I pedaled a local daily newspaper during 1958-60, my last two years of high-school. Every other Saturday afternoon I’d “collect” my route. And I was a horny seventeen year old boy at the time this experience occurred.
Mrs. Smith lived in the two-story yellow house on the corner behind the football field concession stand. Her husband had died five or six years earlier, her sons were grown and gone, and she was alone now. She’d always treated me nicely, and had always paid her newspaper bill on time.