Summer of 62

`I recently watched a rerun of the movie, 'Summer of 42'.

When it was first released in 1971, I was 27 years old. My memory of seeing it at the Grant Plaza Cineplex is so vivid, I could walk into the theatre today and point out the exact seats we sat in.

I was there with my bride of two years. Sonya glowed in the eighth month of her pregnancy.

The reason it is so firmly etched in my brain is because, 'Hermie', in the movie, was me nine years before. A teenager spending his summer vacation on Nantucket Island, Hermie developed an innocent love for a young war bride who was awaiting news about her husband's fate. My memory roared back to when I was 18.

At home after the movie, my wife asked why I had been so unusually quiet since leaving the cinema.

I decided to tell Sonya about my 'Summer of 62'.

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In early June of 1962, my best friend Jamie and I were hanging out, playing 'HORSE', at the basketball court adjacent to our high school.

Russell arrived in a red Mustang convertible, screeching to a stop beside the court and yelled for us to get in.

To this day, I can't say why we agreed, but we jumped in and Rusty sped off.

Jamie and I were both 18, friends since we learned to ride our first bikes. Russell was 19, and a more recent acquaintance. He had somehow insinuated himself into our friendship.

Rusty smoked and drank beer, cursed like a sailor, and dated several girls, often bragging about the sex he was getting. Despite all that, there was a likable side to him and as far as Jamie and I knew he had never been in trouble with the law. Neither had Jamie or I.

As we sped along beside the lake on Prospect Drive, a siren behind us, changed that in an instant.

Initially, we were all charged with, Grand Theft Auto.

To his credit, Rusty admitted that he had acted alone. Jamie and I were totally exonerated by the law. The same could not be said for my father, who questioned my decision making in the harshest way.

In the final two weeks of June, except for writing my final Grade 12 exams, I was confined to the house. I eagerly anticipated starting my summer job, working with Jamie at his father's road construction company.

That dream bubble was burst by my father on the day my final exam. That night at dinner, he informed me I was leaving for Alberta the next morning.

A university friend and his wife, Dusty, owned a ranch in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, west of Calgary. Geordi Spencer worked in the oil sands of Northern Alberta as a petroleum engineer. His work rotation was 30 days in and 30 days out. Dusty, managed the working cattle ranch on their sprawling property. Marci, their 19 year old daughter, was currently studying animal husbandry at the university in Melbourne, Australia.

My father had arranged for my 'tough love' summer to be filled with all the adversity they could throw at me.

In Calgary, I was met at the airport by a burly denim clad man, wearing dusty cowboy boots and a sweat stained Stetson hat.

Geordi Spenser was an easy going, gregarious man, who spoke slowly with a deep voice.

We began the ninety minute drive to the ranch. My first view of rugged majestic snow capped mountains was almost overwhelming. I was a city raised eastern boy, who had never been west of Manitoba. The immense scale of everything left me feeling insignificant.

Passing through a gate arch of giant Spruce logs with a suspended sign that read SPRING CREEK RANCH AND TIMBER COMPANY, raised my anticipation of arriving at a ranch house at any moment. It was another fifteen minute drive along the dusty gravel road through pasture land and grazing cattle, before we passed a sprawling log bungalow and stopped beside a large barn structure.

Geordi led me though a side door and up narrow stairs. The small room with a single bed and modest ancillary bathroom attached, was to be my quarters. Meals would be taken with the family in the main house.

My introduction to Dusty Spenser came when we she alit from a chestnut quarter horse. She cut an apple into quarters and fed it to Pauncho, while lovingly scratching him behind the ears. Chance, a tricoloured Border Collie, stayed close to Dusty at all times. There was an obvious affectionate bond between the woman, dog and horse.

At dinner that evening, my work responsibilities was explained. Breakfast was at 6:30AM. If I missed that, I could eat the packed lunch provided, anytime, There was nothing else until dinner at 6:30PM. I was expected to help with preparation and cleanup of the evening meals. My time off would be any day that didn't end with a "Y".

Geordi left for the north the next day.

Branding had commenced a few days earlier, and that was to be the main focus until it was completed in about a week.

On my first morning, Frank 'Scar' Scarsdale, the ranch lead hand, was waiting in the corral when Dusty and I arrived from breakfast.

Pauncho had been saddled, waiting for Dusty. A pang of panic hit me when I realized a second saddled quarter horse was to be my mount. The sum total of my riding experience was a two hour trail ride on a tenth grade school trip. I was so stiff and sore afterwards, I couldn't walk normally for two days. I dreaded to think what the next day would feel like this time.

Dusty Spenser had been an imposing figure from the beginning. The part of her personality that had a genuine affection for animals, was not so evident in her dealings with people. Not that she wasn't fair and respectful, but everyone around her was driven hard with an expectation that they exhibit the same dedication she comported herself with. If you did that, you earned her respect.

I had not helped myself in the beginning when I felt I was there as a prisoner and not a ranch hand.

Dusty hung me with the 'Whiney city boy' moniker.

Scar was unsympathetic. When I 'whined' to him about not being respected, he harshly told me to get my shit together. If I was only here to do a half assed job, they would be much better off without me.

That defining moment was when I decided that as long as I was here, I would give it my all.

Dusty made note of my improved attitude, and our relationship changed for the better. I began to view her as a mentor rather than a warden.

Maybe my hard assed old man knew a thing or two about life and parenting after all.

I never saw Dusty happier than the day Marci called to say she was coming home from Australia for a couple of weeks.

A BBQ was planned to celebrate her return and everyone on the ranch was invited and given the day off. Any of Marci's friends who could attend were invited as well. Geordi would be missed.

Dusty typically dressed in her daytime denim outfits while ranching. Later, most often, she wore a full length caftan after showering, before appearing to make dinner.

She was a tall, big boned and muscular woman with tanned leathery skin. Her hair was kept short and she never wore make up, at least not that I had ever seen. I came to think of her as pretty. She had a big smile, showing her white teeth when her full lips parted. I thought her big brown eyes was her most attractive feature.

The night Marci arrived, Dusty appeared in an abbreviated summery dress that buttoned up the front, with several undone. The cleavage between her ample breasts was on full display. I had to move behind a high backed chair to conceal my very obvious erection. It was the moment I admitted to myself that I was smitten. She replaced every other fantasy woman as I masturbated thinking about Dusty at least once a day. She smiled demurely when I looked at her, but I had no doubt, she suspected my infatuation with her.

Too soon, Marci was gone. A week later, as we cleaned up after dinner, she got a call. Her demeanor changed instantly. I was left to wonder what bad news she had just received.

Dusty never cried. Neither did she speak for the rest of that night. I sat close silently and held her hand for the first few hours, trying to find a way to comfort her.

Somewhere close to dawn, still sitting on the sofa, Dusty kissed me. It was soft and gentle. Unhurried, she began to undress me. When I was naked, she slowly removed her long silk caftan, revealing her toned naked body to me.

Unlike her darked tanned face and arms, her usually concealed skin was milky white. I beheld her pendulous breasts, accented by soft protruding pink nipples. I was enthralled by my first look at a woman's naked body, especially her pussy that was covered by neatly trimmed reddish pubic hair.

Dusty took my hands and placed them on her breasts. My hard cock throbbed and leaked some precum, threatening to explode when she gently wrapped her warm hand around my shaft. I hesitantly moved my hand to her pussy. When she opened her legs, I confidently explored her outer lips and inserted a finger into her wet vagina.

Dusty laid back on the sofa, pulling me toward her. She reached down and gently guided my eager cock into her vagina. Everything up to now seemed to be happening as if in slow motion. That was until the moment I felt my oncoming orgasm. Dusty sensed my urgency and increased her rhythm. We came almost simultaneously and held each other close until being overtaken by sleep.

I woke to bright sunshine. Dusty was gone.

Scar told me she that Geordi had been killed in an industrial accident.

Dusty had saddled Pauncho and rode off into the rolling hills, with Chance following behind.

The next and last time I saw Dusty was at Geordi's funeral three days later. Aside from Marci, she did not interact with anyone.

I returned home with my parents.

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When I concluded my story, Sonya went to the closet in our room and returned with an 8 x 10 black and white photo. Handing it to me she said, "This is Dusty, isn't it? i think I always knew."

The picture was a candid photo Marci had taken the day before she went back to Australia. She sent it to me later that year.

The picture captured the moment Dusty and I had dismounted after returning from a tiring day on the range. Pauncho had just chomped the apple that Dusty always gave him before unsaddling him.

In the unposed picture, Dusty was affectionately scratching Pauncho behind his ear. I was looking at Dusty. My adoration of her was not lost on anyone who saw it.

Unknown to me at the time, Sonya reached out to Dusty the next day.

She told her that I had confided in her with all the details of my summer ranch experience. Sonya thanked her for the influence she had been on my life.

Dusty reached out to me a few days later and we reconnected. Over the ensuing years, we stayed in contact, mostly on each others birthday every year from that time forward. We never spoke of the intimate connection we shared, that last night we spent together.

After graduating, Marci returned to assist Dusty with the operation of the ranch. Eventually it would be hers.

Ten days after Sonya first contacted Dusty, our son was born.

Nathan Geordi Wilson was a delightful young man, every parents dream child. He excelled academically and athletically. He associated with a good crowd and caused no problems. That changed when he was 17 and in Grade 12.

I made a career change that required me to relocate our family to Calgary. Nathan rebelled when he left his lifelong friends behind. He fell in with a bad bunch in his new school.

Just after his 18th birthday and only two months before graduation, he was expelled for the rest of the year.

Sonya and I struggled to help get him back on the right path. Late in that sleepless night, Sonya said, "Do you think Marci would take him on for the summer?"

Years later, Nathan was married with an amazing wife and three wonderful children. He and his oldest son had started a business that showed great promise.

Our house was buzzing with conversation and laughter as our traditional Thanksgiving day meal was being prepared.

I went looking for my 17 year old granddaughter and found her in my home office. She was holding the treasured black and white photo, that I now kept prominently displayed on my desk.

"Were you a cowboy just like my daddy, Poppa?"

"I like to think I was for brief time in my life."

Nathan interrupted us, saying, "Hey Pumpkin, Dinner's almost ready. Gramma wants some help setting the table."

"Sure Dad." She set the picture down and hugged me. "I love you Poppa."

"I love you too, Marci."