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When I was in middle school, my mom took a job as a nurse at the local hospital which meant she had to work all kinds of crazy hours. So, on the afternoons after school when she had to work, Mom would have my younger sister and me stay with the Thompsons, who lived next door.
Unlike us, our neighbors were devout Christians (I couldn’t tell you the exact denomination, but they were hardcore) who lived particularly WASP-y lives. That was quite the culture shock to us Jewish kids, who had no idea how to process an existence filled with potpourri, large paintings of Jesus, and quiet condemnation.
The Thompsons had two children: a son who was my sister’s age and a daughter, named Krissy, who was a year younger than me. They had a playroom in their finished basement, and we’d all hang out down there till my dad came to pick us up and take us to Roy Rogers for dinner.
Krissy wouldn’t have anything to do with boys. So, she and my sister would play ‘family’ with her dolls. That left me to do my best to dodge Krissy’s younger brother — the definition of a little shit whose favorite activities included kicking, biting, and crying to his very sympathetic mother when I tried to defend myself.
It should have been a miserable experience (and mostly it was), except for one thing: I had a thing for Krissy. She was thin, blonde, and quite pretty; always dressed in fuzzy sweaters and tight jeans. The chance to stare at her all afternoon (when I wasn’t dodging her little brother), almost made it all worthwhile.
Not that Krissy was at all interested in me. That girl was untouchable. She kept everyone at arm’s length, haughty and reserved. Like she was a higher being and all of us were supposed to be supplicant to her superiority. This all happened well before Frozen was a thing, but I can tell you, even Elsa would have called Krissy an ice queen. Yet none of that stopped young me from crushing on her, hard.
When I turned 13 (and my sister was 11), Mom got comfortable with leaving us home alone for a couple hours and we stopped going to the Thompsons’ house. In high school, I mostly lost track of Krissy. She wasn’t in my grade, and it’s not like we ran in the same orbits or even the same solar system. I’d see her sometimes — randomly, at a distance — and be reminded of how pretty she was. But that was all.
And then I graduated high school, left for Boston, and forgot all about that stuff.
*
My sophomore year, at age 20, I came back home for the summer for the first time since I’d started college. The year before, I’d managed to pick up a bunch of temp jobs and stay near school. But the most recent semester had been rough, and I needed a reprieve.
There were a lot of factors. I had no idea what to major in — the strong feeling I had about my original degree turned out to be hatred. My grades, understandably, suffered. I’d had my first serious girlfriend that year and it was a nightmare relationship, in retrospect. Dysfunctional and disastrous, in almost every respect.
Also, my roommate was a tremendous asshole, my friend group fractured over some dumb drama (not worth going into), and I got a nasty flu in February that lingered till April. In other words, I’d had my annus horribilis. I needed to retreat and regroup.
Home was fulya escort not my first choice. I got along with my family OK, but we lived in one of those stereotypical small-minded small towns with nothing to do and lots to resent. The few friends I had from high school, that could have made things enjoyable (or at least bearable), were all away on their own adventures.
To give you an idea of how long ago all this happened, I got a job that summer at the local Blockbuster Video. An undersized store in the strip mall across from the A she wasn’t a nice person, and I didn’t enjoy her company. Yet I had this sensation of loss, like I’d missed some huge opportunity by letting her walk out the door. And, silly me, I was convinced that I wouldn’t see her again all summer.
*
On Monday morning, Krissy came back into the Blockbuster. This time, I was doing an opening shift and Steve wasn’t there. Instead, I was working with a tiny, Asian girl named Mei who’d gasp and hide in the back any time a customer came in. You can imagine how much fun she was to work with on a Friday night. Still, she made the shelves look immaculate.
Most people would leave their returned movies in the drop box outside the store, but Krissy came inside and placed the two blue/white VHS boxes on the counter. I was busy with another customer (a weirdly hectic Monday morning), but Krissy stood there and waited for me.
When I was done, I walked over to the other side of the counter, and she handed me the tapes. Krissy had the usual sweater (green this time) and jeans on. But her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was wearing glasses, black with thick rims. I knew this was her dressing down, but I thought she looked extra cute that way.
“Did you enjoy the movies?” I asked, on autopilot.
I didn’t even think about what I was implying until Krissy’s whole body flushed pink. Eventually, she managed to squeak something out.
“They were OK,” she said.
“Happy to hear it,” I said, still in store-guy mode.
Once Krissy realized that I wasn’t messing with her, and really meant to be polite, she was able to move on and wander around the store. I did my best to give her space, but I won’t lie, I tracked the beautiful blonde girl like she was an enemy submarine. No need to make any observations about my burgeoning torpedo.
Right then — pretending to scan returned movies while I spied on my former neighbor — I came to a decision. I don’t know why I did it, honestly. I guess Krissy represented some lost opportunity in my fertile imagination. Or maybe, with everything else going on in my life, I felt like I had nothing to lose. So, when Krissy brought her movies up to pay, I pounced.
“Oh, Romeo + Juliet,” I said, looking at her selections, “I wanted to watch this one.” I did not. But I was making my play.
Krissy looked around the store then back at me. Her implication was obvious. I worked at a video store. I could watch whatever, whenever I wanted.
“It’s always out when I have time to see it,” I said, displaying a mental dexterity even I didn’t realize I had. “And now you have the only copy.”
“Oh,” Krissy said, “Well, I guess you could take it once I bring it back.”
“Sure,” I said, “Or, maybe I could watch it with you?”
Krissy antep escort stuttered at that. She paused halfway through reaching into her purse to pay. Like my question had caused her OS to crash. Finally, she met my eyes with hers. I could tell she was trying to find a way to say ‘no’ but it wasn’t coming.
Instead, meekly, she looked down at the counter and said, “OK.”
“Maybe this afternoon?” I asked, “My shift ends at one.”
I almost suggested lunch beforehand, but I decided not to push it. Krissy was struggling enough already. But she managed to squeak out a “sure” before she grabbed her movie and strutted out of the store. So fast, she must have thought I might chase her.
I spent the next few hours soaking in a happy, dopey stew of endorphins.
*
I had no trouble finding Krissy’s house, obviously. I simply parked at my parents’ place and walked right over. I rang her doorbell, and it made a happy little chime. I expected to see a nervous Krissy answer the door. Or maybe an angry one.
Instead, the pretty blonde looked legitimately pleased to see me. Krissy let me in and led me to the basement. I could have found my way blindfolded. Despite the fact that it had been nearly a decade since I’d been in that house, I found it mapped into my mind. Every shape and smell. Like it had been embalmed, waiting for me, all those years.
We passed by the kitchen on the way to the basement and there, as if she too was waiting, was Krissy’s mom. Mrs. Thompson was short and slight, with red hair cut to just below her ears. Her whole body was covered in freckles, like she’d fallen in a vat of them as a child. She was wearing a polo-ish shirt and a pair of Mom jeans. She gave me her usual sour look as I walked by.
“Remember to leave the door open,” she told her daughter.
My last girlfriend had serious mom-issues (in truth, she had serious everything issues, but that’s a different 120,000 word story I won’t be posting anytime soon), and I was used to hearing snippy retorts when a mom made such a controlling request. Actually, I was used to that with every woman I’d dated.
It’s not that I chose relationships with broken people, it’s just that we were adults. Was Mrs. Thompson driving out to Harrisburg every day to make sure Krissy was leaving enough space for the Holy Ghost between her and whatever boy she brought home? No, she was not.
Krissy was 19. I was 20. If we wanted to host orgies in her basement, I didn’t see what Krissy’s mom could say about it. But she talked to her daughter like she was some high school kid. And Krissy seemed more than OK with that.
“Sure thing!” Krissy said, cheerfully, then bopped down the stairs with me trailing behind.
I turned back to give Mrs. Thompson a smile and a wave, but she made a face like I’d shoved a lemon down her throat.
Krissy, however, was still grinning when we got downstairs. The room was exactly how I remembered it. Even the toys were left in the same places. But there was one major difference: someone had installed a big screen (for those days, anyway) TV, a nice sound system, and the best VCR that money could buy.
I sat on the plush couch (it even made the same squish noise I remembered), and Krissy knelt down to futz with the TV. gaziemir escort Seeing her squatting forward, that perfect ass pointing out in her too tight jeans, I remembered exactly why I’d gambled on getting an afternoon with her. If I could get those pants off, I didn’t care how mean she was most of the time.
Krissy went back to the couch and sat down, leaving a full cushion between us. She looked over at me, a kind of non-verbal warning, then pushed play. She rested her hands, primly, in her lap.
Have you ever had a cat stalk you? They do this thing where they inch closer every time you’re not looking. So, first glance: 12 feet away. Next glance, 10. Third look, 7. Till suddenly they’re right on top of you.
That’s how I made my move on Krissy. As she got engrossed in the movie, I slid ever closer. Till she was within reach. I could smell the coconut shampoo of her hair. The banal sweetness of her perfume. I noticed a little freckle where her neck met her jaw, barely visible.
We reached the scene with Leo and Kate in the pool. To this point, Krissy had seemed mildly engaged in the movie — enough to let me sneak up on her — but not totally entranced. Now, she leaned forward. Eyes focused on the screen. She let out a little gasp as the onscreen couple kissed. I noticed Krissy’s thighs slowly rubbing against each other.
I made the final journey to be right next to Krissy as she watched that scene. I think I could have turned into a boa constrictor, and she wouldn’t have noticed. But nothing happened. The couple broke apart and the scene changed.
Krissy sat back in the couch cushions. She let out a little pout.
“Aw,” she said, letting her disappointment show.
“Not what you were hoping for?” I asked.
Krissy looked at me like she’d forgotten I was even there.
“They were supposed to… You know,” she said.
And that’s when it occurred to me. My golden girl wasn’t watching these movies despite the sex scenes. She wanted to watch because of them.
It was a shocking revelation, and it only turned me on even more. The perfect, religious girl who was too good for anyone had come home from college horny. Holy fuck did that make me hot.
I went from hoping at a chance with her to needing one. We watched a little more of the movie. I put my arm around Krissy’s shoulders. I leaned my head forward. And when her eyes caught mine for whatever random reason, I leapt right in and kissed her.
I felt Krissy jump back, instinctive, but I was able to hold her close and soon she fell into it. Little gasps and mewls as our lips smacked. Some distant part of me wondered if Mrs. Thompson could hear the sounds of our make-out session upstairs. The rest of me couldn’t care less.
We kept kissing. Krissy rested her lithe little hand on my chest. Her unicorn-pink nails clashed against the plaid of my flannel. I saw the little blonde hairs on her wrists were standing up. I wondered how far up her arm her light fur went, but I didn’t dare reach for her sweater at that stage.
I pulled away for a breath. The moment of truth. Krissy gave me a wicked little grin and started kissing me again. I ran my tongue against her thin, coral lips and she let them part. Oh YES! My tongue entwined with hers. Her breath was minty and sweet.
Finally, we realized the credits were playing and we broke apart. Rather than call it an afternoon, Krissy rewound the movie and started it again. We watched Romeo + Juliet three times that afternoon. I don’t remember a damn thing about the movie.
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