Compensation

Jason and I have been best friends since middle school. Over time, our interests have varied and wandered but our friendship has always endured. One interest that we both shared was girls. It peaked in high school but neither of us had the courage, or the opportunity, to pursue them and satisfy our curiosity and fantasies. The result was that we both graduated from high school as virgins. We entered our eighteenth and last summer before university still interested in girls but without any means to change our virgin status.

Another interest of ours was role playing video games. We would play with and against each other as often as time allowed. Summer meant that there was little else except game time. The internet was our friend when we were playing separate or with other players. As often as we could, we played in person.

A Tuesday afternoon, soon after graduation, we were playing in my parent's living room using the 65-inch television as our playing field. Both my parents worked and the empty house was perfect for our, sometimes boisterous, game. The game went back and forth, each of us gaining a dominate position and then relinquishing it to our opponent. The game ended with Jason on top, a position he was all too happy to repeatedly remind me about.

We had a couple of pops after the game and Jason left to go home. I stood in the doorway, watching him walk to his car. I closed the door and started for my room. A few seconds later, I heard a gut-wrenching collision, almost an explosion, with accompanying screeching and tearing of metal parts. I ran back to the front door and front porch.

Jason's car was on its roof in the middle of the street. A second car, with a crushed front end, was stopped nearby, diagonally blocking the street. I ran to Jason's car. Jason was hanging unconscious from his seat belt. He was bleeding from a gash on the back of his head.

I couldn't pry open the driver's door. I used a nearby baseball bat to clear the broken glass from the car door window. I half crawled into the car and tried to open Jason's seat belt. I was unsuccessful. I pulled my pen knife from my pocket and used the blade to cut the seatbelt. Jason fell onto the roof of the car. I turned his body, pulled him out through the window by his shoulders and lay him on his back on the roadway.

He wasn't breathing and I couldn't detect a pulse. I checked his airway as we were taught in health class and began to do CPR.

I was the first one to get to the crash but not the only one. Other neighbors had responded and at least one had called 911. By the time the rescue squad got there, Jason was breathing and he had opened his eyes. I relinquished his care to the EMT's and stood back to survey the scene.

In addition to the two wrecked cars, there were two ambulances, three police cars and two fire trucks. EMT's were attending to the woman driver of the car that impacted Jason's car. She was out of her car and didn't seem to have serious injuries.

I picked up the baseball bat I had used to clear the broken glass. It was Jason's bat and I wondered how it had ended up in the street. It had blood on it and I was curious about that as well when a police officer approached me. He wanted to ask me about my observations and actions in the aftermath of the accident.

I answered his questions and together we concluded that the bat had been in the back seat of the car when the accident occurred. We believed it had flown into the front seat, hit Jason in the back of the head and ended up in the street where I found it. That explained Jason's head injury, the bat's resting place and the blood on it.

I sat on the curb and watched the professionals process the scene. One ambulance took Jason to the hospital. The woman driver of the other car refused medical attention and the second ambulance left empty. One of the fire trucks and two of the police cars left as well. Eventually, wreckers arrived and removed both cars, the firemen swept and washed the street, someone came to pick up the woman and the last police officer left.

When everything seemed normal again, I went inside, took a shower and dressed in clean clothes. I headed for my car intending to go to the hospital to check on Jason. I realized I still had Jason's bat. I took it out to my car and started to put it in the back seat, thought better of it and put it in my trunk.

At the hospital, Jason had come in through the Emergency Room and had been moved to a room on the third floor for observation. The hospital had shaved a spot on his head around the laceration and had stitched up the damage. Other than that, he was in good condition and expected to spend just one night in the hospital.

While I was talking with Jason, Mrs. Thompson, Jason's mom, came into the room with a Burger King bag and a milkshake. "Hi, Mark," she said as she handed the food to Jason. "Jason tells me you saved his life."

"I think Jason exaggerates Mrs. Thompson," I said. "I just helped a friend when he needed help."

"Well," she replied. "I'm thankful that you were there."

The next morning, Jason and I spent a few hours texting each other until his mother arrived and he was discharged from the hospital. I had planned to visit him at home that afternoon but his mother changed our plans explaining that he needed to rest to let his slight concussion improve.

About two o'clock, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Thompson was at the door holding a squat box.

"Hi, Mrs. Thompson," I greeted her. "What's the occasion?" I asked.

"I brought you something and I wanted to talk to you," she replied. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I said. "Sorry I didn't think of it myself."

We settled in the living room, Mrs. Thompson on the sofa and me on an easy chair across from her. She placed the box on the coffee table in front of her.

"What's in the box?" I asked.

"An apple pie I baked this morning," she told me. "I wanted to thank you for all you did for Jason yesterday so I brought it to give to you."

"Thanks," I said. "I love apple pie, especially one of yours but you didn't have to bring it to me. I only did what any good friend would do."

"It's the least I could do for your friendship and your help," Mrs. Thompson commented.

"Thanks again," I repeated. "Can I share a piece of apple pie with you?"

I took the pie into the kitchen. Mrs. Thompson followed me. I cut two generous pieces of pie and we sat at the kitchen table and ate them. Afterward, Mrs. Thompson excused herself and she left to go home.

Thursday morning Jason was reluctant to have visitors. He hurt all over from the accident. He claimed that every muscle in his body was in pain. His mother had gone down to the local precinct to talk with the officers about the accident. She learned that the woman who collided with Jason as he was backing out of my driveway was traveling at least twenty miles per hour above the speed limit and may have been under the influence of something at the time. She refused medical assistance and blood testing but the officers observed actions inconsistent with sobriety. Bottom line: Jason was not at fault and would not be receiving any summons for the accident.

Early that afternoon, about one o'clock, the doorbell rang again. Mrs. Thompson was at the door again. She didn't have anything in her hands but she looked serious.

I invited her in and she sat on the sofa and asked me to sit next to her. "Mark," she said. "I went downtown to speak with the police about Tuesday's accident."

"I know. Jason told me," I interjected.

"I learned a lot about what happened," she continued. "Things Jason doesn't remember."

I started to speak but Mrs. Thompson raised a finger to stop me. "Let me finish," she said.

"The officers told me that Jason would have died if not for your actions."

"It wasn't that much," I demurred.

"It was," insisted Mrs. Thompson. "They told me that Jason's condition and what you were doing when the medics arrived absolutely saved his life. I confirmed everything with the medics. You saved his life."

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing. Mrs. Thompson took my hands in hers.

"You saved two lives that afternoon," Mrs. Thompson continued. "You saved Jason's life and you saved my life. Jason is my only child. He is my reason for being on this earth. I don't know what would have happened to me if he had died but it wouldn't have been pretty. So, I owe you everything. A lot more than just an apple pie. I don't know if I can ever repay you but I intend to try. I don't know now what that might be but I want you to know that I'll do anything to thank you for giving us our lives."

"Ah, Mrs. Thompson. I don't know what to say."

"Just think about it," she suggested. "And so will I."

She left shortly after more thank yous and promises.

I visited Jason Saturday afternoon. He was still stiff and in pain from the accident. We didn't play video games in deference to his condition. We just talked. He suggested to me that his mother was acting strangely since the accident. I told him about her visit to me and how what she shared might be weighing on her mind. We agreed that she just needed time to come to terms with how she was dealing with the thoughts about the prospect of death.

Late Monday morning, the doorbell rang again. Mrs. Thompson was at the door with a large picnic basket. "I want to talk to you again and I brought lunch," she said.

Mrs. Thompson unpacked the picnic basket onto the kitchen table while I gathered plates, glasses and silverware. She had sourdough bread, chicken salad, shrimp salad, lettuce, a large bowl of fruit salad and chocolate chip cookies. We ate silently, me wondering what she wanted to talk about and her probably wondering how to say it.

We cleaned up after lunch, put the leftovers in the refrigerator and the used dishes in the dish washer. The rest went back into the picnic basket. We moved into the living room where we sat on the sofa again.

"Mark," opened Mrs. Thompson. "Jason and I had a lot of time to talk this weekend. He was very open and candid with me. I learned things about him I didn't know and never suspected."

I wondered why Jason would tell things like that to his mother.

"I guess having a close call with death gave him a different perspective on life and he wanted to share things with me," added Mrs. Thompson answering my unspoken question.

"He shared with me some very personal items," Mrs. Thompson told me. "Did you know that he was still a virgin?"

The question took me by surprise. Jason actually told his mother that he was a virgin. I wonder what his angle was in sharing that information with her. "No," I lied. "We don't usually talk about stuff like that."

"You don't talk about girls?" asked Mrs. Thompson. "I thought teenage men talked about little else."

"Girls, yes," I admitted. "Not about our failures with them," I stated.

"Mark, do you have failures to talk about?" Mrs. Thompson asked.

"That seems an unusual question to ask your son's best friend," I replied.

"I thought that if Jason was still a virgin that you might be a virgin too," Mrs. Thompson asserted.

I didn't answer her statement. I didn't know how. It was an amazingly personal question for a woman to ask a boy less than half her age.

Mrs. Thompson watched me silently for several moments. "I'm going to take your silence as a yes," she said.

"Shit," I thought. I'd never admitted it to Jason although he probably knew and now his mother has figured it out. I didn't have a clue where the conversation was headed.

Mrs. Thompson reached out and took my hands in hers. I'm sure she could feel my pulse racing.

"Calm down," she said. "Take a deep breath. I want you to listen closely. I been thinking about how to proceed all weekend and I'm going to propose a solution to both our problems."

I was more confused than before her statement. I didn't know I had a problem. Was she referring to my being a virgin? I didn't know that was a problem. A condition, maybe a situation but not a problem. And what was her problem? She has to be in her early forties. She hasn't been a virgin for decades. I took a deep breath and focused on her eyes.

"Mark," she started. "I've already told you that I owe you my life and I want to give you something valuable to show you how much I appreciate that. Obviously, I can't give you my life but I can give you something almost as valuable to me. I can give you my body and, simultaneously, give you something you'll remember for the rest of your life, your first sexual experience."

I was dumb with surprise. "I don't know what to say," I admitted.

"Say you'll accept my offer," Mrs. Thompson suggested.

"I will," I said with more confidence than I felt.

"Thank you," smiled Mrs. Thompson. "You have no idea how good that makes me feel."

"It can't be better than how I feel," I replied.

Mrs. Thompson laughed. "Oh, this is going to be fun," she said.

"Fun and maybe a little intimidating," I admitted. "But doesn't what you're suggesting have some serious problems and repercussions of its own?" I asked.

"You're referring to my husband and son and your parents I assume?" Mrs. Thompson asked.

"At a minimum," I agreed.

"Two people can keep a secret only if one of them is dead," said Mrs. Thompson. "And since I have no plan to murder you and I assume you don't plan to murder me, then we'll just have to trust each other."

"You have more to lose than I do," I explained.

"All the more reason why I have to trust you," Mrs. Thompson averred.

"How about other possible issues?" I asked.

"For example?" asked Mrs. Thompson.

"You might get pregnant," I suggested.

"I haven't gotten pregnant for almost nineteen years," she stated. "I think I have that problem under control. Anything else?"

"I can't think of any," I said.

"Then we have a deal?" she asked.

"I guess we do," I agreed.

"Then, the first order of business," said Mrs. Thompson.

"You want to start now?" I asked.

"I do. Why wait? We're alone and waiting only serves to create doubt."

"Okay. What' first?" I asked.

"My name is Cheryl, not Mrs. Thompson. There's no need to remind us of our relationship when we're together."

"Okay, Cheryl," I said.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," Cheryl said as she moved closer to me.

Cheryl took my face in both hands and kissed me. Not a mother's kiss or a lover's kiss. An exploratory kiss. A kiss with a promise. I returned her kiss.

"Have you ever kissed a woman before?" Cheryl asked.

"I've kissed girls," I told her.

"A kiss can be more personal than actual sex," professed Cheryl. "It's the most critical first impression. A good kiss can be the invitation to more. A bad kiss will kill all possibilities. Kiss me again."

Our lips touched. We turned our heads slightly and our lips sealed against each other. Cheryl parted her lips slightly and touched my lips with her tongue. My lips parted and her tongue touched my teeth. Her tongue withdrew and I followed it with my tongue until it was between her teeth. Her tongue danced with the tip of my tongue and then moved back into my mouth. By the time the kiss ended, I was out of breath.

We started another kiss and Cheryl took my hand and placed in on her breast. "Squeeze," she whispered into my mouth.

I squeezed. "Gently," she whispered again.

My squeezing morphed into more palming and lifting her breast. Cheryl broke our kiss, closed her eyes, leaned back and pushed her chest against my hand. "That's perfect," she cooed.

I moved my hand and began to unbutton her blouse. "Yes," she whispered. "Perfect."

My phone rang. "Fuck," I said.

"Ignore it," Cheryl said.

"I can't. It could be important or worse," I insisted.

"Make it quick," Cheryl ordered.

A minute later, I was back on the sofa with Cheryl. "Where were we?" she asked.

"That was Jason," I informed her. "He's on the way over and wanted to know if I was home."

"Fuck," said Cheryl.

I laughed. "Such language," I said.

"It's not funny," said Cheryl. "I was already wet with anticipation," she said. She grabbed my hand and pushed it under her skirt against her panties. They were damp. "See what I mean?" she asked.

"I'll call him back," I said.

"No. Let's not make him suspicious. I'll go but I'll be back tomorrow."

Cheryl rebuttoned her blouse, stood up, picked up her picnic basket, kissed me and headed for the door. "Same time tomorrow," she said.

"Lunch?" I asked.

"Dessert," she responded and she was gone.

Jason arrived twenty minutes later. We shot the breeze with each other and settled in to play some video games on the 65-inch TV screen. I lost two consecutive games to him. "You don't seem to be yourself this afternoon," he said.

"I was hoping to get some bed time this afternoon," I told him.

"Gee guy, I had no idea you were so tired. I'll get my ass out of here so you can get some rest," Jason offered.

"Nah," I said. "It's probably too late already. I'll just wait until later."

Jason went home early anyway. Said he needed his rest too. I was sitting in a chair in the living room when my mother, Penny, got home from work. The television was on but I wasn't watching it. She knew that since there was some inane afternoon game show on. Not something I would watch.

"Is everything all right," she asked me.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I assured her.

"It's just unusual for you to be sitting alone in front of the TV without some sports show on. What's really going on?" she asked.

"I've just been replaying the events around Jason's accident last week," I told her. "It seems to have changed everything."

"I can understand that," Mom commented. "Near death experiences can have long lasting impacts on everybody, including family and friends."

"That certainly seems to be the case," I confirmed.

I barely slept Monday night. I couldn't get Mrs. Thompson's, Cheryl's, offer out of my mind. It seemed wrong from every angle and yet I was looking forward to the next day. Could I really go through with it and, if I could, would I make a fool of myself in the process? "Fuck it," I finally decided. "Just put your morals and ethics aside and let Cheryl lead. How could that possibly go wrong?"

"The doorbell rang early the next morning. My mom had barely left for work when Cheryl rang the bell.

"You're early," I told her. "My mom just left."

"I know," she told me. "I watched your dad and your mom leave before I rang."

"You've been outside all that time?" I asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"Neither could I," I confessed.

"Do we need to talk some more?" Cheryl asked.

"Not unless you have to," I stated. "Breakfast?" I asked.

"I was expecting dessert," she suggested.

"Fine. Dessert it is," I confirmed.

Cheryl put her arms around me and kissed me. "I was hoping you'd say that. Now where were we?"

Cheryl led me to the sofa and we sat together. She was wearing the same blouse and skirt from yesterday afternoon. I hadn't had time to dress for the day. I was wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt. She put an arm around me and we kissed. My hand came up and settled on her breast without coaching.

"Perfect," whispered Cheryl between kisses.

I started to unbutton her blouse when the garage door began to open. "Quick," I said. "My bedroom and close the door."

I had my head in the refrigerator in the kitchen when my mother came in through the side door from the garage. "Not dressed yet?" she asked.

"No hurry and I was hungry," I told her. "I thought you went to work."

"I did but I forgot my badge. Nothing works without it. I can't even get into the building," she explained. "I think I left it on my dresser," she added.

She headed for her bedroom. Two minutes later she was back and waving her badge. "It was right where I thought it was."