My First Dear Penthouse Moment in Life
I was 19 years old. It was the late 90’s. My father was in the hospital dying from a brain tumor. My Mom was there with him. It was a weekday.
I had dropped out of junior college and was home alone engaged in one of my favorite activities, sleeping. When all of a sudden, the door bell rang.
That was unexpected. The doorbell rang once more before I could put on enough clothes to properly answer it.
I opened the door to find a girl. She looked a few years older than me with long brown hair in a Rachel cut with a chunk of hair bleached because it was the 90’s, piercing blue eyes, with freckles and a tan.
Probably not what you’d call beautiful but sexy. Taller than me by a couple of inches, a little too thin, slightly crooked teeth, but those legs. Long lean but the best part is always what’s between them.
She said “Hi!” I said “Hi..” Then she starts with compliments segueing into questions. Things like “Nice house! How long have you been here? Seems like a nice neighborhood.”
Hot chicks don’t just knock on your door to talk about the weather. I interrupted her and said, “So… What are you selling? ”
She blushed and asked how I knew she was selling something.
“Asking questions about the things that I own that I am likely proud to have bought. But this is my parents place. Since you aren’t carrying any product or even a purse and you don’t have it on you. I’d guess you were selling magazines. “
She was indeed selling magazines door to door. I invite her in to show me what magazines she had.
As I was looking over the list she leaned closer and asked about the stickers on the back windows of my Oldsmobile Bravada.
I think I had a JNCO sticker and an Adidas sticker because it was the 90’s. It meant I wore big ugly weirdly cut jeans but when I wasn’t wearing them I wore track pants. Break away track pants, in…