I couldn’t have predicted what was to happen, there was no warning. My two friends, Bob and Anna, had introduced me to Nancy and Sandy the previous week while I was helping to make some bookcases. They were pretty, but didn’t impress.
Nancy surprised me with her call, asking to come over so we could make candles after I finished my evening work. I baked bread at the time, you see, so I could pay for those little extras that made a college education fulfilling, like dope and gas money. I’d bake 100 or so loaves a night while studying. Making bread involves a lot of waiting around for yeast to rise. I think sex is a little like that, too, except for the waiting. Nancy’s call was a surprise because I didn’t think she was any more impressed with me than I was with her and her friend. But what the hell, the approach was unique and, besides, I figured candlemaking might be fun.
Does this sound corny to you, my friend? I mean it’s twenty years later, the times are different and we don’t do those things anymore but, really, nobody’d think it wierd to have two girls over to make candles twenty years ago. Now it sounds like a ridiculous come on. Then, it was normal. When I mentioned to some of folks that Bob and Anna’s friends were coming to make candles tonight, nobody blinked, nobody got sarcastic, nobody cared. It was normal.
They showed up at nine, Nancy in jeans and a check shirt, Sandy in virgin polyester. They took over the front room and started cooking paraffin, taking out boxes of equipment, dyes and things. I quickly realized I had no interest whatsoever in paraffin, dyes or candles. Nancy, on the other hand, was more and more intriguing. Somehow, our bodies made contact a little more often than statistics would predict. Her tits would brush, accidentally, on my arm as she turned. She backed her ass against me as I was pretending to be interested in melting candlewax, and then did it again, without arousing Sandy’s suspicion as far as I could see.