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My home town, which I affectionately refer to as Yuppyville, was still, small enough where everybody knew your business but was growing rapidly with an influx of high dollar, white collar folk getting away from the city. My family had been there for a while, we were working class. So while most of my classmates were still somewhere warm spending their daddy's money, I was getting in as many hours as I could so I could afford to go on to college in the fall. Ever my father's son, I was strong as on ox and worked tirelessly, without complaint. I had been 6'2" since my freshman year and I had filled out to a solid 218 pounds in preparation of playing football on a partial scholarship. My size, well known work ethic, and the fact that I was 18, allowed me to get a part time job where I was making good money doing finish construction.

It was on the job that I met Julie early on the last Saturday of spring-break my senior year. The crew was still franticly completing final clean up of the new ½ million dollar house when the moving van rolled up followed immediately by the family's car. My blue-eyed, blond haired, mid-west, All-American self had the glamorous task of scrubbing down the basement steps. My boss quickly went out to smooth over with the new owners, the fact that we were not quite done. During which time their daughter decided to give herself a quick tour of the house, alone. I barely glanced up, not pausing in my work, when she broke the threshold of the basement. We gave each other a quick "hi" and she just stopped and watched me as I scrubbed drywall mud from the steps. After about 15 seconds she proclaimed, in a sexy Tennessee ...

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