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Sigh.
I couldn’t fathom why I’d put on the crotchless and cupless see-through, bright red lace teddy my idiotic best friend, Kelsey, gave me at our annual office gift-giving party. It was no longer called a Christmas party, but a gift giving party so as not to offend anyway, which was cool with me. I mean, I celebrated everything, so whatever floated the boats of those around me was A-okay.
Back to the teddy and the minutes leading up to my current position blinking against the light…
“Kels, this thing is missing a few pieces.”
That was what I said when, shocked, I pulled the scrap of lace from the gift bag back at that party last week. Our other co-workers wolf-whistled and shouted suggestions, but I was red-faced and ready to run.
Kelsey, of course, thought it was a great idea. My beautiful, thin, and relentlessly romantic bestie never understood why I didn’t flaunt my fun bags. The answer was simple. Said fun bags required an industrial strength over the shoulder bolder holder to get me through most days.
“It’s for easy access, Rena. Show them boys what they are missing!”
Now, I love my body, but I was never an exhibitionist. Leggings and loose shirts were my outfit of choice. I’d inherited my Granny’s boobs. Size 38FF on a good day. Sometimes, I had to go FFF, like if I was bloated or hormonal. Anyway, unlike some Tomb Raider porn star fantasy, my boobs did not come with a doll-sized waist.
I was a big girl. Size sixteen, sometimes eighteen, depending again on my hormones or what I had eaten last. Anyway, the notion of me wearing that thing was just too damn ridiculous, and I had tossed it at Kelsey with a dramatic eye roll which had our drunken co-workers laughing all the louder.
So, that explained why I had the damn thing, but not why it had been in my suitcase. Kelsey, of course. This had her fingerprints all over it. Somehow, knowing I had to leave to take care of Gramps’ estate, she must have tucked the silly, easy access gift of hers into my bag. And yet, even though I scoffed and snorted after I unwrapped the ridiculously small piece of lingerie, I never imagined I’d try the thing on.
Not with my hangups. Yes, I loved myself, but I was still self-conscious. It wasn’t something I would have ever bought myself, and for some reason, as I unpacked my things in the old room I used to sleep in when I was a child visiting my grandparents, drinking wine, listening to music, well, it just seemed like a good idea.
Of course, I never imagined I’d get caught wearing it while snooping through the greenhouse that had been the object of many a dispute between my Gramps and the neighbors. The Kents were an uptight bunch.
Not all of them, an annoying little voice reminded me.
No. I was so not going there. Just thinking of Jeremy Kent, the boy I once knew, and his tight-lipped mother and snooty Dad had my hackles up. The Kents were notoriously snobbish, looking down on my Italian immigrant grandfather with his heavy accent and his Venezuelan wife, whose accent was even more pronounced.
It didn’t matter to the Kents they’d been together since the 1960s, raised their son, my dad, to be a good, honest man. Or the fact they worked their land themselves. Or that they went to Church regularly, and were kind, good people. None of that mattered to Jonathan and Julia Kent, descendants of the first founders of Kent Township.
Jeremy was not like them, though. At least, not back then, he wasn’t. Of course, I didn’t know him anymore. He was just the boy I’d given my greatest gift to one Christmas Eve.
My heart.
Fine. He also took my virginity. But, in his defense, he’d been a virgin, too. Not that any of it mattered now.
Feelings flooded my mind, and I couldn’t help but recall that time in my life. Sixteen, almost seventeen, heartbroken after losing my parents, but in love for the first time.
Sigh.
Chapter Three- Morena
After weeks of exchanging longing glances and notes by the back fence that separated our properties, Jeremy approached me after school one day. I was new to Kent Township High, and he was the All-American quarterback rich kid superstar.
It was love at first sight. We spent weeks stealing kisses and sneaking around whenever we had the chance. We had agreed to meet at midnight on Christmas Eve in the greenhouse. I remember baking him a special batch of carrot muffins from Granny’s recipe, using currants instead of raisins, and hand-crushed walnuts to add texture.
It was foolish and reckless, but for a good girl like me, who’d come to live with my elderly grandparents after my own mom and dad died in a terrible accident, it was heaven. He was heaven. The only one who understood me and made me feel loved and cherished.
Jeremy Kent was perfect.
But he could never date me openly. Not with how his parents felt about my family. The Kents were old money, and they meant something to the community. Hell, they owned just about everything, and were not above throwing their name around to get what they wanted.
Sixteen year old didn’t care about any of that. At the time, I thought our relationship was all so terribly romantic. We were like Romeo and Juliette. Unfortunately, when I was making the comparison, I hadn’t finished reading that play. At least, not until after that Christmas.
That was back when I believed in magic and fairytales. I thought Jeremy was like something out of a book. My very own prince charming come to take me away from the monotony of my life. His kisses were sweet, and his touch pure joy. We hadn’t planned on sex, but it was inevitable. As hot as we burned for each other, what else could have happened?
I thought we would have forever, but after his parents caught the two of us basking in the warm afterglow of our very first orgasms (with other people—masturbation was alive and kicking), well, the fairytale had ended abruptly. Some might say, even cruelly.
There was a lot of yelling, and threats were made. Gramps came to get me as I sat huddled with a blanket tossed over me, dressed back in my wrinkled clothes, with Mr. Kent glaring at me while I sat on the stairs like some stray he found outside. Jeremy had been hustled indoors, but I could hear the screaming. All from his mother.
