WARNING. The following contains sexual content that is intended for an adult audience with a sense of humour. These events occurred, to the best of my recollection, sometime during a summer in the early 70s…I think.
May contain nuts.
Now there comes a time in every young man's life when he reaches the natural conclusion of his dry-humping tether. As most of us are well aware, this societally-condoned, alternative to ‘really doing it’ is universally accepted as the primary weapon in the war on teen pregnancy…after abstinence pffft!
Junior High “SEX “can at best be described as a nasty, thankless, business, which, by all accounts, is merely a rudimentary form of mutual masturbation.
Following hours of promissory pleas to love, cherish, and adore his girlfriend until the end of time, a process that can take a young lad weeks, even months to finalise, preparations for the securing of the perfect, parentless, location is essential. This arduous journey could, in theory, zap the ‘magic’ were it not for the testosteronic flooding of the near-dormant, reptilian, brain of a teenage male.
Once the perfect-parentless place has been located and all of the prerequisite promises of the contractually-obligated, never-ending love ‘crapola’ have been fulfilled, it is now time for the curious, young, lovers to explore the exciting, mysterious, world that consumes their lurid machinations.
The road from chaste to chafed may now begin.
It is a regrettable fact that the entire process from start to finish can be measured in nanoseconds. Let's face facts, after all is said and undone, dry-mounting is a roughshod-ride performed with enthusiastic determination but executed at a woodpeckerian pace.
And so it came to pass after having survived this awkward, chafing, stage, I was now enrolled in High School and it was high-time to make the paradigm shifting move to really doin’ it.
My opportunity arose one Summer’s night while partying in a resort-town bar in a neighbouring country. Despite being under the legal age to get laid or drunk in the State of ______ I had little choice but to ignore the statutes.
I was competing with older dudes for the attentions of the scantily clad, OLDER, girls who were old enough to go all the way, I knew that my only option for ‘scoring’ was through the miracle of alcohol.
Not only must I raise the level of my boom-chaka-laka to new heights, it would definitely help if my intended victim of lurve was totally hammered as well.
After several hours of intense oral injections of cheap, Yankee, beer, I was ready.
I lurked about the perimeter of the dance floor looking for the perfect gal who had the ideal combination of being classified 3H: hot, hammered, and horny.
There she was...a vision…and a perfect triple H vision at that!
But she was dancing with an older guy who could grow real sideburns!
I had waited until the last dance and it was now or never. I mustered all of the testosterone and liquid personality available and pumped it into the understaffed PR department of my brain.
I marched over and brazenly stood between her and her startled suitor and yelled in her ear in a nervous, woodpeckerian, cadence…
"HI! YOU ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN HERE AND I WANTED TO ASK YOU SOMETHING WHO DO YOU THINK IS GONNA BE MORE FUN ME OR THAT GUY?"
Her glassy eyes tried to focus on me..yep here I am, over here, the guy in the middle...and she somehow managed to adjust her staggering dance style in order to tip her head in my general direction and pulled me close like it was V Day 1945!
As her head slumped onto my shoulder I was half expecting a sucker punch in the back of my head from her newly redundant suitor. To my utter shock and relief, he simply spun around and continued dancing with the nearest female.
THIS IS HOUSTON CONTROL ALL SYSTEMS ARE GO!
We held each other up for a few moments until the music ended and the lights went up..closing time. Following a brief explanation of my immediate plans to my mates I carefully pored my prize into the vehicle..
my mates could bloody well walk back to the motel.
I slowly drive the vehicle (I know I know but it’s the 70s) into what I believe is a private, secluded, wooded, area nearby. It turns out, of course, that I had plowed though some bushes and stopped about 50 feet behind the bar but whatever.
WE HAVE LIFT OFF!
We zip through the small talk, yada-yada-yada, and it turns out that my intended victim is a 2nd Year University student about 3 years older than I was.
I 'm pretty sure that she had blonde hair.
HUGE BONUS POINTS!
We then fastrack the foreplay, rubba-dub-dub, and furiously removed our clothes just like they do in the movies. I race to tear open the dangerously sharp packaging on the prophylactic…
geeze..you’d think that the manufacturers would be conscious of this bio-hazard?
“WAIT,” she blurts out,
“Is THIS (hic) your first TIME?”
“Pfft no!” I lied.
Obviously unconvinced she speed-uttered,
“Thannnn lat’s make this a (hic) night to ramambur!”
To my astonishment, she began to pleasure me in a manner that I had only read about in the hallowed pages of the Penthouse Forum.
I was getting some you-know..marble gargling.
MORE BONUS POINTS!
Perhaps now I would get my own letter published in Penthouse, just like John Candy did in Splash.
Musical interlude courtesy of that "movie" starring Olivia Newton John Travolta:
“Summer Gummin,’ had me a bla-ast
Summer Gummin’ happened so fa-ast
Met a girl, who went down on meeee”
I sort of remember laying back to savour the moment and gazed up at the stars through the steamed windows.
TODAY I SHALL BECOME A MAN.
The pleasuring continued for at least 10 minutes…maybe 15…
I dunno? It was tantric OK?
I do remember that it eventually dawned on me that I wasn’t, well, really feeling much of anything. What the hell? I didn’t even know that that was even biologically possible?
I can still see, through my thickening beer goggles, the top of the head of the gorgeous OLDER creature.…whose name to this day escapes me..yeah, she was definitely blonde.
Since this is all blurry to me I can only assume that I started to daydream…probably about where my buddies ended up?...and hoping that it’d be hot tomorrow so that I could sleep it off on the beach.
HEL-LO! HEY DUMBASS CONCENTRATE!
Oh no, despite having my manhood meticulously manipulated by an OLDER chick I was losing my mojo.
Wait what was that?
It sounds like..like..snoring?
NO NO NO NOOOOOOO!
The stark realization that my now flaccid friend had nestled beside the lovely face of DESTINY now snoring on my lap, is a moment in time that I shall never EVER forget.
My attempt to reinvigorate her passion while simultaneously summoning a ressur-erection proved futile.
THE SHOW IS OVER.
I learned a valuable lesson that night.
In the matter regarding the intricacies surrounding successful teenage sexual activity we find these inalienable truths to be self evident: There is a delicate, finite, balance between;
A. the amount of alcohol required to muster the initial resolve required to procure a suitable object for self gratification,
B. lowering the inhibitions and standards of your intended victim, in order to penetrate their defenses and
C. somehow retaining the ability to participate and remain moderately cognizant of experiencing the act of frightfulness.
You live and you learn.