Roxanne

I had been tossed out of my house by my parents a few weeks earlier, but was still in that phase were it was fun. I was couch surfing with friends, not going to school, partying hard and sleeping around. Things would get tougher, but they hadn't yet.

I was in a public park sitting at an old rickety picnic table. It was a midweek morning and the park was nearly deserted, but I was in a spot with a lot of bushes around just in case. I had decided to light up and leisurely rolled myself one, then sparked up, sat and watched nothing while the weed did its deed.

It was a relaxing moment. Pure freedom. I didn't have to be anywhere. I sat and daydreamed and smoked my joint with not a care in the world. At some point I saw the small movement out of the corner of my eye which brought me to quick attention. I was shocked when I turned my head and saw the young woman watching me.

The woman was perhaps late-20's and blonde with a bun-backed hairstyle that might have been at home on a woman twice her age. Her cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold and she was wearing a long wool overcoat against the freezing winds. She wore sensible flat shoes over exposed white calves- no socks or stockings. Behind her she pulled a small cart of the kind my grandmother had used when she was alive more than a decade ago. It was filled with bagged groceries. Celery and carrot stalks attempting to escape from the bag like the cover shot from a grocery store flyer.

She looked like a church lady come to save my soul. The whole town was filled with boring, nosey and vanilla people like this and always had been. I expected nothing more than the cold look of disapproval that these people majored in. Here I was with my "slept in her clothes again" look and carrying a bundle with bedding, doing drugs on a park bench at a time when I should have been doing something productive.

Remarkably though, she had a smile on her face- shy but warm as if she was reliving an old pleasant memory. When she realized I had seen her, she was embarrassed and apologized for intruding. Abandoning her cart, she took a few tentative steps toward me. I hurriedly worked to roll up my small baggy of weed and hide it. Internally I debated whether to toss the joint or try to save it - but either way I intended to flee.

She sensed this and said simply "Please don't leave.' in a sweet voice.

The woman took few more steps toward me. The smile was still there and she was no threat - I could have dropped her with one punch - so I resigned myself to a few minutes of the "God has a plan for you" sales pitch while I gathered up my things in a less hectic manner.

I was surprised when instead she said "I was wondering - can I have a few hits of that?" and then with a bigger smile added "Please? I can pay you."

Well, that was a surprise.

A small part of me sensed entrapment. The idea of getting paid for pot was a prison term then. I was intrigued though, so I waved her over and used my lighter to re-fire the spliff, taking a slow deep hit as I examined my new doobie mate. I passed it to her and she hit it like and old pro, not choking as I expected as it was winter weed and really harsh. Instead she blew it out easy and went for two, as natural as if she did it all the time.

It looked so totally outside of what I expected that I just had to ask "You aren't from around here are you?"

The question caught her off guard and she laughed, and the laughter did cause her to cough, my little quip making her choke in a way that the pungent smoke had failed to do. She giggled a no and explained she had grown up in Southern California and has recently moved her with her husband.

That was crazy. No one moved *to* this piece of nowhere - especially not from Southern California. To us Iowans California was a fantasy place we would never see outside of television. I thought that was so cool and said so.

"I hear they have the best weed there."

"I wouldn't know" she retorted. "I'm a good little Mormon girl and I never was around such things."

She said it in a teasing manner like I was supposed to understand the humor in it. I really didn't. We had a few Mormons out in the rural areas and some in the rich part of town but I'd never actually met one. I was stoned and never much on admitting my ignorance. I let the joke slide and we just smoked for another minute.

We had only started with a half a joint anyway and it was quickly cashed out. She asked me if I had any more and re-iterated that she could pay me.

I looked over at her unattended groceries and asked if she didn't need to get them home so everything would stay cold. It was a joke really and we both knew it. It was so cold outside that the groceries would likely freeze solid if left much longer. She laughed and I sensed she was cool, so I took a shot.

"I don't really need your money... Well, I mean I need it - but I need a shower more. Do you live somewhere close where I could take one? I'll trade you. Would that be cool?"

(I had spent the night in a friends parents Winnebago, but wasn't allowed to use the facilities.)

I looked up at her. Usually when I ask this question I either see distrust and revulsion (when I asked women) or lust (when I asked men.) With her I saw confusion, so I pressed her, promising I would just take just a few minutes and then go. Then I promised not to touch or steal anything.

Her look went from confusion to amusement - I could tell she wasn't even thinking I might steal something - and then to resolve. As an answer she got up from the table and motioned me to follow her. She grabbed her cart and we headed down the street.

Her home was a small single-story clapboard house indistinguishable from others on the street other than the telltale coat of paint that said this was a house either up for sale or recently sold. No one bought paint otherwise.

Inside the décor was a work in progress. You could tell they were recent move ins. The living room was small and cheaply furnished. The small kitchen table practically blocked the view of the tv from the sofa in the living room.

I sat down at the kitchen table and went to work on the ritual of rolling another joint. Her housewife tendencies kicked in and she efficiently put away the groceries. We made a real study in contrasts - me removing stems and seeds while she checked a sell-by date then unceremoniously dumped last weeks' bad milk down the drain. She finished her tasks a bit after me and took a minute to turn on the exhaust fan above the cook top before sitting down to smoke with me.

We made small talk, and I was first with the "what the hell" question. "What the hell is someone from California doing living in Iowa?"

She explained that her husband was fresh from college and that the shipping company put him in Charles for experience. It was a good opportunity that would help his career and he wouldn't be there more than a few years. She said she would make the best of it or at least cope. Charles "wasn't that bad.

Her question back was "What the hell are you doing living like a hobo?"

My answer back was that my parents tossed me out of the house as my 18th birthday present, and my only regret was that my sister was probably getting all the unwanted attention from Dad that I had been getting for years.

I don't think she understood what that meant and I didn't feel a need to tell her.

"Besides," I said "I had been getting by alright and had friends when I needed them. I was okay. The streets weren't that bad."

We both knew we were engaging in mutual lies - but if there was one thing living in this town taught early, it was that complaining about your lot in life was tedious. We all knew where we lived and that there was something better out there.

I knew Mormons were religious people and kind of strict. (Full disclosure - I had them kind of mixed up with Amish people - I just wasn't very worldly.) I asked how a Mormon girl had learned to suck down the pot like she had.

She laughed and started telling me a story about going to high school and meeting a "bad boy" in her class. He became her total crush as soon as she saw him. I still remember the way she said it - it was a voice full of nostalgia and longing.

"He was all I wanted in high school - I was totally infatuated with him. If he had told me to jump of a bridge I probably would have jumped off a bridge. I did a lot of things to be around him that I shouldn't have."

"It was really all quite shameful" she said with a smile and a bit of shyness.

I felt close to her. I think to a certain point every woman has been there at least once. We all had our bad boy infatuations.

We sat for a little while and just experienced being stoned, looking at each other across the table and from the viewpoint of whole different worlds. We lived totally different lives and here we were getting high in her kitchen. It was a moment between us. Such things are hard to describe.

The joint was completely out so she got up to turn off the amazingly noisy exhaust fan. The moment broken, I remembered why I was there and got up to get a change of clothes for the shower. When I opened my pack I realized nothing I had was any cleaner than what I already had on.

She had introduced herself as Roxanne - a small detail I've forgotten to mention until now but a memorable one due to the old song - and Roxanne saw my predicament and offered to do a load of laundry. It was a sweet gesture - laundry is incredibly hard when you don't have a home and when you have so little clothing anyway.

Roxanne didn't even wait for me to say yes before she grabbed a small laundry basket and stood in front of me to collect my soiled clothing. She patiently waited until I went through the pockets of my jeans. and I think she was surprised when I produced so few pieces of clothing from my pack.

When I was finished, she raised an eyebrow and commanded "those too dear. You are carrying a scent."

It was a pleasant way of saying that I and my clothes were stinky.

I hesitated a moment so she said "Come on, nothing I haven't seen before."

With her stern look I commenced to strip to my skin in the living room of her home. Dropping items into her laundry bin until there was no more laundry left to give her.

A bit embarrassed by my nakedness, I bent to grab my razor and some soap from my pack, but he let me know she had all of that stuff and led me to the small bathroom in the hall across from her laundry closet. I didn't shut the door to the bathroom - my way of letting her know I wasn't going to raid her medicine cabinet - and stood naked while the water warmed up.

I always felt a bit awkward using someone else's shower, but when the hot water hit me all concern washed away. (Hot showers are a simple pleasure, but one you miss when you don't have them.)

At some point, I heard the small wash machine kick on and prepared myself for the blast of cold water than would come when the machine filled, and was shocked when one didn't come. (Good water heater - something we had never had at home.)

Since the door was still open and she was stoned and wanted to talk, she wondered in and sat on the closed toilet seat.

She asked me very bluntly if I had engaged in prostitution while I had been on the streets. I had been nosy - I guess she felt entitled. When I assured her I had not, she sounded relieved.

(It was true too - I wouldn't discover that survive trick for a few months yet.)

She asked other similar questions. Where did I sleep? Did I use other drugs? She seemed intrigued with my life, which was not unusual. People often asked me questions like this about what life was like without boundaries. I answered as truthfully as I could, and to her credit she was non-judgmental and listened without prejudice.

When the question came up about my chastity or lack thereof, I let her know that I wasn't a virgin and even that there has been more than a few men. You sleep with a guy, you get to use his bed for the night and I had done it more than once.

This seemed to please her in some odd way. It made me feel for just a moment that she might be looking down on me - and I had a chip on my shoulder about a mile wide back then - so I countered "Well, from the sounds of things, I'm guessing you didn't go to the alter a virgin either right?"

This triggered a memory I guess, and she was talkative with her high, so she told me the story of her high school boy while she sat and I bathed.

He had been older than her and had transferred into her school when she was a senior. She really only new him for a few months before they both graduated and the summer began.

He was a committed stoner. She had never even considered smoking pot, but had started smoking the first time he passed her a pipe.

They never dated really - she just showed up places where he was and they left together. He had a car - a ratty old Nissan - and they would park in the orange groves and fumble around.

When it came to "giving up the goods" she defended valiantly but he was persistent. He finally got his hand under her blouse about three dates in and was confused when he found his path under her bra blocked by her "garment." (I learned then for the first time that Mormons wear special underwear.)

Her explanation of the garment and her faith changed their relationship in a bad way. His understanding of her limits on sex before marriage dampened his enthusiasm not just that night, but for the next week. After that night he was cordial to her, but the invitations to ride along with him into the orchards stopped. She was crushed.

She decided that she needed to get him back, so when her parents left town and allowed her to stay alone (she was over 18) she told him and made sure he understood there might be implications.

When the big night came, he picked her up about 7:30 and by 8PM they were at the front door of a seedy motel a few miles off the ocean.

At first she was sure and confident about her decision to go all the way, and so when things started getting heavy she went with it. She was almost completely naked - the garment cast aside - when it struck her that she wouldn't be able to fuck him. She just couldn't do it.

But, she added with a laugh, "Mormons have a great way of excusing their own bad behavior by placing strict limits on themselves, which they bend but never break."

So, when the time came and he thought she was going to give herself to him, she instead set the ground rule that there would be no intercourse but she was open to "anything else."

After that, her description was slow and measured, and I remember it almost word for word. I could tell the words were designed to shock me in some way- you could tell they were shocking her even as they came out of her mouth.

On the other side of the shower curtain I acted as her confessor. Here is the story she told.

"I wasn't even finished saying that I was open to anything but intercourse before he had his penis up to my mouth. He practically pushed it between my teeth as I was finishing the sentence. I'm not even kidding. It was my first time I'd ever done that and tried to slow him down, but he wasn't taking no for an answer, and he invaded my mouth and used his hands on the back of my head before I could object."

Roxanne looked at me then expecting perhaps shock or embarrassment. My nod told her instead that I had been there.

"I had never had anything so deep in my throat and he was thick. It was uncomfortable, but I soon got the hang of it and felt like I was pleasing him. Soon had his head between my legs as well. For the next few hours we engaged in mutual oral sex, um, 69 almost non-stop.

I swallowed ... him...three different times and he still he stayed hard. He kept making me cum with his mouth and his fingers and I just know his intent was to make me want him so bad that he could have me.

At some point he stopped penetrating me with just his tongue and started putting his fingers in me. First there and then in my... backside.

When he put them there and I didn't stop him he got bolder. He worked them in and out and stretched it, even licking and probing me with his tongue which was disgusting. But I didn't stop him.

When he had three fingers there and moving in and out our eyes met and it was like a bargain was struck... what he would trade for to let me keep my virginity.

I was quickly on my side with him behind me... then in me. There.

He was done so fast after that and we just laid there for a while. I felt his seed in my bowels and it was like they were full. It was the devils bargain, but somehow I felt relieved he had let me stay a virgin.

He wasn't finished though. Before the night was out he had me while I lay on my stomach... and then again on my hands and knees like an animal. It wasn't as bad as it sounds that night. I admit I even enjoyed it after a fashion -, but the next morning I cried when he drove me home because I hurt so badly.

If I had thought I loved him before, after that night I was frightened and sickened by him. I avoided him though he tried to get my attention at every turn. I couldn't look in the mirror without thinking of what he had done to me and how he had violated my mouth and my ass and I had almost been grateful that he stopped there.

I met Michael a few months later when I was touring a college and 6

months later I walked down the isle with him. Still a virgin."

She finished the story and there was silence. I didn't know what to say and I didn't know what to do. I was actually done with my shower - but didn't want to open that curtain.

She walked out of the bathroom finally, and came back a few minutes later with a fresh towel and a small robe that was obviously her husbands. She didn't leave so I finally stepped out of the shower and was surprised to feel her begin to wipe me down in the same manner than my mom had toweled me off as a little girl. She helped me into the robe, showed me where I might find an aerosol deodorant and then slid from the room.

When I walked out, a can of soup was heating on the stove, and she served it up with some juice and our discussions turned to the more mundane, as if here bathroom admission had been a fantasy though something in her demeanor told me she was deep in the humiliated funk of having done an over-share. She seemed almost grateful when the buzzer went off for the dryer and returned with a small basket holding all my worldly possessions.

While folding the clothes save for the few things I had sat aside to put on, she realized I had no panties and offered me a few pair from a package of three she had recently purchased. She was a lot smaller than me, but when I slid on one of the gifts it fit- if a little snugly. The second pair I tucked into my pack.

"You know - you could stay here for a while longer if you wanted." I heard Roxanne say. "My husband isn't due home until after 6. You could sleep or something."

I was frankly surprised and a little bit suspicious - thinking perhaps there was a pass coming my way next. When people offered me their bed, there were usually strings attached, and I had been approached once or twice by women as well as men. But there was something about her and I decided if she wanted to go there I wouldn't mind.

When I lay down though, I fell asleep without any visits. She finally woke me up about 5:15 when she needed to shoo me out of the way because her husband would be home soon.

After our first day together, Roxanne began to seek me out. I usually wasn't hard to find.

The nature of the relationship was clearly established early. She supplied me with food, the occasional use of her washer and dryer and some money here and there and I supplied the pot and a sympathetic ear. We got to be friends of sorts - which was quite amazing when you considered it.