Teaching Carol, Ch.1
It was dusk, nearly dark. A warm, late-September evening. Carol and I were sitting on top of a picnic table near the reservoir, she in the center, her feet on the bench, and I behind her with my legs on either side of her as I massaged her shoulders. We didn’t know each other that well, but there had been a slow flirtation going on and we had somehow decided to take a walk together and wound up here. She was small and dark—her last name was Spanish-sounding—and her petite figure looked very girlish in what seemed almost like a pre-teen’s white party dress, plus clunky sneakers and knee socks. She certainly didn’t appear to be a particularly sexual person; in fact she seemed rather shy and virginal, in manner as well as dress, and …