The Summer I Met Nina

I met Nina the summer I worked as a waiter at Pocmont Lodge—a glitzy, somewhat seedy resort in the Pocono Mountains. It was a good way to earn a lot of money in ten weeks because we worked for room and board and got good tips. All the waiters and bus boys bunked in a cabin that looked more like a chicken house. The shabby cabin next door housed the band that played in the lounge at night. At twenty-five, I was older than the other guys because I decided to go to college after four years in the Navy and working on freighters. I had done a lot of traveling, seen a lot of ports and had my share of one night stands—mostly prostitutes. I am somewhat shy around women and it takes all of my nerve to approach someone who attracts me. When I first saw Nina that summer, I knew I wanted to meet her but had no idea how I could make that happen.

Being a waiter in a resort is a lot different than working in a regular restaurant because we served breakfast, lunch and dinner to the same people for a long weekend or sometimes a week and they would give us pretty big tips before they left. We were also expected to play softball with the guest in the afternoon and play with the children in the pool. To make extra money, I worked as a bar waiter at night—so it was a long day. This was my second summer at the resort and I decided if I was going to be a waiter, I'd be the best I could be. I wore a short red waiter's jacket with one gold button, black pants, white shirt with a black bow tie. I made being a waiter fun even though some of the guests were slobs, phonies, rude and demanding, others were pleasant and appreciative. No matter what-- I was always polite, accommodating and personable, often kibitzing—that was my job and it helped with the tips.

Though Nina was not seated in my section, when I passed her table the first night she arrived, our eyes met. She was seated with her parents—an older couple who looked pretty well off. I found out her father was a judge and her mother a college professor at the University of Pennsylvania. I also found out from their waiter, a guy named Gary, that Nina was engaged and that her finance would be up on the weekend.

She had an exotic look about her—long black curly hair that fell well below her shoulders, high cheek bones, olive skin and sparkling green eyes. She dressed in a variety of ways--sometimes bohemian with a paisley skirt and white peasant blouse or jeans with tie-dyed t-shirts or a low cut tank top though at lunch she dressed for tennis. Her tits were like round grapefruits that strained her tight shirts. She also had long dangling earrings and several bracelets on each wrist. I also noticed the big ring on her finger. She had a sophisticated air and I could not tell her age—she could have been eighteen or thirty.

At first we just glanced at each other then she'd smile and I would too. When I looked up while serving, she would look at me then quickly turn away. By the third day of seeing her in the dining room, our eyes lingered on each other. She would look at me, smile then bite her lower lip before turning away to converse with her parents. When she got up to leave the dining room, I could see her slender body. At the door, she'd turn and look back at me on the other side of the dining room, our eyes meeting and again bite her lower lip—a very erotic gesture that surprised me considering she was engaged. As I mentioned, at lunch she wore a short white tennis skirt and tank top and I could see her round ass and long tan legs as she went off to play tennis with her father.

While I played third base in our afternoon softball games, I'd see her in the distance at the pool wearing a rather daring bikini and got to know her routine of playing tennis after lunch then go for a swim and lay back on one of the lounge chairs, soaking up the sun—usually with a drink on the table next to her. After the game, I'd take off my jeans already wearing my bathing trunks and go to the pool to cool off—one of the nice benefits of working there. I'd dive in and swim across the pool under water and come up on the edge near where she was sitting. She'd look at me, smile as our eyes met then take a sip of her drink, glancing at me over the rim of her glass then lay back with her legs slightly apart. Still, we hadn't spoken but our eyes were definitely communicating.

At dinner she dressed a little more formally but always subtly revealing. Clearly she liked short dresses or skirts, tops that revealed her tan shoulders, her bare arms and just a hint of cleavage. I still can see her entering the dining room with a short, tight black mini skirt that came down mid thigh. She wore high heels and had a confident manner, not at all self-conscious. When she walked to her table, not only men looked at her but the women—she was striking and she knew it.

Dinners were more elaborate than lunch and breakfast with appetizers, soup of the day, several choices for the main course as well as decadent desserts. We carried out the food on trays raised just above our shoulders and I practiced walking erectly and gracefully imitating the French waiters I remembered when I traveled or saw in movies. I'd turn and lower my tray onto the stand then serve each dish elegantly, sensing she was watching.

By the third day of our eyes meeting in the dining room or at the pool, we became more flirtatious though no one could have noticed. She somehow managed to look at me while she listened or spoke to her parents. When I walked back to the kitchen after serving a table, she'd watch me and turn her head slightly, her eyes following mine with a slight smile. Our eyes lingered, my lips returning her smile before I continued toward the kitchen and she went back to her conversation. I knew I had to meet her but had no idea how to get past the flirtatious looking. I also wondered how she could look at me like that if she was engaged and her finance would be coming up in a few days. She mystified me.

After dinner was served and we set the tables for breakfast I went over to the lounge for my bar waiter shift. It was busy that night and it was just me, Gary and Catherine, an older woman, serving drinks. The band played a wide variety of music—up beat tunes for fast disco type dancing—you know, gyrating, not touching as if you were dancing by yourself then slow, romantic ballads sung by the leader, Jack Kramer—an old timer with white hair who knew all the Frank Sinatra songs. They also played Latin music since the cha cha and rumba were popular. I noticed how they played more romantic music towards the end of the evening as if setting the stage for what might follow when couples went back to their rooms. They always ended with "Good Night Sweetheart."

I was so busy all night that I didn't notice Nina taking a seat at the end of the bar. It was late and she was alone. Her low cut black dress revealed more cleavage than anything she wore before. Every time I returned to the bar to pick up another order, she'd look at me, a hint of a smile, our eyes lingering before looking away.

After finishing her wine, she ordered a second. When I came back to the bar to pick up an order, she looked at me over the rim of her glass as she sipped. I couldn't stop looking at her and was determined to get up the nerve to go over to her the next time I put in an order but every time I came back, I just looked at her and she looked at me and that was that. I couldn't do it. What was wrong with me? She was definitely interested. Finally, I was resolved. Next time, I put in an order I was going to stand next to her, give Charlie, the bartender my order then say something, but I was too late. When I came back to the bar, she was gone. I saw her leave the lounge wearing the short tight black skirt. I was angry at myself for missing this opportunity.

It was late and the lounge was emptying though several couples were still dancing and the music was soft and slow. I decided to sign out and let Gary serve the remaining guests. Catherine also signed out and sat down next to me at the bar. I was pissed for missing my golden opportunity to meet Nina. Catherine was an older woman, her hair turning grey, tied in a tight bun, a few loose strands over her ears. I could see her fading beauty, her slightly watery blue eyes and sensed her sadness. She ordered a martini and looked at me and told me I looked upset. "What's wrong, Pete—is that woman you keep looking at giving you a hard time."

I was stunned that she noticed and swallowed, but didn't answer.

"She wants you," Catherine continued. "You know me. I don't miss a trick."

Catherine and I had become good friends after two years of working together. She also worked in the dining room and in the lounge at night. We had many intimate conversations, sharing a lot about our lives but I never sensed anything sexual between us. She was a smart, keen observer of life with a lot of stories. She told me how she was once married to an editor and columnist at the Washington Post, how they traveled a lot and her circle of friends included well known politicians, business people and artists. Her husband who was twenty years older than her died suddenly of a massive heart attack ten years earlier—she was forty three at the time. "I was his trophy wife," she'd say bitterly. "He was a gambler and didn't believe in life insurance and there I was with no skills, past my prime to get another man and here I am—a waitress at Pocmont Lodge."

I knew she had remarried several years ago to a Puerto Rican waiter she met in Key West and now she worked in Florida each winter and here each summer. Her husband worked at one of the swankier resorts about a mile up the road and was about eight years younger. She made it clear, it was a marriage of convenience not love but admitted it started with lust when they were both drunk in a bar and they just started staying together—a kind of friend with benefits arrangement that ended up with them getting married instead of breaking up. Often she reminisced about her days in Washington, clearly missing the comfort and glamorous life she had. Now she lived in a trailer two miles up the road.

Catherine ordered another martini while I nursed my Jack Daniels. "I know she wants you," Catherine said looking at me. "Can't say I blame her," she added looking into my eyes. "You're a good looking guy—I bet you're good in bed, too."

Her words stunned me. She had never talked to me like she that. "If I was her, I'd be all over you," she said, sipping her second martini. "I probably shouldn't be talking to you like this," she said looking deeply into my eyes then took a big gulp of her drink, finishing it then looked back at me.

I swallowed, baffled. I had never seen Catherine like this.

"You know, I could take your mind off her. I could give you a good time, "she said. She picked up the olive from her empty glass and sucked it off the toothpick, moving her face closer to mine. She looked at me with her watery, sultry blue eyes. I didn't say anything but I also saw her sadness and desperate loneliness. I could also see she was drunk. She then turned to Charlie and ordered another martini, pushing the empty glass towards him. He looked at me then back at her. "This'll be your last one, Catherine."

She chuckled nodding as she swallowed the olive then threw the toothpick back in the empty glass. She leaned closer to me and put her hand on my hand. "I could show you a real good time," she repeated. "You know I like younger guys, don't you?"

I was frozen, feeling her hand, hearing her words, seeing a side of Catherine I had never seen before. I didn't want to hurt her but I definitely did not want this to go any further. Feeling tense and about to tell Catherine I was going to turn in, the phone rang behind the bar. Charlie picked up the receiver and nodded, glancing at me. He hung up and came over and told me some lady wants warm milk in room twelve---how about taking it up to her. I said sure, seeing this was a good opportunity to avoid Catherine's coming on to me.

Catherine looked at Charlie then at me after hearing him. She continued leaning forward pressing her large breasts against my hand then slowly sat up on her stool and sighed deeply. "I better get going too after this last martini."

I nodded looking at Catherine wishing I knew what to say but kept quiet and let the awkward embarrassment pass, aware of Catherine's pain, aware that she had fallen from a sophisticated, elevated life in Washington to a waitress in a second class resort, married to an itinerant waiter who she didn't love and was now living in a rented trailer.

While Charlie heated up the milk on a small hot plate, I stood up next to Catherine. She turned and looked up at me. "Sorry you're seeing me like this, Pete."

I nodded searching for words. She turned to look up at the band and the few remaining couples dancing then turned back to me. "Getting old ain't for sissies."

"You're not that old," I said looking at the lines around her eyes and mouth, the graying hair, the faded beauty then suddenly remembered Nina's long dark hair halfway down her back, her smooth olive skin, the sexy tight skirt I saw as she left the lounge. I was upset for missing my chance to meet Nina and take advantage of her being alone at the bar. Instead, I was taking warm milk to some old woman who couldn't sleep.

Charlie brought the glass of milk to me on a small tray. I wondered if I should put on my red waiter's vest and bow tie to deliver the milk but decided not too. I was signed out. It was late and I was disgusted with myself. I would deliver the milk then go back to the dark bunk house and call it a day. When I picked up the tray with the milk, Catherine turned from watching a few remaining couples slow dancing and looked at me. She sighed and I saw the beginnings of tears in the corner of her eyes. She looked down at the bar, shaking her head slightly from side to side waiting for her third martini to do its job.

After saying goodnight to Catherine, I left the lounge and walked through the lobby, noticing the gaudy red carpet, the plastic potted plants, the fake chandelier, the dark front desk thinking about Catherine, wondering if I would ever get to meet Nina and tried to keep the warm milk from spilling. I walked quickly up the carpeted stairway and down the narrow hall to room twelve. I knocked on the door and said Room Service even though there was no need to—the guest was expecting someone to deliver warm milk.

When the door opened, it was Nina. I stood there completely surprised. She was wearing a short satiny night gown and nothing else. I could see her nipples through the sheerness and her tan legs beneath the soft white material. She was barefooted. I gasped and saw her smile, looking at my shocked face.

"Here's your warm milk," I finally said.

"Oh yes, the warm milk, thanks," she said, opening the door wider then pointed to the small table next to the bed. "Put it over there."

I squeezed by her in the doorway and walked to the night table and placed the milk next to a lamp. When I turned, she leaned against the closed door; her short nightgown came just below her hips revealing her tan thighs. Our eyes met and she smiled. "I'm Nina."

"I know," I said, looking at her, amazed that I was in her room. "I'm Peter."

"I know," she said, smiling, looking into my eyes. "I've wanted to meet you."

"Me, too, I've wanted to meet you," I responded trying to keep my eyes from staring at her tan thighs below the short nightgown and her tits barely hidden by the sheer material. "I didn't expect to meet like this though."

"This was my little ploy. I actually hate milk but got Charlie to send you up here. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind. I was going to introduce myself in the lounge but you left."

"I could tell you are on the shy side so I got this idea. I got tired of waiting for you to make a move so I made it happen. We don't have much time and I wanted to hang out with you and thought what better place then my room."

"Very daring, aren't you?"

"Yes, I didn't want my parents to see us together---my dad's a judge and mom might as well be one and Fred, my fiancé is coming up tomorrow afternoon."

"I see," I said nodding looking into her eyes then glancing at her body as she crossed the room, her nipples poking at the thin material as was the faint dark hair of her barely covered mound.

I stood next to the night table and the bed. She smiled, looking into my eyes, standing close. "I really wanted to meet you, but I want you to know, I don't usually do things like this. I don't want you to get the wrong impression but..." She stopped and bit her lower lip.

"But what?" I asked eager to hear what she was saying.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I like how you look at me and here we are in a funky phony resort and I've been going to bed horny thinking about you and so decided I was going to try to make something happen—you know, take the bull by the horns."

"Interesting," I said, her words getting me hard.

"Want to smoke a joint with me?" she asked, opening the night table drawer, taking out an already rolled joint, holding it in front of me.

"You really are daring," I repeated and chuckled.

"Sometimes I have to be to get what I want," she said picking up a lighter, lit the joint then took a deep draw before handing it to me.

I took a hit conscious that the smell might draw attention. "We better be careful someone might smell this."

She grabbed my hand and we went into the bathroom and closed the door. "I like sneaking," she said and laughed. "My parents are next door and haven't got a clue about me—not that I'm a slut or anything, but I'm not the little angel they think I am."

We each took hits of the joint. She leaned up against the sink which was next to the toilet and I sat down on the closed toilet seat. The short nightgown rose higher on her thighs as she leaned back.

"So your fiancé is coming up tomorrow. You're getting married and here you are smoking a joint with me in the bathroom."

"Right," she chuckled then shook her head. "I'm getting married in September—ready or not."

"You don't sound too excited," I said.

She shrugged her shoulder. "He's a great guy and my parents are planning a big wedding—white gown, the whole shebang." She took a big hit of the joint and passed it to me.

"But...." I said, pausing knowing she was hesitant.

"I'm terrified and feel like I'm being pulled into something I'm not sure I want."

She passed me the joint then surprised me by turning from the sink and straddled my legs. "Do you think I'd be sitting on you like this after three days of our looking at each other and me feeling horny thinking about you at night if I was ready to marry Fred?"

"What are you going to do?" I asked, taking a hit then passed it back to her.

"Good question," she answered then squirmed pressing against the bulge in my pants. I lowered my hands to her ass. She took one last hit then placed the remnants of the joint on the edge of the sink. She smiled looking into my eyes then leaned forward, her tits crushed against my chest as I rubbed her ass and our bodies moved slowly, grinding into each other.

"Right now I don't want to think about anything but you and me," she said, moving a little faster, grinding harder.

"That sounds good," I said, feeling the pot taking hold and my mind swirling.

"You feel so good," she whispered in my ear.

"You do too." I said tightening my grip on her ass, pulling her harder against me.

I was fascinated by Nina and wanted to know more about her but at the moment, the sensation of holding her and being stoned made it hard to focus. We were quiet as we moved together, our lust rising. She lifted her head and we looked at each other. She closed her eyes, biting her lip again, enjoying the pleasure, moaning softly. I pulled her closer, squeezing her ass and we both started grinding harder, the weed taking away our inhibitions, fueling out lust.