Into the Pink
My mother cursed the day they had moved into our neighborhood. Our quiet little cul-de-sac became party central, with the thumping of bass rattling our windows late into the evenings, and glass bottles littered onto the lawn across the street.
I had looked longingly through the glass at the leader of the hellions; the neighbors' oldest son. He was a sight to behold, with his hair dark as sin, and shoulders rippling as he carried a case of beer in through their garage.
"He's not the type of boy for you," Mother clucked, finger wagging. "Stay away from that trouble."
Labor Day was always our party. For years, we had hosted the neighborhood barbecue; complete with pig roast, and Mother's famous red, white, and blue cake.
Afraid of being usurped, Mother sent out the flyers early, and followed up with phone calls. The RSVPs began coming in, and the burgeoning of the basement freezer suggested that all was right in the world.
Mother dressed for the event in her crispest yellow linen dress. She put her hair up in a twirl. She even broke out her best lipstick, "Summertime Pink," indicating that the day's event was a big deal. I recognized the shade right away, because it was her favorite, discontinued nearly two years before, and down to the last tube.
She was in her glory, welcoming guests as the doorbell began to ring, and kept ringing. I saw her face drop, before I saw the reason why.
Coming up the walkway, were our neighbors across the street. "Where did they get THAT?" Mother hissed in my ear, nodding towards the flyer in the father's hand.
There was the plastic, awkward welcome, and some obligatory small talk, before they moved into the house to mingle with the other guests. Mother's already rigid posture stiffened further, as she saw my eyes follow hellion son's denim-clad butt as it strutted away. "You stay away from that one!" she hissed in my ear. "He's not the boy for you."
I spent most of the day chatting and laughing with a few girls down the street who had graduated with me. Hellion moved in and out of sight, and I stared at him when I could; fascinated by the way his t-shirt clung to his abs in the heat, and how his short sleeves circled his biceps. I'm sure he noticed.
Perhaps it was too much summer sun. Perhaps it was the little bottles of tropical-flavored wine. But when I saw him climb the stairs, presumably to find a free bathroom, I followed.
I made sure that he saw me pass by in the hall, on the way to my room. I left my door open, as I changed from my sweaty tank.
"I knew this was your bedroom," he said from the doorway. "You leave your shades up a lot. You should be careful about that."
"Which room is yours?" I asked, motioning out the window, and offering him a reason to enter.
He leaned in next to me, pointing; making sure our bodies touched.
There wasn't a whole lot of talk, before his mouth was on mine, and his tongue was dancing down my throat. Hands lifted the bottom of my underwire bra up over my chest and cupped my tits, as my own palms sought out the flatness of his abs. "I think we should close the door," he said.
I moved quickly, latched my door shut, and stumbled back across the floor. We fumbled with each other's jeans, before I grew frustrated at his resistant fly, and took a step backwards, dropping to my knees.
I yanked the little metal tab, the sides of my mouth practically salivating at anticipation of my prize. And, then...
What is wrong?" he asked, at my dropped jaw. "What is it?"
I stared in horror at the perfect round, glossy ring circling his member. I stared in abject horror. "Summertime Pink!"