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It was the summer of '69. I was fresh out of college with a completely useless diploma in a major that had zero job prospects without a Master's degree. The amount of partying I did in college ensured that my grades would not get me into any kind of grad school, not that I had the self-discipline to do the work anyway.

Knee injuries from drunken college foolishness kept me out of the military. I moved back into my parents' basement and found a proofreading job at a printing company. Second-shift was fine. I'm not a morning person.

Neither was Loni. She started working there soon after I did. She was a typist, transcribing manuscript into primitive computer files on cassette tapes. When a typist finished a document, she would print it out, put it in a folder with the original manuscript, and bring to the proofreaders.

Loni was gorgeous. Fred, an older guy I worked with, caught me watching her ass one evening.

"Go for it, kid," he said. "You're close enough to her age. She's legal."

"Who is she?" I asked

...

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