Reading these postings causes me to recall old memories. One of them was when I was a teen in high school living next door to an attractive war widow and her equally attractive son, James. I had grown up with Jimmy and we were always fun loving and simple kids. By that time we were juniors in High School. His mom, whom I called by her first name, June or Junie, was a tall, elegant and lovely person. She was always nicely dressed and in my early years, studying to become a physician's assistant, which she finally achieved before Jimmy and I went off to different colleges after H.S.

Junie used to keep her kitchen door open and always had a pitcher filled with cold lemonade in the fridge, with an open invitation to me, her next door neighbor. I loved to sunbathe and work both our gardens, which were not anything elaborate. I saw Jimmy on a Saturday morning and he said he was headed for the library to do work on something he had in a class. I weeded the gardens and then lay on a blanket to refresh myself. I was perspiring and then it dawned on me to see if Junie had made up some lemonade. I walked into the kitchen and there was a full pitcher in the fridge so I poured myself a glass and sat down by the table.

In a few minutes I heard a muted thumping in a cadence from upstairs. At first, I thought nothing of it but then I heard Jimmy's voice. I had to sit quietly since it seemed to be coming not just from upstairs but from behind a door as well. However, it was clear enough, "Do you like it, Mom?" Then, Junie said, "I love it, honey, but do it a little faster and harder, drive it into me hard." Then, the thumping became faster and a bit louder, accompanied by Junie's obvious moaning."

In years to come I learned that what I heard was plainly, down to earth fucking. Shocked by what I heard, it was as startling as watching a shocker movie where a plot twist hits the audience out of nowhere. Red faced and dizzy, I sneaked out of the kitchen and went outside, picked up my blanket and garden tools, went home and went to bed to recover my spinning head. I never saw Jimmy and his mom in the same light again but, I think, hid my gut feeling from them with plenty of smiles. Only after some years and more maturity did I come to terms with what I knew about them, accepting it as part of the great variety of realities that is our lives.