Summer '82

August 2022, South of 50th and Central, Ocean City , NJ

Even though it was late afternoon and the sun was dropping behind him he still had to shield his eyes with his hand as he searched the sky for the kite. He could hear the sounds of the children playing in the distance but he couldn't locate the kite. Their voices were indistinct, they must be halfway to the water's edge he figured. The beach wasn't wide this far down on the southern part of the island. If he stood he should be able to spot them easily.

He continued to search the sky. There it was, off to his right and a bit behind him, a bright pink octopus with its long tentacles trailing in the high winds against the blue sky. They must have two spools of line out because it was way up there. Their father had to have helped them.

He sat up in the lounge chair. From his vantage on the second floor he could see the ocean clearly, but he couldn't see the beach as it was still below his line of sight. He'd have to stand to spy them. He made his way to the railing. It was a good size deck, but private and right off the master bedroom as Tanya had wanted it. She had designed the home exactly to her liking; and she had done an excellent job. But now he was on his own, and expected he would remain so. He missed Tanya terribly. He wished she had been able to enjoy more time here in her dream house. But we don't get to control those things do we, he told himself.

He scanned the waterline for some time before he spotted them. They were even further south along the shoreline than he had expected, almost to the nature preserve. Their father definitely had to have helped them. They were too far for him to see them well. The children's voices he had heard must have been from another family. He noticed that there were still some people left of the beach. But it had mostly emptied out which was not unusual for this time of day. It was the perfect time for kite flying, no concerns of a wayward one crash landing on someone.

He could have moved to the telescope perched on its tripod to spot them clearly, but instead he just glanced along the horizon looking for ships. He spotted one to the north. Probably a large container ship making its way south with its cargo. From this height, and given the size of the boat it was clearly many miles offshore. It seemed to effortlessly crawl along the horizon. He had always like to watch the boats like this - in their silence, slowly making their way. Following the boat his mind began to drift along as well.

Mid-August 1982, 10th and Haven, Ocean City, NJ

Michael sat on the back stoop smoking what he had promised himself would be the last one. It was too damn hot, spoiling his break and contributing to his sullen mood. The summer was ending in a couple of weeks and it had been a poor summer as far as he was concerned. He had hoped to gain more experience with women, but it hadn't worked out. He would be returning to college still inexplicably unschooled in that way. It's ridiculous, he thought to himself, 20 and still woefully inexperienced.

Sure, there had been some heavy touching and exploring with a few girls, but nothing more. Many of the girls that visited the shore with their friends stayed for a day, a weekend, or maybe even a week if they were with their families - shoobies the locals like Michael called them. The shoobies were there too short a time for much to develop. Unlike his friends he hadn't been able to hook-up with any that were willing to go beyond a hand briefly in their bikini bottoms, if even that. He guessed that most of them had boyfriends at school or at home and that they figured a little summer fling was fun if it didn't involve much more than being groped or doing a little groping themselves. Maybe he was too picky. Certainly if he lowered his standards like Anthony had he'd get further along. But he just couldn't bring himself to do that, no matter how frustrated he was.

Last month had been particularly annoying. He had met this girl, Samantha (if that was even her real name, he now wondered) at a party. She was a pretty blonde. They talked for quite awhile and then she basically jumped him. While he sat in a chair on the porch she plopped down on his lap and tore into him. She was biting his ear and his neck in front of everyone that walked by. But her friends grabbed her too soon and abruptly left him at the party. However, not before he had asked how to reach her. She had scribbled her number and address on his arm in pen. So he had been hopeful.

She seemed to spend most of the time at the party with him. She had been so chatty and forward that he was certain his time had come. But when he called the next day the phone number was a dead end. When he went by the address on Brighton she had given him it turned out to be a false lead as well.

What was even worse was that he had not realized that all of her aggressive "kissing" had left purple welts on his neck and upper chest. When he had woken-up the next morning and walked into the kitchen his mother did a double-take. She didn't say a word but five minutes later when he was standing in front of the mirror brushing his teeth he noticed what she had been looking at. How embarrassing. Of course, unlike his mother, everyone at work, including his uncle and cousins, made great sport of it when they saw him.

He took one more drag on the cigarette and decided to cut his break short. It was better to be in the kitchen unpacking fish from the coolers than baking in the sun. He stood up, snubbed the cigarette on the step and flicked it into the trash can. His uncle would not tolerate cigarette butts scattered across the back steps.

As he reached in the cooler to grab a fresh flounder for filleting the old bell on the door alerted them to a customer. Michael, being the only one not elbow deep in fish guts, quickly rinsed his hands and made his way to the front.

He could see only a tuft of white, vaguely blueish hair peeking over the top of the refrigerated case that displayed the seafood. There was only one person that could be.

"Hello, Mrs. Benigno. How are you today?" He made his way to the register where he would be able to see her more clearly. She was an exceptionally short woman, deep into her 70s.

"Oh, Michael, I didn't see you there," she laughed. "I'm just fine, other than having old legs," she laughed again.

"What's it going to be today, ma'am?" She was a daily customer.

"Oh, maybe just a pound of the sea bass. And how are the mussels today? Mr. Benigno loves the mussels. I make a nice spicy marinara for them, you know."

"The mussels look good today, a bit on the smaller side. They're tastier at that size."

"Give me enough for two, hun."

Michael weighed her fish, wrapped it and packed the mussels with some ice in a plastic baggie while she looked over the display case further. She commented on all the different meals she could make with each fish displayed. Michael just nodded along and every once in awhile would go with a "that sounds delicious."

It wasn't much to carry, but he walked her to her car anyways. She tried to give him a tip, but Michael refused as he always did, reminding her that his uncle would never allow it.

A minute later, as he wiped down the scale, he saw her car weave around the street as she pulled away. She really shouldn't be driving, he thought to himself. Between barely being able see over the steering wheel and those coke-bottle glasses she was a potential menace on the road.

Before he returned to filleting fish Michael's uncle asked him to restock the front drink case. It was filled with juices, sodas, water, and also some fresh marinades and a few side dishes like potato salad. Michael kneeled on the floor in front of the open refrigerated case shuffling cans of Sprite and colas onto the bottom shelf. He had shifted to sitting on an overturned milk crate to stock the next shelve when he heard the screen door behind him open with the telltale ringing of the old bell.

Michael assumed someone else would come out to help the customer. He just continued shoving sodas into the fridge. As a minute ticked by Michael, still mulling over his unfortunate woman situation, didn't realize that no one had emerged from the back to help the customer.

"Excuse me, can I get some help, maybe?"

Michael, caught off guard, having been immersed in his own thoughts, wheeled around on the small crate and ended-up staring directly at the woman's crotch. She was nearly standing on top of him.

She was wearing short, faded blue cut-off jeans with some strings still hanging off the bottom - very different from the neon bright gym shorts most girls his age wore these days. He also noticed there was a hole in the right side along her hip. He glanced slightly down, embarrassed by what he was eye-level with.

"Um," he stammered as he quickly took in the view of her copper colored, firm thighs. How had she crept up on him he wondered, but then noticed she was barefoot as well. That would be a definite problem in his uncle's mind. No way he would tolerate bare feet in his seafood store. There was a sign on the door to that effect. But Michael was too preoccupied with her tanned feet and her well shaped, bare toenails to point it out to her. All that came out was another "um."

"Hey kiddo, I'm up here," she said with her hands on her hips.

"Sorry, sorry," Michael blurted out all flustered. He stumbled over the crate trying to stand up.

She shook her head and laughed. "Easy there, before you hurt yourself."

"What can I get for you, ma'am," Michael rushed out of his mouth while he wiped his wet hands on his apron?

He was too mortified to look her in the face, so he darted behind the counter to wait for her answer.

"I need a shrimp and crab claw platter for around a half dozen people. Whatever size you recommend. Also toss in some sides and a tomato salad if you have it."

"Yes ma'am. We can do that, no problem." Michael had buried his head into the display case as if he were trying to adjust some of the fish. He peered through the case hoping to get another look at those thighs but the curved glass distorted his view.

Again he had paused for a moment too long. "Hello there, are you coming back up," as she tapped on the display case.

Ugh, could he make himself look any more foolish, he thought. As he stood up she was just shaking her head and smiling. "Late night, kiddo?"

He didn't bother to answer. He was too focused on that crooked, wry smile she maintained. She was gorgeous, which made him feel even more embarrassed. He figured she wasn't quite his mother's age, but she was probably closer to his mother's age than his - maybe mid to late 30s.

"Would you like us to deliver that?" As he heard those words coming from his mouth he thought, where the hell did that come from, we don't deliver.

"Perfect. Put it together and I'll pay you when it's delivered. 811 Pelham Place, second floor. And try not to get lost, kiddo." And with that she shook her head again, chuckled to herself and walked her bare feet back out the door.

"Mikey, tell me I didn't overhear you just tell that woman you were going to deliver her order. What the hell is wrong with you? You've been working here, what, since you were ten? When did you ever see us make a delivery? What's with you today? Get your head out of your ass!" His uncle was not pleased and he continued to mumble a few choice words in Italian in Michael's direction as he turned back into the kitchen. Michael wasn't sure what those words meant, but he had an idea. He recalled his grandmother using those words when she was pissed at his father and uncles, which seemed to be most of the time.

Later that day Michael borrowed a bike from the pizza shop two blocks over to make the delivery. His uncle forbade anyone at the store to give him a lift as punishment for his lapse in judgement. Of course, the food had to be packed well in ice because of the heat wave and he was going to need a delivery basket to manage it on the bike. His own bike didn't have one. That's how he explained it to old Mario as he tried to convince him to allow him to borrow the shop's bike. Mario appeared skeptical, and asked when they had started to deliver. Michael grudgingly explained that they hadn't. Mario was still confused, but he had always liked Michael. So the bike was his to use this once, if he returned it promptly.

Michael biked past his father's restaurant on Atlantic Ave. Actually, it was his father's and uncles' restaurant. The brothers shared it and the seafood store. The store supplied the fish to the restaurant, naturally. His father managed the one, his uncle Thom the other. The third brother could barely manage himself.

Michael preferred to work with his uncle. His father begrudged the fact that Michael went to college and had no plans to return to the family business after graduating. It was a sore point between them and would always remain so.

Michael thought it was a decent restaurant, as good as you could have in a dry town. It was in a prime location, but it was too small. And with no alcohol to serve there was really no money in it. No one was ever going to be able to live on the south side of the island owning a restaurant in Ocean City.

Michael glided by the restaurant pleased not to be working there and happier still that he never would. He had some idea what his plans for the future were, just not exactly what they were. However, he was certain that his plans for the future did not include the restaurant. That was good enough for now.

It didn't take him long to reach her place. He parked the bike in the narrow walkway between the homes. The homes on this part of the island were right on top of one another. It wasn't until you were south of 34th street and close to the beach that any of the homes had decent spacing between them.

Most rentals in town, other than the expensive single family homes on the south side of the island, were top/bottom duplexes. He recalled she said that she was on the second floor. He carefully balanced the box holding her order on his arms and headed up the stairs. He lightly rapped on the door.

She opened the door and smiled. "You found it. I had my doubts." She turned to lead him into the apartment. He couldn't help noticing her legs as she walked away, such perfectly shaped calves. She was still bare foot, but the jean shorts were gone. She was wearing a baby blue bikini bottom that was tied at the hips and a tight, white tank top.

"Just put it in the fridge," she said pointing to the small kitchen. "Let me find my purse."

After putting the food in the mostly barren fridge, Michael waited and glanced around the apartment. The main room was separated from the kitchen only by a long counter. The bedroom was off to the side, a common layout for this part of town.

When she returned she paid him in cash. Stupidly, Michael had forgotten to bring change, which was not too surprising since this was the first delivery the store had ever made.

"Sorry, I forgot change," he said sheepishly.

"Just keep it."

"No, we don't take tips, not allowed to. I can bike back with it. It's not far."

"Tell you what, you just keep it. But if you insist you can bring it back tomorrow around the same time. I need to get ready for my guests now. They'll be here soon," she said, showing him out.

"Sorry again about the change," he said, and he turned to say bye.

She just smiled and shook her head as she slowly closed the door, "must be too many late nights for you, kiddo."

Michael biked back to Mario's, returned the bike and then headed back to the store to help with clean-up. After thinking it over more he decided he would return to give her the change owed. However, he was now self conscious about returning smelling like fish. He scanned the schedule posted in the kitchen and saw that his cousin had off the following day. It took a bit of arm twisting but Anthony agreed to swap days off with him.

The next day Michael spent most of the morning biking around the island. The heat wave had not broken but it still was a bit cooler and less humid than the past few days. He grabbed a slice of pizza at Mack and Manco's on the boardwalk and then headed towards the north end of the boards and spent the next hour watching the boats traverse the horizon. After returning home he showered and then biked back to her place.

While he was standing on the landing waiting for her to open the the door he wondered why he had come. He was just about to turn back when the door opened. She was wearing a tight pale yellow tank top, not unlike the white one she wore the day before. He noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra. He also could make-out the outline of her quarter-sized nipples on her trim chest. Unlike yesterday she was in tiny white cotton panties rather than a bikini bottom.

"Don't be shy, come in," as she waved him in.

He entered a few feet and then didn't know what to do next. She stood right in front of him, looking up at him. She was maybe five inches shorter than his 6'2" he thought. She put a hand on each of his upper arms and smoothed the cuffs of his short sleeves that had folded up. "You been out and about, kiddo?"

"My day off. I was riding my bike for awhile before I came over. Here's your change," he said holding out his hand between them. Her hands were still on his arms. He still wasn't sure what to do.

"Just put it on the counter," she motioned to the side. "I think we should get you cleaned up. Follow me." He had no idea what she meant.

She turned and walked towards the bathroom. As she walked away he noticed her panties were actually thong cut. Her rear looked very pale next to her deeply tanned legs and lower back. Hear rear was firm but not large. He felt anchored in place, but snapped out of it when she turned and said, "come on."

He noticed the bathroom was bright and clean. He stood on the bath mat and turned to face her not sure what to expect. "Pop your sneakers and socks off while I find a washcloth," she said walking back out the bathroom doorway.

When she returned his shoes and socks were in a pile under the sink. She turned the hot faucet on and flicked her fingers under the spout waiting for the water to warm-up.

"This may take a minute," she said of the water as she kneeled down in front of him. She grabbed his shorts on each side and started to tug them lower. He froze. She just continued.

"Come on, hun. Step out of them." He lifted one foot, then the other. Once removed, she tossed his shorts and underwear onto the pile under the sink.

"Um"

"Problem?"

"No, no," he stammered.

She smiled up at him. "The cleaner you are down here, the more time a woman is likely to spend down here. Make sense?"

He nodded in agreement but hadn't really processed what she had asked. He was still bewildered that his shorts were in a pile on the floor. She reached her hand into the sink to soak the washcloth with the now hot water. She removed the washcloth and placed it on his lower abs in a ball and squeezed it tightly. The hot water rolled down to his privates and dripped onto the floor. It felt good. He closed his eyes as if that could hide his embarrassment that he was quickly getting an erection.

"Um, um," he started.

She must have guessed at his thoughts. "Don't worry kiddo. This is not the first one that I've seen. Yours is nice, very nice. Nothing to be concerned about." He could hear her lathering-up her hands aggressively with a bar of soap.

When he felt her soapy, warm hands on his lower abs, he gave a start. His eyes were still clenched shut. Her hands made their way into his pubic hair and then around to his inner thighs. "I like to be thorough about this, but it will only take a minute," she said matter of factly as her hands swirled between his legs and behind his testicles.