DiscoverRomantic Comedy

How to Find a Farm Wife

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Worth reading 😎

Finding a Farm Wife offers some humor, some romance and realism, and it will be a book some will enjoy.

Synopsis

Divisive tribalism vs. love. Which will prevail?

John Kramer is a fifth-generation Kansas farmer attending college. Although he insists that he doesn't prefer blondes, his dating history would seem to contradict this assertion. But when he meets brunette Jill Rabinovich in her dorm room, he can't take his eyes off of her, despite the fact that at that moment he is on a date with Jill's leggy, blonde roommate. And Jill's outrageous sense of humor leaves John smitten. John and Jill begin dating, and the two of them quickly fall in love.

But their relationship faces several daunting challenges. He is a rural Republican, and she is a suburban Democrat. He's Catholic, and she's Jewish. He wants her to become his farm wife, but she wants to move to L.A. after completing her degree in theater, in order to jump start her acting and stand-up comedy careers. Is their relationship doomed, or will they somehow manage to overcome their differences and achieve a happily-ever-after ending?

John Kramer is a typical man – a typical man from America who has lived on a farm all his life, and will continue to be a farmer no matter what he does or who he meets, even if that person he meets could be his wife. Or not.


And that is what happens in this book. Kramer's family is all about farming. He is not only a fifth-generation farmer from Kansas - he is a Republican. And a Catholic. Now, I find a little dose of fantasy there - a Kansas farmer who is a Republican is Catholic? How many farmers in Kansas do you know that attend Mass every week? Make him a Baptist or a Methodist maybe. But for the sake of this novel, it works somewhat for him to be a Catholic.


Why? Well, meet Jill Rabinovich - a Jewish suburban Democrat with a mouth and a personality that would equal the energy of the late Robin Williams when he would do his comedy act on stage. Speaking of comedy - that is what Jill wants to do for a living: make people laugh. When Jill graduates from college, she wants to go to LA, and I don't mean Louisiana, but to California. She smells fame, fortune and opportunity to fill the dream box of her life. But the farm demands John Kramer's life.


Yeah... I can see the smoke coming out and your wheels are turning - this kind of smells of disaster, right? No, actually, and surprisingly, the author, with some delicate stitching puts together a viable piece of prose that would make King Kong forget his love of blondes, and he would laugh and laugh.


If a Jew can be a Democrat and a Catholic can be a farmer in Kansas, well, the world's largest ape can laugh. And that is what makes this book a viable, decent read. It is a recipe I think even Paula Deen would want to try, a little bit of this and that, and just the right amount of sweet, salty and tasty.


This would be a good read for a book club as it is fiction, and a good rea - probably more for those in their late teens to late 80s. Grab it off the shelf today. You will be glad you did.

Reviewed by

Becky has had a 'torrid love affair' with books since she was old enough to know what the word 'love' meant. A former newspaper editor, and current social media marketer, her goal is to help you get your book noticed - and add to her bookshelves.

Synopsis

Divisive tribalism vs. love. Which will prevail?

John Kramer is a fifth-generation Kansas farmer attending college. Although he insists that he doesn't prefer blondes, his dating history would seem to contradict this assertion. But when he meets brunette Jill Rabinovich in her dorm room, he can't take his eyes off of her, despite the fact that at that moment he is on a date with Jill's leggy, blonde roommate. And Jill's outrageous sense of humor leaves John smitten. John and Jill begin dating, and the two of them quickly fall in love.

But their relationship faces several daunting challenges. He is a rural Republican, and she is a suburban Democrat. He's Catholic, and she's Jewish. He wants her to become his farm wife, but she wants to move to L.A. after completing her degree in theater, in order to jump start her acting and stand-up comedy careers. Is their relationship doomed, or will they somehow manage to overcome their differences and achieve a happily-ever-after ending?

Whitney and the Mischievous Midget

I’m John Kramer, a fifth-generation farmer on a 480-acre farm a few miles southwest of Goddard, Kansas. This is my autobiographical story of my courtship with the extraordinary young woman who would eventually become my farm wife and the love of my life. I think it is an entertaining story, which is made even more interesting by the fact that during the period in which we were engaged to be married, my wife became a bit of a celebrity.

Before I begin my story, I’ll mention to the reader that the title of this book, How to Find a Farm Wife, is rather tongue-in-cheek. My method for choosing which women to date would not be recommended. Also, the circumstances that led to me meeting and dating my wife were rather improbable and thus not reproducible. So, my apologies to the bachelor farmers who purchased this book because they thought it was a how-to manual. It definitely isn’t. But as long as you have purchased it, I would encourage you to go ahead and read it. I think you will find it an enjoyable read.

My wife was not my first love. During the spring of 2018, the last semester I attended Hutchinson Community College, I dated and fell in love with a soccer player from Manchester, England named Margaret. I knew she would be returning to England at the end of the semester, so I tried to avoid falling in love with her. But I did fall in love with her, and it broke my heart when she returned to England.

Margaret wasn’t my first love, either. My first love was Calista, who happened to be my best friend’s girlfriend. I could never act on my inappropriate feelings for Calista, and that was an ever-present weight on my heart.

But don’t feel sorry for me because my wife became my third love, and the third time’s the charm, as they say.

My story begins with my eugenics plan. (I call it that now, as I write this, in mockery of my younger self. I didn’t call it that at the time.) I became a star linebacker at Goddard High School and dreamed of playing for Bill Snyder at Kansas State University, then having a long and productive NFL career. But Snyder didn’t recruit me. My only scholarship offers were from a couple of nearby community colleges. And then, during my two years at Hutchinson Community College I only played on special teams. My dreams of gridiron glory crashed head-on into reality. I was too small for a college linebacker. Despite eating a high protein diet and being a maniac in the weight room throughout high school and during my two years at HCC, I was only 195 lb. at the end of my college sophomore season.

Because I was bitter that my genetics prevented me from becoming a football star, I developed a eugenics plan during my sophomore year at HCC. I intended to marry a large and athletic woman, so we could have a son who would be large and athletic enough to become a football star. (Margaret was too petite to fit into my eugenics plan, but I knew when I started dating her that our relationship would be temporary because she would be returning to England.) Specifically, I entertained the notion of marrying a volleyball player because I thought the volleyball women were smoking hot, in addition to being tall and athletic.

That explains why I asked a six-foot-tall volleyball player out on a date in the fall of 2018, my first semester at K-State. But I’ll get to that anecdote in a moment.

Since my football career was over, I didn’t have football practices occupying my time in the summer of 2018. That allowed me to work full time on the farm the entire summer, giving Grampa, at age seventy, a vacation from farm work. Of course, at the end of the summer I headed off to Manhattan for my junior year at K-State, which meant that Grampa had to resume working full time on the farm. I promised him I would complete my degree in two years, and then he could retire permanently at the spry young age of seventy-two.

A summer of hard labor and isolation on the farm restored my passion for romance. Or, to put it more crudely, when I headed to K-State for the start of the fall 2018 semester, I was horny. But I was ready to be selective. I planned on looking specifically for a tall, attractive, young woman to date. If I determined that she wouldn’t make a good farm wife, then I intended to terminate our relationship before we became too attached.



Friday, August 24, 2018

She wore a K-State volleyball t-shirt on Wednesday. The first week of classes always provided an information overload, and that’s why two days passed before I had the idea of looking up the team roster on the university’s website. After a few clicks on my laptop, I was viewing a webpage with a studio picture and a bio of each girl on K-State’s varsity volleyball team.

And there she was. Whitney Schmidt. Blonde hair, pretty face. Really pretty face.

Margaret had blonde hair, too. Just a coincidence. I didn’t give a shit what color hair a girl had. But damn, blonde hair sure could be striking!

Whitney had a really nice smile. It looked like she was smiling at me. Of course, she was smiling at the camera, but…what a nice smile.

Under her picture, it said, “Sophomore, 6’0”.” Not surprising. I could tell she was at least my height or maybe slightly taller. Good. That’s what I was looking for. But would she want to date a guy that was one inch shorter than her? Only one way to find out.

She probably had a boyfriend already. But again, only one way to find out.

I read her bio. Agronomy major. What a coincidence, I was an agronomy major, too. Of course, that wasn’t surprising, either, since most of the students in my classes were ag majors. Because of that, there weren’t a lot of females in my classes. But that made a tall, blonde bombshell like Whitney stand out all the more.

Her bio listed her interests and hobbies. “Farming is my passion. And I like to eat out.”

She was practically begging me to ask her out on a dinner date. But yet, the thought of asking her out gave me a mild case of butterflies.

Of course, I could exchange small talk with her a few times, get to know her a little bit, and then ask her out. I had her in two classes. So, in one of the classes I could say I noticed she was in the other class, and I could ask her how she was doing in that other class. Boom. There’s our conversation starter.

Nice to meet you, Whitney. I’m John Kramer. Yes, I do have a farm. Thank you for asking. I’d be happy to drive you down there one of these weekends, so you could see it.

The front door opened and my apartment mate, Wayne, and his girlfriend, Calista, walked in. Wayne was more than just my apartment mate. He had been my best friend pretty much my entire life. His farm was just south of mine, and our houses were just across a dirt road from each other. Also, Calista was more than just Wayne’s girlfriend. I had been in love with her ever since Wayne started dating her in high school, three years earlier. When I fell in love with Margaret the previous spring, that temporarily abated my inappropriate desire for Calista. Now it would be Whitney Schmidt’s responsibility to distract me from Calista. That would be a heavy load for Whitney to carry, but I was cautiously optimistic she would be more than up to the task.

“Hey, John,” Calista greeted me cheerfully. “How was your first week of classes?”

“Great, thanks. I’ve got some very interesting classes.”

“Me too,” she said. “Don’t you just love K-State? It’s like ten times bigger than HCC.”

All three of us attended Hutchinson Community College the previous two school years. Prior to that, we all three attended Goddard High School.

“Yeah, it’s huge,” I replied.

“Is the Wi-Fi working?” Wayne asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Whatcha working on?” he asked, stepping up behind me.

“Oh, I have a girl in two of my classes that’s on K-State’s varsity volleyball team. I was looking her up. This one.” I pointed to her picture.

“Damn!” Wayne exclaimed. “She’s pretty!”

“Yeah,” I said. “You should see her figure. She’s like a Scandinavian goddess.”

“Oh, please tell me about her figure,” Wayne begged, wide-eyed.

“You guys remember I’m still here in the room with you?” Calista deadpanned.

Without glancing at Calista, Wayne said, “Yeah, Babe. Love ya. Describe her figure, John.”

“Well, she has a long, slender body, but not too slender. She does have curves. Her hips aren’t real wide, but they’re wide enough to be sexy. Not a big butt, but big enough. Nice and round. Decently thick thighs, but not too thick.”

“Tits?” Wayne asked.

“Normal-sized.”

“John, are you describing a human being or a sex doll?” Calista asked.

“Sorry, Calista, but Wayne asked, and I was just trying to provide an honest and accurate description. I can’t describe her personality because I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

“Well, then talk to her, John,” Calista urged.

“I know, I know. I’m working on it.”

Wayne said, “I knew John would be able to describe every detail about her figure, even though we’ve only had one week of classes. Nobody engages in as much inappropriate staring as my boy, John.”

Wayne said it like he was proud of me, but I wasn’t proud of myself. I knew I stared at attractive women too much. It was almost like an addiction I was powerless to kick.

“I try not to stare,” I said, “but I can’t seem to stop myself, because some women are just so damn beautiful.”

“John, I think it’s charming that you find women to be so beautiful that you can’t stop staring at them,” Calista said with a conciliatory tone. “But that’s because I know you’re a good guy. You should be aware that if you stare at a woman who doesn’t know you, she might think you’re creepy.”

“I know, I know.”

If Whitney becomes my true love, then maybe I’ll only stare at her.

Wayne pointed to the screen. “It says she’s six-foot-tall. She’s taller than you, John. You sure you wanna date a girl that’s taller than you?”

“She can’t help how tall she is,” Calista said. “Just like I can’t help how skinny I am.”

Before Wayne dated Calista, I wondered if she was anorexic. But when he started dating her, I observed that she had a healthy appetite. She was just naturally skinny. Wayne was 6’2” and 250 lb., so when he stood next to Calista, their size difference was comical.

I preferred a more curvaceous figure, but I fell in love with Calista anyway, because of her pretty face and charming personality. And because of her maturity and intelligence. And her moral strength. And the way she never lost her affection for Wayne when the two of them argued politics. And how she was a feminist, but yet she squeezed her eyes shut when she was talking on the phone with her man-hater girlfriend Tonya, while Tonya was demonizing male sexuality. And the pure, feminine tone of her voice. And the cool jazz cadence of her words. And the way her eyes smiled whenever her mouth smiled. And the way she shut her car door with a bang of her hip. And the way her yawn immediately transitioned into a smile when it was past her bedtime. And the way she licked her lips just before she started doing something with her hands that required dexterity. And the way she pouted when she was struggling with something in her textbook and she didn’t know anyone was watching her. And the way her panty lines showed when she wore athletic shorts. And the way her panty lines didn’t show on special occasions, such as Wayne’s birthday and the anniversary of her first date with him. And the way she relentlessly looked so damn huggable, 24/7. And the way she always welcomed Wayne’s hugs, 24/7. And the way she smiled at Wayne when he pushed her hair out of her eyes, before her morning primp.

But I digress.

“John, it says she’s just a sophomore,” Wayne said. “You need to date one of these seniors, so she’ll be twenty-one and can buy beer for us.”

“You’re so romantic, Wayne,” Calista deadpanned.

“Whitney’s the only volleyball player I have in class,” I said, “and she’s gorgeous. She’s the one I want to date.”

“Maybe you can invite the entire volleyball team to a party at our apartment,” Wayne said, “just like you did last spring.”

Yes, I actually did that. I had a girl from HCC’s volleyball team in a class, and I overheard her say that when one team member found out about a party, her entire team would go to the party. So, I told her I was hosting a party, and, sure enough, the entire volleyball team showed up at our apartment on the night of the party.

“No,” Calista intervened. “I’m vetoing that right now.”

Calista didn’t enjoy that party because one of the volleyball girls flirted overtly with Wayne. Calista ended up grabbing Wayne’s elbow, dragging him out of the apartment, and forcing him to take her to a movie.

“We better go, Babe,” Wayne said to Calista.

“John, we’re going to see BlacKkKlansman,” Calista said. “You wanna come?”

“No, thanks. It sounds like an interesting movie. But this is your first weekend in Manhattan, so you two should have a special date together, by yourselves.” Also, I didn’t want to be a third wheel.

“You can come if you want, John,” Wayne said. “Our special alone time will happen after the movie, when we come back here to fuck.”

“Wayne, you’re so romantic,” Calista deadpanned.

“You’re spending the night aren’t you?” Wayne asked her.

“Yes, I am, Waynie-the-Pooh.”

Wayne and I also shared a two-bedroom apartment during our sophomore year at HCC, and Calista shacked up with Wayne in his bedroom that school year. Now that we had transferred to K-State, she elected to move into her own one-bedroom apartment. Wayne told me he was disappointed Calista wasn’t going to continue shacking up with him, and he said it felt like their relationship was taking a step backward. But he explained to me that Calista was tired of the drama associated with lying to her parents about her living arrangements. She was afraid that her parents would stop paying her tuition if they found out that she was shacking up with him. With the tuition at K-State being three times the tuition at HCC, that wasn’t a risk that she was willing to take.

“You two go ahead,” I said. “I’m wanting to go for a jog, later. See you after the movie.”

“Okay,” Wayne said. “See ya.”

“See ya, John,” Calista said.

They left and I turned back to the picture of Whitney Schmidt on my laptop.

Do you like kisses on your neck, Whitney?

Margaret always loved it when I kissed her on the neck, so I naturally assumed all women did.

____________________



As planned, I initiated small talk with Whitney Schmidt. I learned that her family had a farm in northeastern Kansas. Every time I talked to her, she welcomed me with a warm smile. Like Margaret and Calista, Whitney’s eyes smiled whenever her mouth smiled. I always found that to be incredibly disarming and charming. With this encouragement, I resolved to ask her out.

Meanwhile, I received word of an interesting development back at HCC. My younger sister, Jen, decided to follow in my footsteps and enrolled as a freshman at HCC. She was majoring in biology with the intention of becoming a livestock veterinarian. Wayne’s older brother, William, had completed his four years of active duty in the Marines and was starting his four years of service in the Marine Reserves. He also enrolled that fall as a freshman at HCC, majoring in business. Surprise, surprise, William and Jen were dating. When I talked to Jen on the phone, she sounded smitten. For his part, William had been doing a very poor job of disguising his interest in Jen ever since he had seen her in a skimpy two-piece swimming suit when she was twelve and he was sixteen. In Kansas, a sixteen-year-old can be charged with a felony for having sexual relations with a twelve-year-old. But now, William was twenty-two and Jen was eighteen, and the state of Kansas doesn’t give a shit about that.



Friday, September 28, 2018

After my morning shower, I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. There was one small pimple on my forehead, but otherwise, my face was free of blemishes. Since I had begun college, my acne had decreased each year, but having a mere one small pimple on my entire face was still an unusual occurrence. This increased my social confidence, and I decided this would be the day that I would ask Whitney Schmidt out on a date. Or not, if I chickened out.


I was nervous, but I caught up with her after the end of our afternoon Organic and Biochemistry lecture.

“Hi, Whitney, how are you today?”

“Oh, hey, John,” Whitney answered. Good, she remembered my name. “Did you understand that lecture?”

“That was rather complicated, wasn’t it?” I said, giving her a big smile.

She didn’t return my smile. “I’m starting to get a little worried that I might not be smart enough for this class.”

I did my best to sound conciliatory. “I try to take good notes, then later I’ll read my notes at my own pace. And that’s in addition to reading the textbook.”

“Wow. I wish I had time to do all that.”

A cheesy transition to my invitation popped into my head, so I went for it. “Also, I make sure that I never study chemistry on an empty stomach. Speaking of empty stomachs…, Whitney, would you like to go out to eat with me some evening? I would gladly pay for your meal.”

She burst into laughter. “That’s cute, John. Very smooth transition, and I’m not being sarcastic. Turns out, you actually have great timing. I’m free right now, and I’m starving!”

Wow, that was easy!

“Okay! We can head to my car. I’m parked a few blocks up this way.”

“Oh, would you mind if we take a detour by my dorm room first?” she asked. “I want to drop my stuff off and freshen up.”

“Sure, no problem.”

She pointed the way, and we walked across campus toward her dorm building.

“Have you ever eaten at the Little Apple Brewing Company?” I asked.

“Uh-oh, John! You’re a man after my heart! I love that place. But I don’t need a place that fancy. You can just pull me up to the trough, and I’m good to go. I love eating.”

Self-deprecating humor. Excellent. She’s a woman after my heart.

“Little Apple Brewing Company it is,” I insisted.

“Oh, good. I already know what I’m gonna get. I’m gonna get their Angus beef burger. It’s yuuuummy!”

This was actually good news. I had looked up their menu online. Their Angus beef burger was $12, but they were famous for their Certified Angus Beef steaks. Their steaks came in a variety of sizes, with the biggest size costing $50. A $50 steak would have forced me to make some budgetary cutbacks that month.

“So, John, if I remember correctly, your family has a farm near Wichita?”

Wow, she remembered.

“That’s right. We’re a few miles southwest of Goddard and about ten miles west of Wichita’s city limits. And your family’s farm is in the northeastern part of the state?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “We’re about halfway in between Vermillion and Centralia. Do you know where that is?”

“Uh, not exactly. I have heard of those two towns, though.”

“Well, they’re really small towns. Centralia’s about six hundred people. Vermillion’s only about a hundred, hundred-fifty. I went to Centralia High School, which has less than a hundred students. So, you grew up rural, but I grew up really rural.”

“What’s Centralia High School, 2A?” I asked.

“1A.”

“So, are there any churches near your family farm?”

She burst into laughter again. “That’s cute, John. You’re wanting to know what my religion is? My family goes to a little Methodist church in Centralia. And now you’re obligated to tell me what your religion is.”

“Catholic,” I replied. “So, you play for K-State’s volleyball team?”

“Yes. Did my height give it away?”

“Well, I’ve seen you wearing a K-State volleyball t-shirt. You certainly are tall, though. But I mean that as a compliment. Safe to assume you were the star on your high school volleyball team?”

“Yes, I was,” she said. “We had some good players, though. I also played in a summer league in Kansas City, and that summer league was even higher-level competition than my 1A high school league. K-State probably wouldn’t have offered me a scholarship if I hadn’t played in that summer league.”

“Well, the fact that you’re so tall had to have helped you get a scholarship.”

“John, on K-State’s team I’m not that tall. More than half the team is taller than I am.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “So, are you a starter?”

“No. But I’m in the regular rotation. So, I get playing time almost every match. That’s not bad for a sophomore. We have nineteen girls on our team. Do you know how many players are on the court at one time?”

“Uh, I don’t want to embarrass myself, so I’m not gonna guess,” I said.

“Six. So, that means less than one third of the team are starters.”

“Well, football can be even worse odds than that, if you’re a walk-on, anyway.”

“Are you a walk-on on K-State’s football team?” she asked.

“No, but I thought about joining their football team as a walk-on. I played in high school, and I played for two years at Hutchinson Community College. But I’m a linebacker, and I’m too small to play linebacker here at K-State.”

“Yeah, those football players are huge,” she said. “Speaking of undersized, my roommate, Jill, is also on our volleyball team, and she’s a midget.”

“A midget?”

“She’s five-foot-two,” she said.

“Well, that doesn’t make her a—”

“Don’t tell her I called her a midget! Don’t tell anyone! I don’t want to be known as the tall bitch that makes fun of short people.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

“That’s my dorm building, straight ahead,” she said, pointing the way. “Anyway…my roommate, Jill. I first met her in the Kansas City volleyball summer league. I was sixteen and she was eighteen. When I saw her for the first time, I was thinking, ‘Wow, she’s short!’ I was curious, so I watched one of her matches. I could not believe how quick she was. Quickest girl I’d ever seen. And hustled her ass off on every play. This one play, she dodged a teammate who was in her path to the ball and saved the ball twenty feet out of bounds. The most amazing play I’d ever seen. She inspired me. I knew I would never be that quick, but I decided I was gonna hustle on every play, like she did. Honestly, if Jill hadn’t inspired me that day, I might not have developed into a good enough player to receive a scholarship from K-State. That’s why I asked her to be my roommate this year. She’s a senior, so this was my last chance to learn from her. Before we get to my room, I need to warn you about Jill, though. She’s mischievous.”

“Mischievous?”

“Oh, how can I explain this?” she continued. “She’s very talkative, and she likes to say inappropriate things. I guess she thinks it’s funny to make people uncomfortable. Every time I bring a guy to our room, she says a lot of weird, inappropriate things. I always tell her not to do it again, but she always does it to the very next guy I bring to the room, anyway. So, it’s a safe bet she’ll do it to you, too. You’ve been warned.”

“So…you bring a lot of guys to your room?”

Whitney ignored this question. We were entering the lobby of her dormitory.

“All the Freshmen athletes have to live in the dorms,” she said, “but starting in your sophomore year you can choose to live off campus. I kinda like it here, so I chose to stay here at least for my sophomore year. But I’m thinking about living off campus for my junior year. We’ll take this elevator. Hit the third floor button. A bunch of the girls on my volleyball team requested that they put us on the same floor of the same dorm building, and they did. So, I have a lot of my teammates living here on the third floor, which is a blast. It helps build team chemistry. I’ve gotten to be really good friends with a lot of the girls on the team. Jill and I have gotten to be pretty good friends, but she’s not always an easy person to be friends with. If she’s in the room then you’re about to find that out. Here’s my room, 318.”

Whitney tried the door handle, and it was locked. “Maybe she’s not here.” She retrieved her keys from her backpack and opened the door. “Oh, hi, Jill,” she said as we stepped into the room. “This is John.”

It was a typical dorm room, with a pair of single beds on opposite sides of the room, a pair of dressers, a pair of desks, and precious little floor space for anything else. Jill was lying on the bed to my right, reading a textbook. She was on her stomach with her head facing the door, wearing a sports bra, skin-tight volleyball shorts, and nothing else. The dorm room was rather warm, so her lack of attire was understandable. But my initial impression was that she was partially undressed, and I had just barged into her dorm room without any warning.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Should I wait outside?”

Jill chuckled and gave me a teasing smile. “Yes, John, you should wait outside because I’m naked!” she said with the tone of voice that would be used to report on a juicy bit of scandalous gossip.

“She’s teasing you, John,” Whitney said, matter-of-factly, as she removed her backpack and placed it on her bed. “She’s not naked. She’s not even indecent. Stay here in the room.”

With Whitney’s encouragement, I ceased averting my eyes and looked at Jill. She was staring at me with a big, toothy smile.

Now, let me take a moment to pass along a bit of advice to the young female readers. Is there a young man you’re interested in? Are you wondering how you could show him some charm? It’s easy. Just give him a big, toothy smile. There’s nothing more charming to a young man than a young lady giving him a big, toothy smile. But it needs to be sincere. It can’t look forced. Give it a shot. What do you have to lose?

Now, back to the story. Jill was giving me a sincere, big, toothy smile, and we were staring into each other’s eyes. Jill’s brown eyes were very expressive, with kind of an exotic shape to them. Like Calista, Margaret, and Whitney, she could smile with her eyes. If Jill’s mouth had been covered up, her eyes would still have made it obvious she was smiling. Her eyes were warm, welcoming, disarming, and charming. She had dark brown hair, pulled tightly back into a ponytail, but a loose tress of hair hung down over the right side of her face and curled over to the edge of her lips.

I was charmed by her smile, as we both extended our gaze for a few seconds, and it felt to me like Jill and I were having an intimate moment. A little too intimate, in fact, given that I was currently on a date with Whitney. It was time for me to rip my eyes away from Jill’s eyes. Past time, in fact. Meanwhile, there was something a short distance behind Jill’s face that was demanding my attention. It was saying, “Look at me, John! Look at me!” That something was Jill’s butt. So, as obviously inappropriate as it was, my eyes moved from Jill’s face to her butt. And, of course, Jill was still watching my eyes.

Jill was lying on her stomach, which created an exaggerated elevation difference between the bare small of her back and the top of her butt. This made her waist look small and her butt look large. In her current pose, her butt was easily the most prominent feature on her short frame and probably didn’t need any assistance in looking large. But the cherry on top was Jill’s shorts riding up her crack. I don’t think my tongue was actually hanging out of my mouth, but it’s safe to assume my face betrayed the fact that I was enjoying the view.

Now, Jill moved her two hands back and placed them on her two butt cheeks. Her elbows had been supporting her shoulders, so this forced her to lay her torso flat on her bed. “Four score and seven years ago,” she said in a dignified voice, using her hands to open and close her butt crack in sync with her words.

“What are you going on about, Jill?” Whitney asked, her back still turned toward us.

“Oh, nothing. John was just staring at my ass and my ass felt obligated to provide an educational show for him. So, my ass started to recite the Gettysburg Address.”

Whitney burst into laughter. Jill laughed as well, even though it was her own joke. And I laughed, even though Jill had just told Whitney I was staring at her butt.

“Jill, you’re so weird,” Whitney declared.

“Thank you.”

Whitney finally turned around, saying to me, “I’m gonna run down the hall to freshen up in the bathroom. Then I’ll be ready to go.” She looked at Jill. “John’s taking me out to eat at the Little Apple Brewing Company.”

“Question, Whitney,” Jill said. “Should John and I exchange small talk while you’re in the bathroom?”

“I think that goes without saying,” Whitney replied.

“Okay,” Jill said. “That’s fair. Follow-up question, Whitney. Does ‘freshen up’ mean you’re going number one or number two?”

Jill! I’m going to freshen up! Please behave yourself until I get back!”

Whitney stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“John, I don’t think Whitney wants you to know that she pisses and poops.” Jill barely got those words out before bursting into laughter. After catching her breath, she said, “You and I need to make small talk until Whitney gets back. But if she’s going number two, it’s going to stretch our ability to find discussion topics.

“It’s wonderful weather we’ve been having, John.”

“Yes.”

“And how about that stock market? It’s like the stocks go up, then they go down, then they go up again, then they go down again. Can you explain the stock market, John?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got. I’m out of topics for small talk. At this point, I think we’re safe in assuming that Whitney is going number two. So…John, is that short for Jonathon?”

“No. It’s just John.”

“Justjohn? That’s an interesting name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the name Justjohn before.”

“No, it’s just…John.”

“That’s what I said. Justjohn. Everyone calls me Jill, but the name on my birth certificate is actually Jilly-Lilly-Boom-Bang.” She burst into laughter again, and snorted in the middle of her laugh. “I’m just kidding. Jill is the name on my birth certificate. Say, I have an idea for how we can pass the time until Whitney finishes going number two.”

She crawled off her bed, stepped toward me, and stood facing me at a distance that felt unnaturally close. I was surprised at how short she was, even though Whitney had called her a midget. I had shoes on, and she was barefoot, so that contributed to our large height difference.

Why is it sexy to me when I tower over a woman who is standing next to me? Is that chauvinistic?

I instinctively stepped back, to increase our separation to the customary distance employed by rural folk engaged in conversation. Looking up into my eyes, she raised her eyebrows, then closed the distance again with another step forward. Whitney’s bed was maybe a half step behind me. Having her mattress up against the back of my knees didn’t seem like a good plan at that moment, so I stayed put.

A short period of incredibly awkward silence followed, as I looked almost straight down at Jill, and she looked almost straight up at me. I towered over her, and I probably outweighed her by seventy-five pounds, so I wasn’t physically intimidated by her. But I was completely caught off guard by her aggressively extroverted behavior, even though Whitney had warned me she was mischievous. I couldn’t think of any nonsexual purpose for her standing so close to me. It seemed like Jill was trying to seduce me, and she was attractive enough that I was concerned she might succeed before Whitney returned from the bathroom.

Jill had an oval face with a lightly tanned complexion. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and her face was pimple-free. She had slightly prominent cheekbones and a strong chin. Her facial skin wasn’t exactly thin, but she didn’t have pudgy cheeks or a double chin. Her nose was very average; not unusually broad, narrow, long, nor short. It all added up to a rather cute face. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. But she was pretty damn cute.

She finally broke the silence. “Justjohn, I can’t believe I’ve only known you for two minutes. It feels like I’ve known you my entire life. I was in a dark place before I met you, but now you’ve given my life so much meaning…so much purpose. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. For the last fifteen seconds, in fact. I’ve made my decision. It’s time for you and I to make a baby. Please tell me that you’re ready to make a baby with me, Justjohn.”

“No…I’m not ready. And my name is John, not Justjohn.”

“Well then why did you tell me that your name is Justjohn?”

“I didn’t.”

“John, I’ve always been honest with you…except for that time I told you my name was Jilly-Lilly-Boom-Bang. Except for that, I’ve always been honest with you, and I would expect you to reciprocate by always being honest with me. Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at you. I love you too much. I just washed the sheets on my bed, so let’s make the baby on Whitney’s bed. And timing is everything, John. I want both of us to reach climax at precisely the moment Whitney reenters the room.”

She suddenly stepped away from me. “Good scene, John. Stay right there. I’ve got something to give to you.” She stepped over to her desk, which was only about eight feet away, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

As she did this, I observed that she was short but not petite. She had a full, sturdy figure, and it was immediately obvious she was a workout warrior, because her body was muscular and firm. Her clean-shaven legs were short, but her thick and firm thigh and calf muscles were gorgeous. The best way I could sum up her figure was, if I were assembling a football team composed entirely of females, I would put Jill at tailback.

She then returned to her previous position, once again uncomfortably close to me. “This is for you to read later, John. You can read it after your date with Whitney. I’m going to fold it up and you can put it in your pocket. Or do you want me to put it into your pocket for you?”

“Uh, no, I can put it into my pocket myself.”

She folded it up and handed it to me. I inserted it into my right, front pocket.

“This is our secret, John. Don’t tell Whitney about that paper. Leave it in your pocket until you get home, and then take it out and read it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You promise you won’t tell Whitney about that paper?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I promise.”

“Okay, let’s shake on it.” She offered her right hand, and I shook it with my right hand. She had a firm grip for a woman, but it still felt like I was holding a woman’s small hand.

Why is it sexy to me when I’m holding a woman’s hand that’s a lot smaller than mine? Is that chauvinistic?

After I released her hand, she said, “In fact, let’s spit-shake on it.” Her lips moved back and forth, and I could hear her generating saliva in her mouth. Then she spat the saliva onto her right palm. “Now you spit on your right hand, and we’ll spit-shake.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said. “Let’s not do that.”

“Okay, okay. But you agree not to tell Whitney about the piece of paper in your pocket?”

“I promise I won’t tell her,” I replied.

“Good. Say, John, do you happen to have a Kleenex? I have some spit on my hand that I need to clean off.”

I pulled a folded-up Kleenex from my pocket and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She wiped the spit off of her right palm and held the Kleenex up. “Do you want this back?”

“No. You can keep it.”

“Okay.” She looked down at her body. “I don’t have a pocket to put this in. Hmmm. Oh, I know where I can put it.” She pulled the top of the right cup of her sports bra out away from her chest. I was looking almost straight down at her, and I caught a brief glimpse of her nipple. She inserted the Kleenex into her cup and let it snap back to her chest. “There we go,” she said cheerfully.

With great alarm, I could feel my penis start to stiffen.

And that was when Whitney opened the door and walked back into the room. Looking at us, she frowned. “You two are standing really close to each other.”

I immediately moved laterally to put some distance between Jill and I, and to put Jill in between Whitney and me so that Whitney couldn’t see the bulge in my pants.

Whitney’s frown became more accentuated. “John, your face is beet red. What’d you do, Jill?”

“What are you insinuating, Whitney?” Jill protested. “Friends have to trust each other. You obviously don’t trust me, and that really hurts.” Her tone of voice was more conversational than pained.

Whitney looked at Jill, still frowning, and then she shook her head dismissively. “Alright, let’s go, John.”

As Whitney and I exited dorm room 318, I heard Jill saying, “Hey, there’s a Kleenex in my bra. That’s weird. How did that get in there?”

____________________



“John, I loved Chapter 1. But I’m not looking forward to Chapter 2.

I’m gonna put a bucket between my knees,

in case your date with Whitney makes me lose my cookies.”


Jill


About the author

Daniel S. Smith lives in Wichita, Kansas, and teaches physics and physical science at Hutchinson Community College. Daily observations of the sophomoric humor and quirky behavior of his students provide much of the inspiration for his writing. This is his debut novel. view profile

Published on August 07, 2020

90000 words

Contains explicit content ⚠️

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Reviewed by

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