The Last Summer of Its Kind

"Did Rocky ever come back?" I asked.

"Not that I know of," Angela said. "We had the lights on pretty late, watching movies in there, and we figured he'd have banged on our door too to talk to Shelly if he had."

"Figures," Jen said. "Bullies are always mostly talk."

"Still, you're welcome to sleep here for a few more nights if you want," Angela said.

"I doubt Shelly would agree with that," I said.

Angela nodded. "Love stinks."

Scott and Jimmy were delighted for me -- if only because that meant there was no risk of competition for Shelly and Angela -- and our fight was allowed to die quietly, if only because we had bigger problems now with Rocky. It was Scott who hit on the idea of the four of them driving down to New Orleans for a week or so. "I've always wanted to see it, and Shelly, wouldn't you like to get away from that asshole until he calms down?"

"How utterly thoughtful of you guys," Angela said before Shelly could speak up about it at all. "But I'm in if you are, Shel."

Shelly, who hadn't spoken to Jen or myself since that morning in bed, looked at Scott and Jimmy silently for a few seconds, then nodded her head.

Jimmy left the key to the cabin with me, "So you've got someplace to crash if Jen comes to her senses," he joked on the morning they left, but we spent every night in her cabin. Days in town, at the bookstore or watching whatever movie finally got to the one-screen theatre on the square, or swimming in the lake -- occasionally without swimsuits if we had the shore to ourselves -- but we never went back to Fulbright's Cove. I floated the idea with her one especially hot and humid afternoon late in the week, but she shook her head.

"That's sacred now, don't you think, Tom? You can't relive the past, not even the very recent past."

"Well said," I admitted, though I longed to see her out of her admittedly beautiful pink and green swimsuit. "Yeah."

"Besides, surely Jimmy told you that's where we did it, too. Do you really want another memory associated with that?"

"You and Jimmy?!" I was all but speechless. "When?!"

"Good heavens, you didn't know?" Jen looked as shocked as I felt. "I'm sorry, Tom. Didn't you always wonder why I didn't like him?"

"No! The man's a chauvinist pig, of course I didn't wonder."

"Yes, well, when I was a teenage virgin who was sick of being a virgin, I didn't see it that way. I learned soon enough what your old friend is like when he turns the charm off, though."

"You're joking..."

"I wish I were, Tom."

"No, you see, on the way here on the first day, he told Scott and me he lost his virginity here when he was fourteen."

"So was I, and too stupid to know about condoms," Jen said. "I was scared to death I might be pregnant, and even when I found out I wasn't, the way all the other boys looked at me the rest of that summer...let's just say I never wanted to see your friend again."

"He may have told all his friends then," I said. "But he hasn't told me. I wonder why not?"

"I couldn't care less why not," Jen said. "But I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I thought you knew."

"That does explain why you don't want to bother with Fulbright Cove again," I mused. "We had a nice time there, now that can be your last memory of the place."

"I like the way you're thinking, though," she said, and with that she waded deeper into the water.

"There might be other people around," I warned her.

"Maybe they'll like what they see," she teased, and with that she wriggled out of her suit, and hurled it towards the shore where it landed just above the waterline. "Join me?"

"I insist!" I went her one better and took mine off before wading into the deeper water. It was an incomparable thrill, though I don't think anyone else saw.

That day we never put our clothes back on. We got out of the water and streaked up the hill while the lake was still otherwise deserted. We showered together and dried off, and both took one look at our suitcases and turned our attention to the bed instead. We were a lot more familiar with one another by then, knew our way around one another's body far better than that first night, and I had her worked into a delightful tizzy in a matter of minutes.

This time I was on top, which Jen had already convinced me she liked best, though I wasn't clear on why, and the rickety old bed rattled almost as loud as her moans as we flailed away. I had her well on her way to her second orgasm when I noticed the bedframe was banging up against the wall in a steady rhythm -- who knew we'd become that good at it?! It was only after she had come that we noticed the banging hadn't slowed down even though we had. "That's...not the bed," Jen said.

I drew to a stop and realized she was right. It was coming from outside. We both figured it out at the same time, but she said it first: "It's the front door!"

"I'll go have a look," I said, and I pulled out.

"Aren't you going to put anything on?" Jen asked.

"If it's who I think it is, an eyeful of me is just what he needs," I joked, trying to sound a lot braver than I felt.

I pulled back the curtain from the window and saw I was right, it was Rocky. "Shelly's not here," I said.

"Then what the fuck are you doin' in there, pretty boy?"

"None of your business. Look, we don't want any trouble here."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Jen and me, if you must know."

"Prove you're with Jen, and I'll leave you alone."

Behind me, I heard Jen laugh. She was standing in the bedroom doorway, still just as naked as I was. "Let's do it," she said. "Let's prove you're with me."

She sauntered up beside me and I put my arm around her, and I opened the door.

Rocky turned away. "Awww! Did not need to see that!"

"But it proves I'm not with Shelly, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, whatever, you...fuck!" He stomped down the steps and hopped onto his motorcycle, and roared off.

"You weren't really expecting him to kill himself over Shelly, were you?" I asked Jen, both of us still standing nude in the doorway and enjoying the danger.

"And kill his favorite person? The man's too much in love with himself." Jen took me by my cock and said, "Now get back in bed!"

We never did see Rocky again. I don't know if Shelly ever did, but I do know she was all smiles and congeniality when they got back from New Orleans, and Jimmy and Angela were hand in hand when they greeted us at the lake. I had my doubts about that pairing even then, but it was none of my business.

And still isn't. Which is why I've never asked Angela just what happened in New Orleans, or why she stuck it out with Jimmy for nearly a year afterward, living in a shoebox in Manhattan while he lived with his parents and took his sweet time on asking her to marry him, even forgiving his lie about his dad, before she got fed up and kicked him to the curb. In almost ten years together and eight years of marriage, she's returned the favor and never asked me about what became of Jen after that summer. The answer is none too scandalous -- I was off to UVA and she got into a master's program a few states away and we drifted apart, ending it rather grandly with a weekend at a hotel in Salt Lake City where we made love about a dozen times before shaking hands at the airport and flying out of one another's lives on good terms, but for good.

Neither of us planned to fall into one another's arms after things had cooled down with our friends, but it happened. But that's another story for another time. The summer we met remains a lovely memory, even if it's for all the wrong reasons.