Jenny

 

At the beginning of my sophomore year at USC, I was asked to welcome and “sponsor” a new freshman entering the Cinematic Arts Program. Her name was Jenny and she was a prodigy, sixteen years old, and the daughter of a prominent film editor in Hollywood. She had been making movies since she was a mere babe and already had her short films screened in prestigious film festivals.

 

She was also the horniest and most sexually active girl/woman I have ever known.

 

I had not seen her since I moved to Arizona, so I looked her up this week during my visit to SoCal. We met for lunch in Huntington Beach, where the National Surf Championships are being held. We figured we’d watch some surfing in the morning, then chow down at a favorite Mexican restaurant.

 

I agreed to meet her in front of the Huntington Surf Shop, across the street from the pier. I’m not sure what I expected at seeing her again, but when she appeared in a playsuit with a neckline that plunged to her lady bits and short shorts that caressed her little tush just so. I was not surprised. What did surprise me was an outrageously beautiful full-color tattoo of a mermaid that covered her chest and ended below her navel. This was a true, bright work of art, not a sloppy, faded street tattoo from some hole-in-the-wall shop. This was Hollywood perfection, albeit, a beta temporary tattoo that looked the real thing.

“Sparky,” she squealed and hugged and kissed me as if we were long-lost lovers. And, well, that is as good a description of us as any.

 

Arm in arm, we strutted down the pier giggling like we did in college and found a place to watch the surfers compete. With the wind blowing, the surfing commentator on giant speakers, airplanes overhead, and the general crowd noise, we had to lean close, face-to-face to converse. She was wearing her signature fragrance, brown sugar, which somehow fit her fragile 5’1” thin – okay, skinny – frame. The surfing was not great as a storm offshore was causing awkward swells and rip currents were mean.

 

We lasted on the pier for maybe an hour before we made our way down Main Street to one of our favorite eateries, Avila’s El Ranchito. It was Tuesday so the Farmer’s Market was converted into a pedestrian area. Colorful stalls of everything from fresh fruit and produce to E-Bikes lined the curbs. In the center of the market, a three-piece band was playing A Whiter Shade of Pale. Jenny, a far bolder exhibitionist than me, became one with the music and began to dance about in wide graceful moves engaging young and old folk with her seductive smile, turns and twists. Her tiny outfit with her high-top sneakers, I think, made people believe she was part of the act. The band and the crowd liked her. She danced to one more tune, Hotel California, earning vigorous applause from passers-by.

 

At Avila’s we shared a Taco Tuesday plate and happy hour margaritas. We sat side-by-side like we almost always did at USC, so we could tickle and tease each other more easily than we could from across a table. And we did just that. It was like no years had passed at all.

 

Jenny's career is ferociously successful. She followed in her mom's footsteps and pursued film editing working for several of the major studios. She is in high demand cutting features as well as mini-series on the streamers. Like everyone in Hollywood, she has a couple of scripts making the rounds too. Hearing about her adventures tweaked something in my brain, and heart, so now I'm thinking about and longing for being back in the "industry" full time. Hmmmm....

Time passed ever so quickly until the afternoon wore into the evening and we found ourselves walking along the beach at sunset. Jenny had driven all the way from LA, so had the foresight to book a room because she was sure lunch would lead to dinner and dinner would lead to spending the night together. Jenny always was clever.

 

I was not surprised that the room Jenny had reserved had a small, two-person Jacuzzi tub. We were salty all over from being in the sun much of the day and sandy from our walk, so the tub became our first priority. We sank into the hot water, turned up the jets, and took turns washing each other – you know, feeling each other up – all over with shampoo, soap, and smiles. Afterward, we bundled up in big, soft terrycloth robes provided by the hotel.

 

We weren’t very hungry, so we just ordered a pizza for dinner from ZeroZero39 Pizza (when in Huntington Beach, a must). Jenny decided to dash down the street for a bottle of wine, yes wearing the robe, while I called my mom letting her know I wouldn’t be home. This also gave me some time to think about how I felt about seeing Jenny again.

 

Remember, Jenny was just sixteen years old when I was her “sponsor” at USC. I was only nineteen yet had already developed a particular affinity for girls younger than myself. With Jenny’s hyperactive libido and my desire for teens, we were a match made in nubile nirvana. We simply loved loving each other. We weren’t “in love” or a couple or even an “item” to use a term of the day. Between classes, productions, projects, other girlfriends or boyfriends, or other life stuff that kept us busy, when we had time to be together, we played. Oh my, how we played!

 

Remembering Jenny then and how we played, made me laugh out loud, shiver, and get all goose-bumpy. I wallowed in the feeling.

 

There was banging on the door. I noticed Jenny’s room key was on the table by the door, so assumed she had forgotten it because it was too soon for the pizza delivery. I hopped up and dropped my robe to greet her buck naked. Okay, I know, you saw this coming I am sure, but, yes, it was the pizza guy. Honest. It was a true cliché. I’ve greeted pizza delivery guys naked on purpose, on dares, but never by accident. He laughed and told me I was the second one this week. Go figure. 

 

As I said, Jenny is clever. She bought wine with a screw cap because we didn’t have a corkscrew. We munched pizza in our pristine white robes on the little balcony of the room that looked out over the PCH and the beach.

 

It wasn’t long before we were entwined this way and that and head over heels taking advantage of almost every inch of the California King bed. We’d been down this highway before and knew every road sign and bump in the road of each other’s bodies. Jenny kissed me like no other person in the world. Her tongue was magic, with the light touch of a butterfly and the motion of an ocean swell. I remembered it delightfully as she rediscovered me and my body. Her mouth drifted to my breasts where she did a little lick, nibble, and tiny bite thing that has always made me shiver. She used her slender hands and gentle fingers to slide into my curves, crevices, and orifices with remembered practice. After all the years we have been playmates, this seemed, again, like one of the very first times, new and naughty.

 

I found myself remembering a night only a few weeks after we met. We were exploring the merits of female 69 when Jenny asked simply, almost in a little girl voice, “May I put my finger in your butt?” I laughed, completely taken aback, but was amused at the question. “Sure!”

 

I had dabbled in some ass play before but did not become a fan until Jenny made it playful, funny, and fun. And she was only sixteen then. Over the years she refined the art and this night she was more astonishing than ever.

 

Finally, both of us exhausted from the day and over-the-moon orgasms, we were drifting off to sleep when Jenny whispered, “When I finish the editing project I am working on, may I visit you in Tucson?”

 

“Of course, darling.”