Superbowl

January 22, 1989

The parsonage bustles with energy - in the other room. Nick hadn’t wanted to tag along. His mom said everyone would be so glad to see him. Maybe so, but life is not always a two way street. It’s a good sized house on a corner, boxy and practical, probably the first dwelling plotted out in the development, 4 bedrooms, three up, one down plus a little den which served as a study which is where Nick sprawled out in a Naugahyde chair.

He didn’t exactly have a headache but more of a leave-me-alone ache. Maybe it was the cold weather wearing out its welcome. He could care less about the game and was surprised anyone around here did now that the Bears had fallen out again. They had arrived a little too early as usual and Irene found her place in the kitchen, his dad plopped on the couch in front of an enormous bowl of Lays chips standing ready for untold wintery hands. Nick stood around as they all banter over the pregame commentary, then remembered there was a better option.

The past few weeks have been mostly spent diving into circuit projects and homework, holiday break was restful even with Tim back a few days, sleeping in, time at the bench, listening to whatever. Hadn’t talked to Danni in a while, she’s plenty busy, he could call but doesn’t. Vance made second string varsity hoops, Nick and Ned actually made it to a couple games so far, hell, it’s an excuse to take off work.

At the beginning of school year the principal held a quick assembly and shared an observation, that students tend to mature quite a bit over the summer between sophomore and junior, and maybe he was starting to settle into himself more, less need to socialize, or pretend to want to.

No one had thought to look for him yet and he nearly dozes off, then a female voice,

“Oh hi, didn’t see you there...is there a bathroom upstairs?”

Slender, light blond, thirty-ish and wearing a long blue dress, light makeup and hair in a clip with an aire of intelligent sophistication, at least in her own way. She has a sharp nose, distinctive cheekbones with bright countenance, looking around with purpose, gives the vibe of a free-spirited art tutor, absorbing world around her as she goes.

“Yep, it’s right up there I think.” Actually there should be one downstairs but he’s a deer in the headlights.

She starts up and looks back at him, with a captivating, ethereal smile that lingers just for a second as she ascends,

“Will you be kind enough show me?”

Without thinking, Nick hops up and follows her, noting just a hint of perfume that is not familiar, some hairspray, mixed with what must be her own essence, which hints she has had an active day.

Next thing he knows he is beholding her in the bathroom’s night light, she’s facing the window while holding up the back of her dress, exposing nothing but tender porcelain skin. As he gains his wits she softly gasps, “Please.”

He takes a breath and locks the door behind him, leaving the lights off.

Things seem to be moving in automatic, as if this was all scripted and he, or they, are just playing the roles. He takes another breath and she leans forth and pulls the dress over her head, as if to reinforce the invitation. He puts his hands on her arms, fearing his hands may be cold, but then slides them down her sides to her bare hips. She reacts slightly and he detects chillbumps on her buttocks, at first taught and pursed together, the kind that some may consider too flat, but they are wonderful and quickly give way to a long set of slender pins which magically bring the action a convenient height.

Urgency kicks in, his pulse races, for all kinds of reasons, then he looks at the bathroom counter and finds a huge jar of Vaseline with no lid, seems like it would hold a gallon, maybe the pastor’s wife uses it on her face like in that commercial, but who cares now. He undoes his pants and hears her draw a breath.

With a practiced motion he has his part lubed up, a part which is now characteristically semi-erect, then he thinks it best to prime the target. Left hand spreads the cheek and right hand glazes the donut, she relaxes her buttocks, draws a deep breath and whispers “ohhh”.

With his trousers at his ankles he is still able to crouch just enough to get things lined up; he inserts slowly in an attempt to be kind,  she seems relaxed and receptive, it’s quiet enough to hear the slurp. He is both alarmed and intrigued by her intimate scents.

Nick tries to make mental notes of the first time being in, not quite what he imagined, but not about to complain. It's so warm, the walls are very silky - as a dolphin’s skin? And - once he gets all the way there it’s as though is something touching the very tip. He draws back slowly. She whispers “faster”.

He speeds up just a little, a hand on each hip. As they start to settle into a rhythm he realizes she has started to massage around the front and moves her head about, gasping. He realizes he can explore so he reaches for a breast, small, but firm, and shrouded by a conveniently thin brassiere, massaging it slightly, finding the nipple, wanting to reach beneath her dress but it appears there won’t be time.

He senses a moist palm on his sack, and the light scratch of her nails was too much. Not since that weird Sunday morning dream back in junior high had he exploded as this, as he’d sprouted a roman candle.

He didn’t even have to withdraw since as soon as his leg cramp set in it just slithered out and dripped everywhere. She was the first to reach for the toilet paper to clean up, he did the same, and she went ahead and flushed both versions as he got himself put back together.

She draws near and pecks him on the corner of his mouth and whispers “Thank you so much”, then reaches for the door. Nick ducks behind the shower curtain just in case and she closes the door behind her. His rubbery legs almost give out so he just leans for a minute, takes a breath, and tries to decide whether this really happened.

Sometimes bravado takes the back seat. Sometimes the reasons aren’t so clear. This is not a time to think. That Deep Purple song started in his head and he has to grin, you know it’s non-confronting...it’s not against the law.

After a few more deep breaths he is certain there is no one else on this floor, so he takes a quick peek out the bathroom door to an introvert’s favorite sight, desolate space. He flips on the lights to become a legitimate occupant and washes his hands, naturally taking a quick sniff of the earthy aroma, surprisingly pleasant given what he had touched. He thought about cleaning up his lucky friend but that would have to wait.

He heads out into the hallway and back the way he’d ascended, this time alone, and quite relieved. At about two steps from the bottom he realized she may still be here, doubted it, but could be. With nothing to lose he plopped back in the chair and resumed his restful state.

But rest would not come. During the encounter he briefly wondered what kind of music she liked, maybe New Wave. Depeche Mode came to mind. He has to go look.

The main living room contained the expected crowd, mostly yapping and some staring  the TV you can’t hear, since there were no Cincy or Frisco jerseys worn here it was more about the “fellowship”. He took a peek in the kitchen and there were a gaggle of ladies deep in their own world, but none in a long blue dress. Somehow he couldn’t picture her mixed in with that cackling flock. The bowl of chips is notably lower on one side, most folks have scooped them into red Solo cups to consume. Smart. His legs are a tad less wobbly now but this is definitely all real.

They don’t stay past halftime, and his folks could care less who performs. On the way home Irene asks Nick where he’d been, safely out of view in the back seat he was able to grin, just as he had in the bathroom and mutter “oh just hiding”. Tempting as it is to ask his parents if they had met or seen the woman in the blue dress...nah, too easy to open a can of worms. Nick figures he can always talk to Deke if he has to, should light come to this, yet, it feels too much like a gift, not the kind that one looks in the mouth.

That same Deep Purple record has a title track, albeit in a different context, we must remain...perfect strangers. He’s pretty sure she was a sister or acquaintance of someone and on the way out of town, or such and such.

Ned had successfully predicted the Niners’ win before the start of the 2nd half, for what it’s worth.

Finally back at base camp, Nick decides to inspect the scene down there. It’s surprisingly clean, still glazed, he can smell all the fluids involved, then with just one speck of dark matter, an encrusted gem right on the hood. After staring at it he decides he has to, it’s the only thing he has to remember and prove to himself, he finds a folded paper towel and wraps it up carefully and puts it in the Trotters box. It was also a good thing his t-shirt was not much longer, but he’ll need to pre-soak the underwears before they can go into the laundry, but no harm done. Some things have gotten a lot more discreet since his brother joined the Army. As he showers he feels more complete than he ever has.

Anything is possible.

*****

A few weeks later a card appeared on the little table in the church foyer, with the name in an elegant female’s writing, “Mr. Nicholas Swanson”

Irene brought it to him at home on one of the first warm days of the year, beaming, “well it looks like you have an admirer” and pecks him on the cheek as she does.

The envelope is a deep mauve. After a meticulous incision with a picket knife along the edge of the envelope he finds the card is a watercolor of a bo-peep type girl in a blue dress. His blood goes cold.

Flipping it over he finds no markings as with a Hallmark or American Greetings, just blank stock. Back to the front, it’s very possible the card was hand made, and if so, very well done. It would seem the envelope is also homebrew.

After another deep breath, he looks inside. From a different hand than the envelope,

“You are a gentleman. I do not know your name, nor can you know mine. You surprised and invigorated me, and I shall never forget you.”

It rushes back in a flood, so many questions, so many things to say, and not sure he’d be able to remember any of them if given the chance. He had touched humanity at its rawest and found such a precious gift of unfathomable wonder and beauty. So much left to the imagination.

He looks at it for a few minutes then carefully stows it in the Trotters box.

Ice

Danni hangs up the phone, the call was very unexpected. She takes a deep breath and grins for a minute, then heads to the kitchen. 

She reminds her half-asleep mom in the living room that she needs more driving hours, gets a mmmhmmm. Back in her room she shuts off the light then fishes an ice cube out of the glass she just filled, and finds her left nipple. It grows tight as she sighs, the other hand heads south for a while.

As legend has it, at that party a couple years back they had snuck off into another room. Nick was determined. She had just pressed him against the back of the door they just closed and stuck her tongue in his mouth, it just needed to happen. He seems to have misplaced his copy of the script, then touches her hair, then she lets up so they can breathe.

“Hi” she says.

She presses against him again to see what it is like. “Hey, you in there?”

He cups her rear end gently.

Not to be outdone, she feels his groin, it’s warm and firm, but not urgent. Curiosity gets the best of her, she starts to undo his belt, fingers not responding to command.

As she remembers it, he starts pulling up her skirt, but she doesn’t feel at all threatened.

Then before she knows it he is behind her, trying to poke around her cheeks with it. To get control she grabs his member, circumcised, and can’t help but notice the wet tip.

“Getting lost back there are we?” as she feels the response to her touch, she squeezes and pulls, keeps it going for just less than a minute, and then,

She gasps and is asleep before the ice cube melts.

Helter Swelter

July 23, 1983

It’s sweltering and the Swansons have only a large window air conditioner downstairs, where both boys have been camping out since it’s gotten miserable. The mornings are ok for a sultry bike ride but as soon as the sun starts to sting Nick heads inside to rejoin his regularly scheduled funk, already in progress, and there’s nothing on TV.

This summer has been...different.

In Vacation Bible School he actually sang during the program, somehow it came naturally, there were only four sixth graders for the program Sunday, although one had rehearsed with them but couldn’t make the consummation. Two guys and two gals, for once it’s not a cacophony but actually sounds decent when their voices blend and Nick found his place and went for it, it felt right to join in this time and not watermelon through it like his brother taught him early on.

His male counterpart was the one and only Jackie Ferree, chubby, bespeckled but outspoken, recently adopted by the Ferrees from the county orphanage and never shy, neither in a class setting or with the female types. The two girls, Kendra and Marsha politely ignored him most of the week but Nick wouldn’t have that option at school come fall.

HumGrav

 It’s the year 2020 or so, and a version of Nick Swanson with silver highlights aims his HumGrav toward a small-scale garage door in his attic. Like many houses these days there is still a garage opening toward the front lined with rakes and junk and smells of Ortho and mildew, but few of them actually hold cars unless it’s someone’s classic toy. The door opens automatically upon his approach and a few lights - mostly ornamental, mind you - surround the short runway pad in front of the doorway as the floating marvel eases its way into the maw for a perfect touchdown, every time, always within microns of the X’s painted on the hardwood as calibrated when the dealer set it up.

Despite the obvious mastery of anti-gravity technology and precision control systems even on the mid range models, these vehicles are not free from sound pollution, hence the name. But it’s the only way to go. Of course once he lands that means going into the house and doing something, watching 3D TV, although that would probably give him a headache...or is there a wife and kids? Who the hell knows.

The Camp Meeting

 Summer 1985

Several times during the week of camp  meetings Nick had managed to get next to one Danielle Eversole, call me Danni, and so far found out she’s quite the runner and got her tan out on the softball field, prompting images of a strawberry blond ponytail flowing out the hole of a maroon cap (or would it be gray?). Pale blue eyes peering out from the shadow of the bill, leaving her braces to glimmer in the sun. She goes to the one protestant church school in town, the first he’d heard of someone going there without having been expelled from somewhere first.

“So what’s your middle name?” He was running dry already.

“Jeanne.”

He smiles, “that’s pretty.”

“Sure it is,” as she rolls her eyes and gives him an expectant look.

Her long, able pins are neatly wrapped in a safe ankle-length denim skirt, not even a slit, at some point she hints he’d have to come to a game to see any leg. No makeup, well, maybe some of the eyelash stuff.

Nick’s best untested moves are no match. Attempting to hold her hand yields a twisted thumb. The arm across the back of the pew trick eventually buys a slightly bruised rib, he fails to notice she’s forcing a poker face the entire time.

Danni finds a pen in her little tweed purse and starts to draw on the back of a handout, using a hymnal for surface instead of a Bible naturally, figure studies, athletes in action. He whispers “you’re good” at one point and and her lightning elbow finds that same rib, but at least this time showing some grin. She stretches her neck each way then turns to put down the hymnal. He squeezes her knee as if by looking the other way she somehow wouldn’t find out.

Caught off guard by a tingle she’d never known before, the decisive hook jab to his thigh prompts several folks to look their way. For Nick the overwhelming need to act like nothing happened somehow masks the silent scream from tissues that he didn’t even know he had until this moment. He sweats beads, ears red as a baboon's ass, and during the response prayer he doesn’t even notice as she slips outside to walk around with the other girls.

On the way home Nick stretched out on the back seat of the wagon since Tim had wiggled out of this, as he usually did, and after mostly evading Irene’s queries about the young lady he’d sat with, he just felt lighter. The summer had started out rainy and pensive, then turned cold around the time a big evangelistic event came to the fairgrounds. Nick ended up walking around with some of the youth gang of their church then disapproved of their smoking, which in turn earned their disapproval at his moral stance. And so, you can’t win.

Except, tonight definitely felt like a win, and he grinned at a knotted thigh muscle as a memento. 

Happy Hector's

 July 3, 1986

Nick stands behind the popup camper trying to help his dad line it up with the gravel pad just as one of the park’s owners (?) shows up in a golf cart and basically takes over, frantically admonishing Jed to stay off the sparse grass, a few wispy blades in the dusty ground, leaving Nick to wonder if he’s serious. This character sticks around for a few minutes after the camper gets into place, never offering a word of welcome as he relates his fretfulness before moving on to receive another family with the same brand of charm.

“He must be Happy Hector,” Irene offers.

They had joined a couple other families from the plant at a private campground in the next county, Happy Hector’s, who wanted to play off the word “hectare” since the property measured out to exactly 4 hectares. But obviously this needed to be more American sounding as the hectares are Metric and therefore part of the devil’s toolkit, right up there with hookah pipes and that kind of art that don’t look like nuthin.’ Tim thought he had better things to do this weekend so Vance tagged along. About halfway there Nick blurts out Happy Hookers to a mixed reaction in the station wagon.

The boys helped with the popup camper then set up their tent.

"Is this thing from the Army?"

"No it's just old. I think my brother was consummated in it.

"Boys."

"And now for the rules,"

"Rule#1: No farting"

"Rule#2: You're a dipshit"

"Rule#3: Get me a beer"

"NO ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES ALLOWED IN THIS FACILITY"

"Boys..."

"What?"

"Hon this is why they have their own tent, remember?"

"We got any pop at least?"

"There's cans but they're as warm as the air"

"Sounds like it's warm Pepsi time again."

So that becomes a thing, to the tune of Cold Gin...it's warm Pepsi time again-nnnnn.

"Why don't you kettleheads mosey over to the pool?"

"We'll drown."

"And?"

*****

Saturday evening found the boys watching a band set up in the rec hall around 9, after the line dancers were done. Since the quiet time started at 11 it would give them a while to get their set in. Your basic guitar/drum/bass, there's an acoustic sitting back there, who knows, maybe they won't suck.

Nick had spent the day hearing that they had seen a young male with his general description harassing the peacocks that haunt the grounds and sound off in the wee morning hours. He had no recollection of getting near the stupid things, was more fun watching a little blond ride around, but she was part of the owners’ clan so he stayed clear. They had tried more fishing at the big end of the pond, then gradually moved toward the bridge and found bigger bites there. No one in their group wanted to clean one so they just threw back in, but it was increasingly clear that Happy Hector didn't want anyone catching the big fish.

They wandered over toward the playground for a bit and mixed with the gaggle of youth standing around, for a few, then hit the swings, wondering when that band would start up after a hasty sound check. They had just started cruising back to the rec hall when there was a ONE TWO THREE FOUR, then some very crunchy electric guitar grunt to a POOM-POOM-CRACK beat. They were behind the stampede but no need to get close, the house was a rockin'. 

Neither Nick nor Vance could place the track, but a nearby veteran said "oh that's the Stones."

The beat was syncopated just right, the drums the only thing tight, but right in your face, bluesy and just right. "On a Thursday night...." the singer bawled out. It was simply electrifying, Nick wondered why some band doesn't record a hard version like this.

It didn't take long, you had girls dancing with each other, laughing, the band obviously had done this a time or two and knew how to get a crowd on the same page.

"DANCE...DANCE LITTLE...SISTER, DANCE..."

Nick had to maneuver to get a good look at the hardware, the guitar was shared between a Tele and a Les Paul, the latter was doing the leads with a beer bottle slide. Bass was a sunburst P with a huge headstock, no surprise. These guys were bearded and just the right vintage, evidently cut their teeth on this stuff heart and soul.

After a couple verses they dropped to drums for a singalong, and quite a crowd had crawled out of the woodwork.

At one point the best part were about a dozen little kids all wiggling around, people couldn't stand up for laughing. Nick also saw his folks way at the fringe checking it all out, hell they're probably old enough to know some of these tunes.

Vance observes, "Most of the campgrounds must be here, hope no one gets the idea to rifle through our tents and campers."

"Jokes on them, I took a huge shit in your bag."

"Good, that's where I put your shoes."

The first number wrapped up with a double-stick snare hit. "Thanks for coming out, we're Ten Pen Alley, good rockin' crowd here tonight!"

Then the familiar opening riff to Night Ranger's You Can Still Rock In America from the Les Paul, which was as well done as could be, then they brought it down with Skynyrd's Simple Man, and so on. 

At one point there's a different blond hanging around, Nick says "Hi" and she fires back a loaded "HI" with all kinds of sauce on it. He walks away.

Around this time he hears a newly familiar riff to a four-floor beat...BREEEM...BREEM-BREEM-BREEM-BREEEM...now that one he knows, Timbutt has a crappy dub of the tape, were they really gonna do Big Balls? It's happening.

There's a tap on Nick's shoulder and there stands a female, around his age, dark curly hair and smiling. "Can we talk?"

He turns to Vance who responds with a chin-out expression then motions him on.

Her name is Jo, her family pulled in this afternoon and she's wondering if he can show her around. They go to the pond, which is locked, then over by the swingset. They swing on the swings a bit then she wants to crawl through the tiles. They sit in there and talk a bit then she kisses him, on the mouth, then makes the little swirly things with her tongue. She senses he's' not interested, calls him a fucking jerk then storms off.

Nick returns to the concert scene to the tune of Yesterday with just an acoustic guitar, finally finds Vance leaning on a tree not far from where he'd left him about 20 minutes ago.

"So?"

"She didn't get my jokes."

"Sure. Did you wanna stick around?"

"We can go chill by a fire."

*****

The final morning of the trip was graciously free of peacock noises. Irene treated to hotcakes on the grille then they headed over to the worship service in the rec room, definitely a multipurpose deal there. Thankfully that Jo was nowhere in sight, but at the end of the service they were asked to join hands for prayer, Nick was shanghai'd by some family man next to him. Next time he vowed to sit by that shorter blond.

After this it was time to start tearing down. They got the tent undone and slowly packed into the wagon. Then the camper, pretty soon it was about lunchtime but they were gonna stop on the way.

At some point Jo rides up on a bike. "Nick I'm sorry about last night. I don't know why I get like that. I hope you don't hate me."

"I don't."

"Good." She hands him a folded note and rides away.

On the way home he checks it out, it basically has the same apology, some biographical data, and her phone number.

Vance asks, "You gonna call her?"

"You can."

Vee BS

Summer '85

After the school year ended but before the week of nonstop rain there was VBS. The pastor’s wife wanted to try something different so these two middle-aged women came to do a program and they managed to get on Nick’s bad side from the first few moments. They sat at a desk in the foyer signing up the “kiddies” with little registration forms, and it turns out, even though he’s just there to help, they want to sign him up because he’s not fourteen yet. 

Not that he knew the word “patronize” just yet, it should be the Twelfth Commandment, the unodeca having been claimed of course by Don’t Get Caught.

The summer itself was spacious with an off-the-record kind of sense, a time for planning yet no goals in sight.

Bike rides around the town, ball-cap donned farmers going places in their pickups, leggy Jolene Connor mowing in orange shorts, otherwise not usually in any mood to stop in on anyone. 

One of the Danville channels ran Gidget so a fresh Sally Field is ripe with the strawberries. 

Top 40 still rocks for the most part, at least there’s guitar solos to air to. Vance wasn’t around much so the media has a way of either becoming one’s conscious or just a background to it. 

Live Aid was on most of that one Saturday, and wow, there’s Sally doing the donation pitch, she sure has aged well, still cute as a button.