Working in California was fantastic, everyone was really nice to me (oddly), and some of the jobs introduced me to very interesting people. Sherry and Jim owned a beautiful house in the area of Hillsboro that lay just to the west of El Camino Real, they were not in the “hills”, but their home was worth a few bob. They’d had a 2 storey extension built (using redwood) off the rear of the property, with a decking balcony off the master bedroom. The whole rear interior had been stripped and oak kitchen cabinets had been fitted. The wood was raw, so we had the job of lacquering it. Every day Sherry would be waiting with fresh coffee (before we even started painting) and muffins (a selection), all very civilised.
They had a 17 year old daughter
Stacey, who was studying dance and I would be dodging muffins and her dances
all morning as I manoeuvred my way around the kitchen units. Stacey would wear her leotard and would
prance around the open plan living area, saying this was her new dance, what
did I think. As to the sight of a voluptuous
17 year old twirling around? Stay strong
Jonny, stay strong mate. The carpenters
were still on site and we’d been there 2 weeks, as they completed the decking
area and balustrade. One smoke break we got
to talking about the family. The father
was a pilot with Delta and had been in the USAF, flew jets in Vietnam, and was
apparently a Top Gun at Miramar Airbase.
We hardly ever saw him as he was always flying a plane somewhere, and I
mentioned how nice the girls were (mum and daughter). One of the guys made a snide comment about
how I was the only one getting muffins and was I muffing the mother?
I laughed it off, but Paul said
it was true. The mum obviously had a
crush on me and did I not see that. “Oh
yea!” I said. And the daughter to they
said, “Bollocks” was my reply. Over the
next few days it became apparent that something was going on. One morning, I had to go upstairs to the deck
balcony and knocked on the bedroom door.
Sherry called out “who is that”, “Jonathan” I said, “oh, come on in” she
replied. I walked into the bedroom,
which had a corridor leading to the bedroom, behind the left-hand wall of which
was the bathroom, I moved into the main room and walked towards the new double
doors leading to the balcony.
“Don’t worry about me” she said,
through the open bathroom door from behind the glass shower door. I turned and got an eyeful of a forty year
old mum of two, slim, still curved in the right places. She held the typical “woman in shower pose”,
arms up lathering her hair, to make her tits look higher............
“Ok” I shouted, nearly cracking
up and walked out onto the balcony and shut the doors. She was nice, but not THAT nice. A few days later, I worked a Saturday morning
and as Sherry let me in she said she had to go out, but that Stacey was in her
room if I needed anything. Stacey’s room
was on the ground floor, off the kitchen, down a corridor. The corridor had a second bathroom and utility
rooms leading off it with Stacey’s bedroom at the very end. The bathroom door was directly opposite the
door leading to the kitchen, the door handle and locks of which, had yet to be
fitted. Ok, got the layout ok? Good.
I got coffee and a pastry (no
muffin here) and told her I was lacquering skirting boards and door
frames. She smiled (she was very fit and
especially so in tight shorts, crop top and bobby socks) and walked to her
room. I was working my way around the
open plan living room, up and down the new wooden double doors leading to the
lower deck and along the skirting to the doorframe of the corridor door. Up one side I went, along the top and down I
went, passing the hole in the door where the handle and lock should be. I had heard water being run in the bathtub as
I was working and my eye was draw (!!!!) to the hole in the door and a clear
view of Stacey on her knees, naked, bending away from me over the bath, as she
swished the water, swish swash, swish. I
was frozen as she swished, I wanted to swish to. Then I looked beyond her backside and the
thing was, she was looking directly at me, and smiling. She had been waiting there for me to reach
the door frame.
“Fuck” I ducked back from the
hole; I was no peeping tom, but fuck! I
wiped up the spilt mess, of lacquer, (aw c’mon on people!) that had dripped from my
brush. I coughed loudly (I thought if I
made a noise she would cover up) and said “er hi Stacey, I er need to paint
this door frame, so I am opening the door”.
“OK” she called. I pushed open the door and she had not
moved. “Fuck me!” I said aloud.
“Yes please” she said. So I
did. In the army, during training, we
often had quick change parades, where we’d assemble outside in fatigues, then
told we had 5 minutes to get into Combats, then told we had 5 minutes to get
into overalls, etc. I was therefore,
very quick at getting debagged. But I exceeded
all records that morning. I was in the
bath with her for ages, creating suds and squeezing every drop of lather out of
her sponge. In fact, we only stopped
just in time, as her mum came home minutes later. “Your hair is wet and you have a rosy glow to
my cheeks”, Sherry said. I explained
that I had gotten lacquer in my hair, when it brushed against a door jam and
had washed it in Stacey’s bathroom. She
looked at me as if I thought she was mad, but said nothing. She couldn’t really, given that she was up
for it as well.
A few days later, Paul told me
there had been a big argument between Sherry and Stacey. Apparently Stacey had told her mum she loved
me, her mum had said she was stupid and why would an English guy want a 17 year
old Californian sex bomb? Well not quite
like that, but you get the gist. We had
to stop working there for a few months until the next bit of the job was
completed, (the front room, and staircase).
Sherry said she was looking forward to a break from the paint fumes....I
agreed a break was needed.Around this time, my mate Rick contacted me from Norwich. He had a friend (female) who had been living in Florida and was now travelling across the states. Could I meet her and put her up for a couple of nights. Her name was Jackie; I was to meet her at the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station in Daly City. I waited at the station, at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform. At the top appeared Jackie. To say she was stunning would be a serious understatement.
Long hair, small pretty features,
slim, long legs, I stood there waiting, probably looking like a dickhead, as my
tongue lay on the pavement. We drove to
the apartment and I gave her my room. I
bunked in with Mark and we lay chatting about how fit she was. Mark was in a sleeping bag on the floor, as I
told him my back was playing up, so he gave me his double bed (Muppet). There came a knock on the door. “Do you mind if I come in here and talk with
you two for a while” she asked. “No”
came the unified response. “Is it ok if I
get in bed with you Jonathan as I am cold”, “no” came the singular
response. Cameron looked at me as if to
say “I fucking hate you”.
She lay next to me, just an inch
away, my arm to hers. She had on a
T-shirt and panties. I had on my grots
(army talk for under-crackers), and we talked.
I lay there wondering whether I had the guts to take her hand in mine. Did I dare reach out? If I did would she cry out, or take my hand
in hers? Mark chatted away like a politician,
small talk being his speciality, whilst I fidgeted and fought the urge to touch
the goodies next to me. In the end,
after what was a couple of hours, she took herself off to bed, either quite
content to have had a nice bedtime chat, or disappointed that I did not try it
on. I like to think the later. But the thought of what could have been, (should
have been?) stayed with me for the few days she stayed. She left, unsullied and unadulterated by
seedy Weaver.
Not so Roya. I had been working in Pacifica, along the
Pacific coast of the Bay Peninsula and had met her whilst renovating a
community centre. She was of Arabian/American
descent, dark and dusky, smoky eyes and hair that went on forever. The charm pedal was pressed fully down as I chatted
to her, whilst asking questions that checked out whether she was open to dates
and dancing, and more? She was,
especially the more bit. In fact, I had
a real nutter on my hands, after only a week or so she was talking marriage and
settling down. What? I did my best to make her understand that I was
all about a relaxed attitude to relationships, but to no avail. I ended it.
Had to, it would have been unfair to continue, I did not want to lead
her along and despite her assurances that we could just be friends with
benefits, I saw it for what it was, a trip to the church.
I had pretty much moved from one
short relationship to another and was not exactly looking for anything deep and
meaningful. I knew my mum wanted to come
out in the summer and the plan was that she would stay for 5 weeks. I would take time off and she said she would
be quite happy sitting in the apartment whilst I was at work. I was worried she’d get bored on her own,
stuck in an apartment with nothing nearby, shops etc. It would be nice I thought if she had some
company.
Then I met Tammy. Tammy was a lively, pretty, all American girl,
who reflected the current fashion trends at that time (1988), namely big hair,
tight jeans, and tight tops. We met
through mutual friends, she was a waitress in a bar, and we got on.
 |
| Tammy |
June was fast approaching; I had plans to fly home. Tammy and I had settled into a nice boy/girl relationship, just drifting along, going to see bands and out for drinks, and dancing. We spent a lot of time in my room, (of course) and her mum and dad were very friendly and welcoming. Life was great and most importantly, Mark, Andrea and Tammy all got on well. An added bonus was that her mum said she would take my mum out, shopping and sightseeing. Fabulous.
 |
| Mark and Tammy on my bed - note shitty posters |
Tanned and healthy I was doing my damndest to look like George Michael by now and I wanted to see if my sister, mum and nieces Claire and Katie would recognise me at Heathrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment