This was Wendy’s favorite part of the job. As Mr. Wheaton got in the car and the interior light sliced through the darkness, Wendy turned and gave him her sweetest smile and said, “Thank you for driving me home.” Mr. Wheaton, who’s first name is really Walt, told her that he was glad to do it. She wanted to call him Walt, but was afraid to. She leaned forward and pulled her shoulders together a little so her smock would have a gap that showed the pink bra she was wearing. She glanced up innocently to see if he would look, but he didn’t. She sighed quietly and sunk back into the bucket seat of the minivan.
She had fantasies about Walt. Even though he was in his early thirties and she had just turned fifteen, she liked the thought of a man holding her. She had been out with boys at school. She had even let one boy get to second base, but he just seemed like a fumbling set of hands that kept saying he was sorry. She told him it was okay, but it didn’t make her feel anything at all.
When she read her Harlequin Romance books the authors described feelings that washed over the women like the ocean on the shore. They described kisses that made women weak in the knees. They described a lot of things that Wendy had never experienced, and she felt like she was missing out on the best parts of being a woman. Wendy had seen all those movies and television shows where the man of the house drives the babysitter home, and then makes a pass at her. She wondered if Walt would ever make a pass at her? Wendy knew that she was pretty, but that didn’t mean a man as old as Mr. Wheaton would look at her in that way.
Wendy knew what sex was, but was still a virgin. She didn’t really want to have sex with Walt, but she thought a long kiss where he held her tight would be nice. Wendy didn’t feel that one kiss would make her a home-wrecker, which she didn’t really want to be. Anna was Walt’s wife, and she was the one who always paid her. Wendy wondered if Anna thought that Walt might give her a little extra as a tip, and she wanted to keep control of the purse strings. It wasn’t that Wendy felt she wasn’t paid enough, she just wondered what Walt would do. Their two sons weren’t that much trouble, so she didn’t mind when they called.
As Wendy was looking out the van window into the darkness, she realized that she hadn’t spoken a word to Mr Wheatly since he got into the car. She was so deep into her fantasy and thoughts, she figured he must think she was brain dead. As she turned to say something, he did the same and his hand brushed across hers. As they both started to talk at the same time and then stopped at the same time, then they broke into laughter. Wendy’s hand was still tingling from the short moment Walt’s had had brushed hers. It seemed so rough and covered with coarse hair, but she didn’t mind.