Back in the Day

“Wyler?" Jillian said, "I don’t think I know that name.”

“I’m not surprised," Mitch said. "While you were at Shimmel Elementary in the fifth grade, I was at Webster.”

“You were feeling butts way back then?”

Mitch grinned. “Yep! There was no shame in my game!”

“I guess not.”

“Anyway, the Wylers came from Detroit. What an incredible bunch they were! A magician with string, old man Wyler could make a variety of farm animals appear with a twist of his hands. Mrs. Wyler cooked so good she made you wanna go home and slap your mom! Carl, the oldest boy could outrun everyone on the south side of town. Bo, the youngest boy could roller-skate better than anyone I knew. Peanut Butter—her real name was Estella Ann—was the only girl, and she was fine as fine can be. Like everyone else in our neighborhood, I couldn’t wait for the day when I got the chance to squeeze her big, juicy behind.” Mitch shook his head slowly. “I must’ve been crazy.”

“Why? What happened?”

“One Easter morning before Sunday school, a pigeon pooped on Peanut Butter’s blouse as she standing in front of my house on Daisy Street. Screaming like a banshee, she picked up a rock, and knocked the daggone bird out of the sky.”

“No way!”

“Yes way! I should’ve realized then that feeling her butt could only mean trouble.”

Jillian smiled with her eyes. “You did it anyway, I bet.”

Mitch nodded. “Using my friends to run interference for me, as soon as I gave her butt a really good squeeze, I took off. I knew she was gonna throw the first thing she got her hands on, so I zigzagged all over the place, putting as much distance between us as I could. Once I was certain I was far enough away, I looked back and watched her throw that rock. At first, I laughed. Then I saw it coming straight toward me. I ran, of course, what good it did me. No matter which way I turned, that damned rock followed me like a heat-seeking missile. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground with a huge knot on the back of my head.”

Jillian cracked up. “Serves you right!”

“Did this discourage any future attempts to grab her butt? Heck no! Most of the time my friends and I said ‘to hell with the list!’ So what if one of us happened to get an eyeball knocked out? That was the price we paid for our pleasure. Look at it this way, if Peanut Butter was the kind of girl that giggled after being felt up, there was a good chance she was doin’ it!”

“Unless she liked getting felt up,” Jillian posed. “I knew girls who would tease boys to the point where they would almost rape them.”

“That,” Mitch said, holding up a slender index finger, “is why our opportunities were so limited. Teasers were the jokers in our game. Since rape was clearly out of the question, I ended up with my fair share of lumps trying to find out which girl was willing to put out. The bad girls, those with a reputation for giving it up out of both drawer legs, I went after most often. Since the good girls were always my ultimate goal, in addition to being clawed, bitten, and knocked out, I was once kicked in the groin so hard I had to do a foot search for one of my gonads. Naturally, as time went on I was able to develop a sixth sense about whose butt I should feel.”

“Naturally,” Jillian laughed, wiping her eyes with her fingers.