She knew what she was going to do in life before she was 12 yrs old.
In grammar school, we would meet her in the back of some abandoned houses and wait for her to treat us with a peek under her dress.
During the school day, the news would travel around the playground that Mary Jane Mabus was going to show her pussy to anyone interested in seeing it.
The odd thing about it was that it never became common knowledge like an after-school fight where a good-sized crowd would show up to root for one or the other opponent.
For Mary Jane it seemed that only a select group of pre-teen boys would get wind of the event, never any girls (or if they did, decided not to show).
Teachers were never the wiser either.
She was a loner with eyes black as coal and hair to match.
And she never smiled.
She had a witchy look and a wild gaze in her eyes that some said reminded them of Charlie Manson.
Another odd thing about her is that she always seemed to be barefooted when she wasn’t in school.
She was as mysterious as blue smoke and two-headed snakes.
No one ever knew her to have any friends, male or female.
She was always by herself.
If you were to run into her by chance on some breezy night, she would appear in a sleeveless summer dress, barefoot and alone, glance at you, and then slide into the shadows like a strange silent specter.
But on those occasions when she was due to exhibit herself, the group gathered would watch her silently with nervous anticipation reserved for vampires and space aliens that haunted boyhood dreams after Saturday afternoon matinees.
Mary Jane would stand and look at them with her coal black eyes and she would take the hem of her dress (without fanfare or tease) and lift it above her belly button and stand there, straight-faced staring at her astounded audience.
She wore no underwear.
Her legs were long and lean, and she was hairless in that most desirous area of her young anatomy where all male eyes were riveted.
They would stare, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in a stupefied juvenile trance.
When the exhibition was over, the dress would drop like a theater curtain announcing the end of the show and she would walk away on bare feet leaving the group stunned with a headful of lewd musings.
Half a dozen years later, one of the first topless bars to open in the area was the Cherry Patch, and one of the first girls to grace the stage in that lauded establishment was Mary Jane Mabus, looking wild as ever with a painted face and a body that had filled out beautifully over the ensuing years.
She had an ample allure that still dropped jaws and left men no longer boys with lustful fantasies playing in their minds like lecherous demons searching for a good time as she moved, gyrated and entranced, dancing gracefully with sensuous rhythm around a tall, silver pole.