Brenda was well known for using guys to go to parties with or get her booze, and then dumping them as quickly as she met them. Her favorite pastime seemed to be skinny-dipping during any party at a nearby lake, or even at backyard pools. There were even stories – with enough backup information so that I believed them – that two guys even falsely admitted to petty theft and joy riding that Brenda had actually perpetrated so as to endear themselves to her. She probably thanked each of them with a blow job – not proven but believed – and then dumped them – that part true. She was probably able to get away with her antics only because she was a fox – and physically mature for her age. She was most hetero teenage guys’ wet dream.
For some reason Brenda took a liking to me. I actually think that it was because I came across her and one of her dates – both drunk – on a side street in town one evening. From their yelling it appears that after she had emotionally abused the guy he started to get rough with her. I’m normally the type to mind my own business, but when I saw him push her to the ground and then raise his fist I had to intervene. The guy was supposedly some big man on campus football player who outweighed me by forty pounds but given the fact that he was drunk and I had a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu he really, really, got the worst of it. I called Brenda’s stepmom Michele and related the situation to her. That was the first time I met Michele – when she came to pick Brenda up while she was still in a drunken stupor. Stepmom Michele was apologetic and very grateful. I called 911 to have someone pick up the unconscious football player, but smartly left the scene before anyone arrived.
I honestly thought that Brenda’s stepmom Michele was her older sister; she was cute, although somewhat overweight and without the best skin tone or musculature.
After a victorious home baseball game the next weekend – where I had my best day ever at the plate, going three for five with two doubles and a triple – Brenda came up to me in the parking lot. “You’re Scott Davis, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Uh…yeah,” I deadpanned.
“I guess you know that I’m Brenda Jenkins since you called Michele to pick me up last weekend; I never got a chance to thank you for saving me from that cretin. Can I treat you to a beer?”
“Sorry, Brenda, but I don’t drink, smoke weed, joyride, commit petty theft, go to wild parties, skinny-dip, or do any of the things that rumor has it you like to do, but thanks anyway,” I replied with a smile as I lugged my bat bag into the trunk of my car.
Brenda chased after me. It was apparent that she had never been turned down by a guy before for anything. “Ok – so you’re a straight arrow; I can still thank you, can’t I? How about a milkshake at Thompson’s ice cream shop?”
Did I mention that Brenda was any teenage guy’s wet dream? That was when she was dressed in a skirt and blouse without makeup. In the short-shorts and tank top that she had on that day, and the perfectly applied lipstick and eye-liner, she was whatever there is beyond a wet dream – maybe a siren.