I remember seeing her for the first time like it was yesterday. “Gorgeous,” I responded, to my dad saying, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” And she was. Brown eyes, curly brown shoulder-length hair. Skinny noodle arms, jeans tight around her legs and ass. Big boobs but they appeared perky under a snug sky-blue shirt and white tanktop. Stacy. Her name was Stacy.

And I had an in. She worked a data entry job at the company my dad works for. Just a part time gig for her for a few hours after high school every day. But they knew each other by name, as he’d seen her in the office in the afternoons sometimes. I had never met her before and dad had no idea that she would be here, at the University of Iowa freshman orientation.

I said “Gorgeous,” as she was walking away. I had just gotten introduced to her. Moments earlier when she spotted my dad she said, “Mr. King!” as she walked briskly over to us. But now she was walking away.

When I got home from orientation I logged onto my U of I email and looked her up. Sent her a little follow-up note. She replied with her phone number and said to say hey in two months when we move into the dorms and start our freshman year.