Who made YOU Quiver? PrimeCrush columnist Lisa Ellex wants to know. Just whisper it in her ear and your “first-time” story could be the inspiration for her next Quiver column. Anonymity a concern? She'll change your name, location, and any other piece of identifying info, just like they do in the witness protection program. Except you don't have to move. So if you want to Quiver with us, contact lisaellex@gmail.com
Now in her mid-60s, Lenore has been working in the New York City real estate market for over 30 years. At present, she is happily single.
Each summer before my sister, Lydia, and I left for camp, my parents would take us on a week-long family vacation. Never visiting the same place twice made for fond memories of various destinations including the Catskills, Atlantic City, and a very magical Cape Cod. But the summer memory I hold most dear began at a now-defunct resort in the Poconos.
To enjoy their privacy, my parents would book two rooms; one for them and an adjoining room for me and Lydia. Since we did not have a television in the bedroom we shared at home, Lydia would take full advantage of our hotel room TV, surfing all seven of the available channels of the day until the National Anthem played at 2 a.m., signaling the end of broadcasting until morning (yes, kids, until the late 1970s TV was NOT broadcast 24 hours a day!). To this day, my sister recalls those nights as the highlight of her vacation. I recall them as the cause of me sleeping through breakfast. So, after enduring a morning of family horseback riding on a grumbling tummy, I made a beeline for the poolside food concession to order a hotdog and a Coke. And that’s where I first saw Duke. Thin, tan, and muscular, with jet black hair that fell over one eye, the sight of him made me understand the meaning of the word “swoon.”
“What can I get you?” he said with a smile that revealed the most perfect teeth I had ever seen.
“Hi,” was all I could manage to say.
“What can I get you?”
“A Coke… please.” Gobsmacked, I could not manage to get out the words, “and a hotdog.”
Duke handed me a soda.
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking the bottle and turning to walk away.
“That’s 25 cents, please. If you don’t have it now, you can come back later.”
I fished a quarter from my jeans and placed it on the counter, hoping that my face was not red with embarrassment.
Weak in the knees – partially from the site of Duke, partially from not eating – I found a nearby lounge chair that was within sight of the concession stand and sat, nursing my beverage, as I surreptitiously studied Duke. Though I was impressed by how unusually poised, self-assured, and well-mannered he appeared for a teenage boy, his kindness impressed me most of all.
After a while, Duke came from behind the counter and walked into the pool house, emerging with a skimmer. I watched as this jack-of-all-trades finessed any debris from the pool, eventually making his way around the perimeter to where I was sitting.
“It’s a scorcher,” he said, looking my way.
Speechless, I managed a nod.
“Aren’t you hot in those clothes?”
“I just came from horseback riding,” I muttered.
“Who did you ride?”
“Butler.”
Duke smiled. “He’s my favorite.”
“You ride?”
“I work at the stables during the week.”
“You have a lot of jobs.”
“I’m saving up for a car. What’s your name?”
“Lenore.”
“That’s exotic.”
Did he think I was a foreigner? For clarification, I blurted out, “We’re from Brooklyn.”
“Cool. I’m Duke. I’m fifteen. How old are you?”
“I’m fifteen, too.”
“Good, then you’re old enough.”
“For what?”
“There’s an ice cream social in the lodge tonight. Teens only. You should come.”
I was stunned. “Okay,” was all I could muster.
Back in my room, my sister and parents had already changed into their bathing suits and were on their way to have lunch at the pool. I told them I would join them there as soon as I had changed. Once they were gone, I planned my wardrobe for that night, laying out my nicest sundress and my brand new sandals, hoping mom would let me wear her lipstick. For that matter, I hoped she would even let me attend, since Lydia – not yet a teen – was too young to join me.
I arrived at the pool just as Duke was serving lunch to my family. As he walked away he gave me a wink and said, “See you tonight.”
“Do you know that boy?” my mom asked.
“Yes, he served me a Coke before.”
“And you two already have plans?”
I explained about the teen social and held my breath. Thankfully, mom decided that while she and dad went dancing in the hotel ballroom, Lydia would be perfectly happy watching the “movie-of-the-night” in the lodge.
With lipstick on and new sandals pinching my little toes, I headed for the social. I felt out of place, seeing most girls in jeans or shorts, but as soon as Duke spotted me he approached and said, “You look so pretty,” and I felt like I belonged. “Come meet the gang,” he said, taking me by the hand and introducing me to his friends as “Lenore from Brooklyn”. After ice cream, we all made our way to the game room and Duke stayed with me the entire night. When it was time to go, he walked me to my room, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “See you tomorrow.” And that night, in the glow of my sister’s television marathon, I could think of nothing but Duke.
For the rest of the week, I spent all my free evenings with Duke. When the day came to say goodbye, we exchanged addresses and agreed to keep in touch by writing letters. Then, as Duke walked me to our car, he gave me what was my first ever deep kiss.
For the entire ride home, I held tight to the piece of paper with Duke’s address. By the time we got to Brooklyn, the writing was smudged from my sweaty palms and a few fallen tears. I wrote to him that very night, mailed the letter in the morning, and checked the mail every day for a letter from him. A week letter, one arrived. Another came the week after that, and the week after that, and every week for the remainder of the semester. He wrote about school, work, his plans for the future, his parents, his siblings, his weekend job, his dog, and even sent pages from auto magazines on the cars he would like to buy. The letter I cherish most was the first time he wrote how much he missed me and signed off, “S.W.A.K.” Wanting to feel his lips on mine, I actually pressed the paper to my mouth and closed my eyes, only to have the moment interrupted by my sister entering our room. “Another letter from the boy?” she asked. Embarrassed, I nodded and went to hide in the bathroom, which is where I read every letter that arrived from that point on. I would read each one over and over, always keeping the newest letter under my pillow and the previous letters in a shoebox under my bed. With each letter that arrived, I fell more and more in love with Duke.
That spring, Duke wrote with the news that he had found the perfect car: a black 1965 Ford Mustang purchased from a neighbor who was moving to a big city where he’d have no use for a vehicle. Then, he asked if I would mind if he took a ride to Brooklyn to celebrate my 16th birthday with me. Would I mind?! I wrote back telling Duke that I could not imagine a better birthday present.
On the morning of my birthday, I watched from the window as Duke pulled into our driveway, hopped out of his Mustang and made his way to my door. I thought my heart would pound right out of my chest. His hair was longer and he even appeared taller and broader than he did in the summer. After all, he had turned sixteen-years-old over the winter and was now a licensed driver! Ever the gentleman, Duke reintroduced himself to my parents, and we were off in his black Mustang for a day in Coney Island.
It was a thrill to have Duke on my turf now and show him what we do for fun in Brooklyn. We parked the Mustang and went on several of the rides, saving the infamous Cyclone for last. After playing a few carnival games, Duke won me a Teddy bear with googly eyes. We ate cotton candy and Nathan’s hotdogs, and I confessed to Duke about the day we met when I was so nervous to talk to him that I forgot to order a hotdog. He laughed, put his arm around me and, with the googly-eyed Teddy bear in tow, we strolled the boardwalk for hours, never once letting go of each other. It was euphoric. But my euphoria subsided when I heard Duke say, “My mom wants me home by dark since I’m a new driver. I really should be getting on the road.” So, with my head on Duke’s shoulder, we rode all the way home in silence, sombered by the reality of soon being apart.
Pulling into my driveway, I could feel the tears coming to my eyes as Lydia ran out to greet us. “There’s a barbeque in the backyard! And mom made you a birthday cake with sixteen candles; one for each year and one for good luck. Come on!”
Duke walked me inside and said goodbye to my parents. “Can’t you stay for dinner?” my mother asked. Duke explained his curfew. “If your mom will let you stay, I can make up the den for you. Why don’t you give her a call.” And that night, by some sort of Sweet Sixteen miracle, Duke was eating birthday cake with us.
I couldn't sleep a wink, knowing Duke would be gone first thing in the morning to get to work on time. So, just before dawn, I made my way downstairs to say goodbye and found him, already awake, closing up the sofa bed and folding the bedding my mom had given him.
Duke looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I just came to say goodbye,” I whispered.
Duke hugged me tight. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“I know,” I said, pressing my cheek to his. We kissed. The kiss lingered. And lingered. And I was feeling things I had never felt before. I was numb yet feeling every sensation ten-fold. Though there was no time or space, I felt everything moving so fast and in slow motion at the same time. Suddenly, I was perched on the edge of my mother’s brand new Castro Convertible sofa, with my nightgown up, my panties down, and my legs open, Duke knelt before me and, very slowly and gently, entered me. I came almost instantly and Duke withdrew and zipped up his pants. Confused, I whispered, “Why did you stop?”
“I can’t be late. And we can’t get caught. I love you, Lenore from Brooklyn. Happy birthday.” And he was gone.
I crawled back into my bed and, just as the sun came peeping through the blinds, I fell into a deep, delicious sleep, clutching tightly to the Teddy bear with the googly eyes.
The Crush Letter
The Crush Letter is a weekly newsletter from Dish Stanley curating articles & intelligence on everything love & connection - friendship, romance, self-love, sex. If you’d like to take a look at some of our best stories go to Read Us. Want the Dish?
