration packet or fix his fuel pump; all he managed to really do was get his hair cut. 

Simon didn’t see Ava on Monday or Tuesday, barely saw her on Wednesday, and then only for a second or two. This made him more anxious than he cared to admit; he wondered if she’d neglect to give him her address. Maybe she’d only invited him as a joke. And that would ruin everything. He did some spot cleaning on the carpets in the executive secretarial area on Thursday to make sure he would see her. He stretched out his cleaning as long as he could, but his lunch break came up fast. As he was on his way out of the room Ava raised her hand to him. Yes! She was scribbling something down on a scrap of white paper, he hoped it was her address and phone number. 

PART 2 – REACTION

Friday finally came. It took forever. I got to her townhouse at 8:20. First thing I noticed: she’d just had her window and door trim repainted, it was a nice job. Somebody had taken their time doing it. Second thing I noticed – there were no other cars there besides mine and her Toyota. Was I too early? I was already there so I might as well ring the doorbell.

I heard scuffling motions through the door and a breathy, “Just a minute.” She opened the door looking amazing. She had a turquoise tank top on, the fabric accentuating her figure. Cut-off jeans finished the look, exposing long tanned legs that I had not seen before. It was hard not to look; my teenage eyeballs wanted to travel over, and examine, every part of her fantastic body. 

“Hi, Simon, come on in.”

She turned sideways, allowing me just enough room to enter through her freshly painted door. I smelled patchouli on her. It drove me wild. I now had the very great fear that I would be unable to hide my hardon. What was I doing here I wondered?

“Can I offer you an iced tea, or would you prefer a beer? I know you’re too young to buy them but I’m sure you’re no stranger to drinking them.” She winked and laughed as she said this.

“Um, um yes, of course, a beer,” I could barely get the words out. I followed her into the kitchen, she had a small patio deck festooned with a multitude of houseplants in brightly painted pots. Two deck chairs faced out, looking out over a patch of forest.  

“I made some chips and salsa, a perfect compliment to the beer,” she continued. “Let’s sit down, watch the sunset and chat a bit.” 

We chatted but I remembered little of it. I was so excited yet so nervous, sitting here with a mature woman – and in her home! We talked about work, about Mort, about our plans for the fall. She told me she was going on a cruise to the Caribbean sometime just before Christmas. It might have been due to my nerves, but I finished the beer in five minutes.

“My goodness, you do like beer,” she teased. “Would you like another.” Hesitantly, she continued, “um, I also have a joint if you’d like that. Would you like a tour of my condo?"

I followed her through the kitchen, dining and living room. I admired her collection of records, she had more than even I did. I wondered what kinds of music excited her. She broke my reverie when she said, “Let me show you the upstairs, I have a great balcony with a view of the river.” Hmmm. This was getting interesting. It was also interesting that neither of us had mentioned the lack of people at her party. 

At the top of the steps she laughed and pulled me towards her, pulling my shirt up over my head. “Wow, you are well-built for your age,” she remarked huskily. We explored each other’s bodies with a kind of intensity that I’d never experienced with girls my age. I wasn’t an expert, but I’d been down this road a few times. A few, fumbling times.

At first I thought the heat was due to my excitement. Suddenly, my dick got so hot I knew something was wrong. “I’ve got to stop,” I pleaded. An awkward moment passed when I grabbed and pulled the condom off. Searing pain -- in pulsing, pounding, rhythmic waves, emanated from down below. “Shit, shit, I must be allergic to the condom,” I cried. 

“Wash it under running water,” she suggested. She looked as surprised as I did. What great fuckery was thwarting my chance to make love to a mature woman, I wondered. Once again, the karma-gods rained shit down on me. I can’t say that things returned to normal after that. We tried, both of us, to get back to where we’d been before the condom event. The excitement, however, was winding down.

Before long, we began to talk. She told me about her affair with a Redskins tight end, then she told me she was pregnant -- four to six weeks, she estimated. I guess I wasn’t the kind of guy who thought childbirth was even remotely interesting. It was, if one word could describe it, gross. Unfortunately, it was also a hardon-killer. What was wrong with me? 

It was probably both of us, both struggling to fix this moment and lost in our own thoughts, who heard the front door open downstairs. “Ava?” a deep voice queried from the first floor. “Shit.” Her look scared me more than the voice below. “Rick’s here,” she whispered. 

The Redskin! “Stay here, I’ll get him onto the patio. When I do, run out the front door, and you better be fast if you don’t want to get caught,” she ordered. This calmed me down, strangely enough. I guess at least one of us was thinking things through. 

“I’m coming down, wait a second babe.” dressed in 20 seconds, ruminating over my escape plan. My helmet! It was downstairs on the patio. Fortunately, the stairs were carpeted in the same blue shag carpeting as the living room. That should make things quiet. 

Just as I got to the second stair from the top, I heard Rick say, “I’ve got something for you in my car, I’ll be right back.” I froze on the stairway, unless he looked up he’d not see me as he went through the living room. A big, hulking football player flew by, a nanosecond later I barreled down the stairs, turning towards the rear of the house. I got to the patio screen door just in time to hear him crash through the door. A deep, booming voice yelled, “hey you!” I could hear him behind me, crashing through the patio screen door like an angry bull.

Time slowed down for me. I saw, or rather felt, myself jogging across the small lawn in slow motion, the enraged leviathan just behind me. A large crepe-myrtle, its branch ends covered in outrageous hot-pink panicles, served as my launching pad as my feet bounded up into the branches and then over the wall. I dropped my helmet when I climbed the tree; it bounced across Ava’s lawn into a little concrete bird fountain. I guessed I wouldn’t be getting the helmet back. 

Ava and I talked after that, of course we did. We worked together, we shared a lunchroom, we even parked in the same part of the parking lot. We had shared a moment together, something I already knew I’d never forget. Perhaps I’ll think of with just a touch of fondness when I be much older, intermixed with the sadness of my lost youth. We never spoke of that Friday night again, that night when summer ended.