Her name was Mrs. Methuselah and she was 127 years old -- she was our very first and very sweet landlord. She had that white hair that is a sometimes considered a crown of glory. She lived in a little white house with an apartment above her. Covered with a rippled metal roof, there was a flight of 21 long, slightly wobbled, wooden steps that ran along the outside of the house that led up to what Storm and I refer to as The Love Shack. Our humble abode was stationed about 150 feet from the train tracks. Every locomotive that thundered past for 5 years used to rattle the windows, the dishes, and our teeth while it shook the poop out of us at the same time. (At least we were "regular" back then. Maybe we should move back now that we're old. Although if we managed to make it up those stairs, we might not make it back down.)
Our rent contract was handwritten in slanted cursive writing as wobbly as those stairs by Mrs. Methuselah and it was taped to the inside of the crawl space door in the apartment. One of the few rules was "No live ins." Really? We can barely fit in here, who do you think is moving in with us? (Storms' sister for 6 weeks without an invitation is who. His parents called the night before from 3 states over to tell us she was coming to stay with us for 6 weeks.) More rules in the hand scripted writing -- "No wild parties." Oh shoot, we're wild, so this is a deal breaker. Not. The wildest party I ever had was my bachelorette party which took place in my childhood home with both my mother, who bought me a nice safe robe, and my mother-in-law in attendance. But, thank God she had the good sense to buy me my favorite perfume as my present instead of some skimpy nightie. I could just imagine putting that on and having Storm getting turned on as he is complimenting me on my little outfit and I would say, "Thanks, your mom got it for me." Total buzz kill. Storm's bachelor party wasn't much better, but at least he had a cake made of giant boobs and I know this because I ordered it. Speaking of boobs, whenever I would go downstairs to visit or give her the rent check, little Mrs. Methuselah almost always had some form of food on the front of her shirt...... a dab of mustard......mayo.... toast crumbs.... cute things like that which proved she was using her chest as her plate sometimes while she was watching television and I don't blame her one bit as I sometimes do the same. Also, she always used the term "Extry" instead of "Extra". Storm and I still say that to this day. "Is that gonna cost extry?
We made love in the car in the apartment's detached garage once. It was also the first time a very specific sexy word was said during sex. Neither of us had ever even said that word outside of sex. So when it was said ........ holy smokes........ we both exploded soon after. It helped that I had on panties that you know...... weren't really panties.... but I hate saying this particular word ....... so I will just say I may as well have not been wearing any panties at all. Got it? I whispered in Storm's ear halfway through the banquet dinner we were attending earlier that evening that I was wearing them and he took me out to the parking lot in the middle of dinner so he could see them! I just now told him that I am working our story for a post and I asked him, "Do you remember anything about the apartment we used to live in? " He responded immediately, "I remember knockin' boots in the driveway when you were wearing those crotch-less pantyhose. I remember that. Does that help?" And there you have it folks -- exactly what I was trying not to say, but since Storm said it, here it is from the HOH himself. And, yes, we were very young and still newlyweds, but we've never been a more-than-once-in-a-row type couple. (Maybe because it is so good the first time? <<grin>) Well......pffft..... 20 minutes later after the car and up to The Love Shack..... there we went again. Woot! Woot! Just like that train that just blazed by us.
Storm has just given me some suggestions to use instead of the word he used up there: "Easy access panties, the kind with a southern breeze, and panties with plenty of air conditioning down under....." This man really needs his own blog. (Whispers, "Go get him, Meredith!") I honestly think I might be earning about five swats for posting this, but it is too funny to pass up, and I'm willing to take one (or five) for the TTWD team.
"If you remember anything else about the apartment, let me know because I am working on a post." Storm, "Like having sex to Kenny G music.... does that count?" OH.MY.GOSH. Neither of us could keep a straight face if we tried that again today. No way, Jose. Gol, we were so vanilla (not that there is anything wrong with that) ........ until ....... The Love Shack is also where our first erotic spanking took place. Without any discussion that I can remember, I just handed the ping pong paddle to him and then I climbed back on top of him. And at one point, I may have whispered, "Harder." ....... Okay, I know I did.
The last interesting thing that Storm remembered was, "Scooping off a comatose opossum playing opossum at the top of those covered stairs." We mostly did not leave that little porch light on at night because of the bugs and mosquitoes that loved it up there and coveted our blood as we would be unlocking the door and trying to get in. So I stayed well clear of it all and waited at the bottom of the steps, yelling up every 30 seconds to make sure Storm was still alive and that he had not been eaten alive by a Yeti up there in the dark night.
Years after buying our first home, we'd drive by the white house with The Love Shack upstairs where Mrs. Methuselah no longer resides because she lives in The Big Upstairs in the Sky now........and Storm would say, "Yep, there's where the magic happened." Except now it happens here, too.