I was always known as the party girl. My name is Lisa, but nobody ever called me by that name. A lot of people called me Mikey because I’d fuck anybody, you know like the old cereal commercial? I guess I just dated myself, referring to a commercial from the 1970’s. That was my decade I guess, when I came of age. I believe age is a matter of perception, and ironically the name most men call me is Baby, as in “Hey Baby” or “Oh, Baby”. I’m the girl your mother warned you about. This is my story.
I grew up in far northern Maine in a small logging town. The only things to do up there are either join 4-H or party. Let’s just say that I never did take a lamb to the county fair. In the summer of 1976, I turned eighteen years old and I was more than ready to move on from the frozen north country.
My best friend Amy was going off to college and she invited me to go to orientation week with her and help her move into her dorm room. She didn’t have to ask me twice. I packed a duffle bag I stole from my brother, left my parents a note and we were gone, headed for the city and what ever it held for us. I didn’t really have a plan, I just had to get out of town or I knew I might never leave it. I had no intention of waiting tables or marrying a log pusher, so I knew it was it was time to choose. I was never any good in school and I knew my only asset was my body. I decided to head south and figure it out as I went along.
Amy was busy with her orientation and I didn’t see much of her that week. We went to several mixers and I was very pleased to see that the college boys were just as interested in me as the log pushers had always been. With my long blonde hair, blue eyes and a nice pair of breasts on my five foot six inch body I could easily get their attention, and I just loved getting attention.
It never ceased to amaze me how much you can get by just showing off a little cleavage and inner thigh. I made a point of wearing loose fitting sun dresses. Remember those, that were cut low in the front and high on the side. I never wore anything under the dresses, and if I wanted to I could easily give a guy a nice clear shot of any part of my body. I just loved the thrill of flashing my breasts, but the most fun was to find ways to show the Full Monty, or as we said back then, the Beaver Shot. I became very good at the “accidental” peek. Bar stools were the best place, and after a few days I found a nice little pub were I could go and drink all night without spending a dime. It was the most fun I had had in years, and I was really enjoying the freedom of acting like an adult for the first time in my life.
Much to quickly, the week passed and I found myself packing my little bag. It was a Sunday morning and school was set to begin in the morning. I had about seventy five dollars to my name and I had to decide if I should spend it on a hotel or a bus ticket. Neither choice offered much hope. I said my good bye to Amy, wished her well and started my walk across campus to the bus station.
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