Archive for October, 2009

Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 3

October 30, 2009

Not very much happened the next day.  The girls and I were just about walked out so there was no real attraction towards trekking around the fair again yet another day.  We put on our swim suits, loaded up a bag full of the usual beach stuff: oil, sunscreen, a small transistor radio, and other items and headed down to the beach.

I call it a beach, but the sand was carted in from the North Sea and was pretty coarse; not enough to cause severe discomfort, but certainly nothing like I was used to in Delaware where we used to go during summer vacation.  If you didn’t have a fairly thick blanket, the stones would make you rather uncomfortable if you sat on one.  After clearing out the bigger ones, we set the blanket and sat.

My eye wandered across Arianne’s amber body in the near foreground which was certainly a sight until I focused on a more distant object – a small boat.  When I sat up quickly, Colombe asked me what I had seen.  I told her that there were small boats on the lake and maybe we could find where they were renting them.  They both thought that was a great idea so we packed up again and walked towards the edge of the beach.

We came across what appeared to be a small marina with different two and four-person watercraft.  Most of them were swan pedal boats, or otherwise foot-powered.  The guy did have quite a few simple rowboats, which were much cheaper.  We dickered over the pricing and finally rented a rowboat for three hours.  We dropped our gear into the bottom, stepped in, and paddled off.

I manned the oars first and took us to the middle of the lake.  There was a small, grass covered, island in the middle which looked like a nice place to visit so I made for that.  There were several other boats tied up or anchored near the shore of the island so we certainly wouldn’t be alone.  I stepped out and helped the girls ashore.  I moved to take out stuff, but Adrianne told me that it was unlikely to be stolen so I just took the radio.

It only took about 15 minutes to walk completely around the island and, since there wasn’t anything to see really, we loaded back up again and headed out into the lake.  This time, Adrianne and Colombe each had an oar.  They had a heck of a time coordinating their strokes though and much splashing, muttering, and jocularity ensued as we wove our way to and fro across the surface.  Colombe prepared to take a deeper stroke but the oar came out of the water and, since there was no resistance, flew out of her hand, jumped out of the oarlock and landed in the lake.  Her first reaction as well as Adrianne’s, was to lunge for the lost oar.  I shouted “No!” just as the both of them leaned way out over the side.  Gravity took over and we capsized immediately.  Adrianne managed to get “oh, merde!” out just as she went under.

The lake turned out to be only about four feet deep but it was enough to thoroughly soak all three of us.  Not only were we wet, but our little canvas bag got tossed over the side too and that held our identification, cash, and other papers.  I managed to flip the boat back over and leaned on the transom enough to spill most of the water back out. There was a tethered can under one seat so I helped the two girls in and hopped back in myself.  We were laughing so hard we could hardly speak as we bailed the rest of the water out.

Adrianne pulled out our ID’s and found that they were still dry.  The bag hadn’t been in the water long enough to soak trough.  That was good news indeed.  We spent some time squeezing out wet clothes and laying them on the seats to dry. I tried the radio, but it wouldn’t work.  I hoped that when it dried it would work again.  It was cheap, but had fairly good sound.

In a short while, Gus paddled up to us in a swan boat and asked Adrianne if she wanted to ride with him.  There was a short conversation with Colombe during which the both of them began gesturing.  Since it was in very rapid French I didn’t have a clue, but I had a feeling Gus and I were involved in the exchange.  Finally, they both said “OK” to each other and Adrianne pulled her stuff out of the bag, hopped over to Gus’s boat and they pulled away.

I asked Colombe what that was all about but she wouldn’t say other than that her sister was being ‘difficult’.  I wondered what that meant.  Later, she finally told me that Adrianne wasn’t very fond of Gus and that she really wanted to be with Colombe and me.  I had to keep asking why until she told me that Adrianne wanted to ‘be intimate’ with the two of us and that she didn’t want to share.

Well, this was a new twist I thought to myself.  How the heck did I get so lucky here?  I wasn’t what you would call particularly handsome so it must be that I was just available.  Colombe’s first response to our lovemaking made that pretty clear so maybe that was the reason.  In any case, I told Colombe that I was happy just being with her and if her sister wanted to be with us I didn’t mind.  Oh, that wasn’t a really good thing to say as she got a bit frosty and splashed bilge water at me with her foot.  So I hastened to add that she alone was better.  This brought a smile.

Our time ran out as we neared the marina so I steered us to the dock and we unloaded.  Colombe asked what to do now and I answered that I hadn’t a clue but I would go along with whatever she wanted.  She wanted to go back to camp and have a sandwich so we walked back to the tent.  We rooted around enough to come up with a loaf of French bread, a can of meat spread, some butter, and a jar of German mustard.  I made the sandwiches while Colombe went into the tent to change out of her damp clothes.  I went over into my tent and did the same.

Colombe wasn’t back by the time I returned to the table.  She must be taking her time I thought until I heard her call my name softly.  With a grin of anticipation I pulled the flap open and went into her tent.  She had the flap to her room closed too so I asked if she was decent.  She assured me she was decent so I opened the flap.

Holy cow!  She certainly was decent – and her sister as well.  Both Adrianne and Colombe were lying on the sleeping bag completely nude.  Adrianne giggled at my expression and motioned for me to lie between them.  Before I did that however, she wanted me to strip.  Never before in the annals of teenage lust had anyone taken their clothes off faster.  Nude also, I dropped facedown between them.  They both reached over and began massaging my shoulders and back.

Chattering among themselves they continued across my buttocks and down each leg.  I reached out for Adrianne’s breast, but she moved deftly away with a laugh.  She explained that this was to be for me, not them.  By now, I was drilling a hole into the sleeping bag so when they wanted me to turn over I balked.  I shook my head a couple of times while they tried again to get me to turn over.  Finally, Adrianne moved close enough to lift my shoulder enough to lever me over.  Colombe said “magnifique, n’est-ce pas?” and Adrianne agreed.  They chattered a little more and then they both started getting serious.  Adrianne moved closer to my head which afforded me access to her breasts while Colombe moved downward.  As I worked on Adrianne, Colombe worked on me.  Adrianne reached out and started bringing Colombe’s nipples to attention.  Soon, nothing was heard but heavy breathing as we continued stroking each other.

At some point, Adrianne had swapped with Colombe and she was attending to my erection while I began stroking them both.  Breath rate increased almost immediately.  When both of them started stroking me I lost control and began shooting all over their hands and my stomach.  When I wound down, they began working on each other.  Colombe went off first, followed closely by Adrianne.  It seemed to go on forever but finally they broke apart.  I was still sandwiched between them; and mostly breathless from the experience.

I had been right in the middle of their lovemaking and was still replaying the scene in my head as they began dressing.  I recovered my clothes and put them on also.  I thought to myself that if I lived through this trip I was really going to have some tales to tell – but, then again, who would believe them.  I certainly didn’t need my girlfriend, Virginia, hearing about my escapades so I became determined to never mention them to anyone.

The three of us were sitting at the table drinking sodas when our parents got back and asked us if we had fun all day.  All I could say was “yes”.  My mom looked steadily at me a moment and then nodded her head as if she understood.  What I didn’t know until I looked was that I had a small bite mark low on my shoulder that wasn’t quite hidden by my tee shirt sleeve.  “Oh, man” I thought, “She’s got me.”

That evening, after dinner, all seven of us just sat in camp and talked about all sorts of things.  I was between Adrianne and Colombe but I minded my manners and didn’t even try to hold either one’s hand.  I was going to be a good boy especially with my mom on my case.  I had a feeling she wouldn’t let any of us out of her sight tomorrow.  I was right.




Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 2

October 27, 2009

I slept fitfully that night as I relived our evening and awoke almost as tired as when I went to sleep.  I was the first one out of the tent, followed by my parents.  Shortly after we got the coffee going, Colombe and Arianne came out.  Arianne caught my eye as she smiled and winked once slowly.  Colombe had surely confided in her what happened last night.  I smiled back.  I’m not sure, but I think my mom caught the exchange because there was a thoughtful look on her face.

My parents and the girl’s parents decided to join forces and we had a lot planned today so around nine we got started towards the fairgrounds.  After spending a fortune to park in the lot, we all walked directly to the Atomium.  This was (and still is, decades later) a huge model of an iron crystal magnified something like 160 billion times.  This, it was stated, is where we would meet again in the afternoon.  With that, we split up.

Arianne, Colombe and I wandered around through the various country pavilions until our feet began to hurt.  There was some small ‘bus trains’ with seats on them, but you were supposed to put money into the seat barrier in order to raise it and sit.  Granted that one Belgian Franc wasn’t a lot of money, but to do this every time you wanted to ride really took a lot of change.  We only did this a couple of times until Arianne spotted a open air restaurant with a table open.  We zoomed over to it and aced out another couple by arriving first.  This table, we determined, we would keep all day if necessary.  We would take turns holding it down.

Arianne, who was wearing new shoes, pulled them off and tended to a couple of blisters while she shooed Colombe and I away.  We took the hint and vanished towards the German building.  When I asked one of the attendants where I could get a couple of sodas she asked me where in the Rhineland I was from.  This made me feel really good so I told her I was from Stadt, but that I was American.  I actually had to convince her I spoke English.  My German appeared to be pretty good.

Colombe and I sat down on a bench and sipped our soda in silence.  I have no idea what was running through her mind, but I was again replaying our nighttime episode at the lake.  I glanced sideways at her and was rewarded by a shy smile and a slight reddening under her chin.  She told me she was sorry if I thought she was a bad girl.  I told her that nothing like that came to mind at all.  I said that she was an exceptionally great girl and I was very happy she liked me at all.  She thought a moment and put her arms around me and gave me a big kiss and added “tonight we will go dancing, no?”  I wasn’t much of a dancer but, I told her I was game for that.

The rest of the afternoon we spent wandering again through all the various building, patios, and verandahs of the member countries.  The Spanish pavilion was pretty cool because they had a huge table set up with dioramas of the various areas in Spain and linked them with a very extensive model train.  We watched those trains for half an hour or so.  It turned out that Colombe lived not a quarter mile from the main railroad to Paris so trains were a part of her life.

We rejoined Arianne about an hour later and she took off to tour the grounds herself.  Colombe and I just sat and drank soda and ate ice cream cones.  The two plain hot dogs (we were in the American section) cost the equivalent of eighty-five cents each – a exorbitant amount for the fifties.  I thought of my dad and how he would rant at the prices.

We went through our goodie collection bags and arranged all the free stuff we had gathered at the different pavilions. Most of it was pretty cheap and would probably be broken before I even got them home.  The brochures were nice to read and provided me with all sorts of arcane information to bore my friends with.

Arianne returned and motioned the two of us to our feet pointing to her watch.  It was time to head for the Atomium and ride back to the campground.  It took almost twenty minutes to locate our parents and over an hour to edge our way through the traffic crush back to Loonbeek Straat (I smile every time I say it).  Tired, sore-footed, and dusty we finally parked at the tents.

Before dinner, I affixed a small blue flag with the Atomium on it to our front tent stay in honor of the Worlds Fair.  Once that was done we all pitched in and prepared supper for the seven of us.  Colombe’s mom made a really great pasta casserole and my mom turned up with a Dutch oven version of a simple meat loaf.  After running all day on nothing but an expensive hot dog and soda I was ready for a good meal.  It was all delicious and, surprising my mom, the girls and I volunteered to wash up while the parents got ready for their evening.

About an hour later, they took off in the bus for downtown Brussels for some night life.  This left just the three of us to our own devices.  Arianne decided she would change into a swim suit and go down to the beach for what sun was left.  Colombe and I told her we would just stay here until the dance started in the friendship pavilion.  “Be good” was all she said as she walked away from camp.

Colombe took my hand and pulled me over to one of the folding chairs next to her tent, pushed me down, and sat in the one next to mine.  She had changed from rather tight jeans and a blouse to a pair of flannel pants and a bulky-knit sweater.  She looked very good to me in the lowering sun.  I asked her if she was warm enough to which she replied that she was fine.  Small talk if I ever heard it.  Brussels is only about fifty miles from the English Channel/North Sea and can get quite cool when the sun sets.

Colombe tapped me on the shoulder and motioned back into the tent, telling me that she had something to show me.  Several dozen scenarios flashed through my mind in an instant as I rose up and followed her into the tent.  She went into the right-hand room, pulled me into it, and closed up the flap behind us.  I glanced around and saw two sleeping bags, a very small box used as a dresser and an opened travel bag.  She reached into the travel bag and pulled out a sheer pink chemise topper.

Without a word, she pulled the sweater over her head and put the topper on.  “Do you like?” she asked me.  When I could find my voice, I told her that it was perfect.  She stood and struck a pose like a model.  Her breasts, unfettered in any way, moved provocatively behind the almost transparent material.  It was incredibly sexy to watch.  I sank to my knees to watch the show.  She turned this way and that, all the while smiling at me.  It really lit my fire to watch her; but, we were interrupted.

I heard footsteps outside and a voice that called “Hallo, jemand zu Hause (anyone home)?”  It was Arianne, come back from the beach.  “One moment” called Colombe as she frantically gathered up her clothes and put them on.  She led the way out, holding my hand, and into the sunset to greet Arianne who smiled a bit at my discomfiture.  They were both so matter-of-fact about what had happened that I turned out to be the one who was embarrassed.  I don’t know why though, nothing did happen.

I cleared my throat and began filling up the coffee pot as they both giggled between themselves.  Arianne was no dummy.  She knew what her sister was doing before she arrived.  Good thing she called out though – otherwise it would have been disastrous.

Our parents arrived just as the coffee was ready and we all sat down to tell of our adventures.  Naturally, I didn’t get into all of mine.  Dinner was again fixed for all seven of us.  This time it was simple hamburgers that, and this surprised me, Colombe’s family enjoyed heartily.  They had never eaten one before.  We showed them how to add lettuce, pickles, onions, mustard and ketchup to top them off.  They were pronounced ‘delicious’.

Dancing that night was a lot of fun.  The band knew just about every dance style from waltzes to rock’n’roll and they were really good.  The younger set, like Colombe, Arianne, and I, tended to congregate closer to the bandstand than the adults so when a particular dance got our attention we jumped up and went to the dance floor.  Arianne had found a guy of about twenty and introduced him to us as Gus.  I got the impression he was Belgian because his French was not quite the same as Arianne’s but no matter, we all had fun.

I managed a slow dance with Arianne who molded herself to me as we moved across the floor.  She and I whispered in each other’s ears while we danced.  She told me that she was very happy that Colombe had met me because she was very sad at home after her boyfriend left.  He apparently had enlisted in the army and didn’t tell her.  When he was ordered to training camp he simply left – not telling her until she got a letter in the mail that he wasn’t coming back home.  I thought that was a pretty rotten thing to do to anyone, especially one as pretty as Colombe.

The band closed down around midnight so we all headed back to our camp.  Following a final round of drinks there was much stretching and yawning as we headed into our respective tents for some sleep.  It took me a while to finally drop off.



Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 1

October 24, 2009

In June of 1958, right after classes let out for the year, my parents announced that they were going to the Worlds Fair in Brussels, Belgium.  By that time I was a pretty good photographer if I do say so myself.  I lobbied long and hard to be allowed to go with them.  I had seen all the hype in the newspapers and listened to everyone who had gone to see it and just had to go myself. After all, I was sixteen now.

They relented and changed their announcement to read:  ‘plus son’.  My brother and sisters complained but they were unmoved by their cries.  I tried hard not to smirk, but it was very hard not to as I packed for the trip.

They had decided right from the first that it would be a camping trip.  Camping nowadays brings to mind all the ‘must have’ stuff that campers drag along with them to “get away from it all”.  Camping in the ‘50s was much simpler – a few clothes, a swimsuit, a cooking kit, you sleeping bags, and that’s about it.

My dad had, earlier that year, bought a very nice Volkswagen Deluxe bus; the large, square, black over red bus with the porthole windows along the roofline bus.  It was ideal for our trip.  We loaded everything up, filled it with gas, and took off one fine morning for Belgium.

My dad had the foresight to book a camp spot at three different sites just to be sure and they were definitely needed.  The trip took over four hours because the roads were terrible.  It seemed as if every place we went through had their portion under construction.  Long waits while it seemed as if each and every cobblestone was placed by hand and tamped down.

The first place didn’t even have a record of our reservation which didn’t help my dad’s disposition at all.  He can be a bit impatient.  The second had our reservation, but the only few spots left were gathered around about twenty portable potties and, as you can imagine, the flies (and smells) were thick.  The third was on a road that I well never forget: Loonbeek Straat.  Even now, rolling that one off my tongue brings a smile to my face.  Loonbeek, what’s not to love?

We must have arrived right after it opened because there were relatively few campers and what there were had spread out a bit.  Camping in Europe is not quite like camping in the States.  The term ‘close together’ in Europe means that when you sneeze in your tent, your neighbor to the right says “Gesundheit”.  If you break wind, your other neighbor says “Oy, mate.  Aim it the other way, eh”.  In any case, we slid in next to a very nice camper and a rather large, three-room tent.  When finally set up, we strung out our obligatory line with all the flags of countries we had camped in.  This was a tradition among European campers and would allow them to stroll by and visit.  Your own personal country flag was nearest the top of the string; in our case, the US flag.

A rather large lake glistened through the trees so I donned my trunks and told my parents I was off to the lake.  I was warned though to be back for dinner at five.  About halfway there, I caught up with a gaggle of kids about my age and joined them.  There were around ten of us and I guess we only had German and French as a common among us.  We were quite a mix of nationalities.  I was the only American.

We settled down on the shore of the beach and the girls took off for the water while we guys watched the girls taking off for the water.  The bikini, having been introduced a few years back to Europe, had taken the younger crowd by storm.  There were many different styles and all of them added up to a real eyeful in most cases.  There were, of course, some persons who just shouldn’t have tried to wear one, but all in all, we ogled the good looking ones.

For most of the afternoon we rested on the sand, splashed in the water, and dunked girls.  They, on the other hand, shrieked their ‘displeasure’ and splashed us back.  A good time was had by all involved.  In what seemed a short time, it was nearing five and I had to head back.  Two of the guys and three girls walked back with me.

To my surprise, one of the girls walked all the way back to my tent – or almost to my tent.  It seemed she was in one of the rooms of the three-room tent next to us.  Oh, how lucky could one guy be?

My parents had left me a note stating that they were down at the social pavilion and to come on down when I got back. I went into my tent and changed back to shorts and a tee shirt while listening to her chatter with another girl.  I didn’t speak French very well, but I got the gist of it enough to think that the other girl was her sister.  Older or younger, I didn’t know which but it sure sounded interesting.

I had learned earlier that one of them, the blonde, was named Arianne.  I was soon to find out that the other one was indeed her younger sister Colombe. As I emerged from my tent, they both popped out of theirs and Arianne introduced me to her.  Arianne, I knew, was eighteen so I estimated that her sister was about sixteen or very close to it which was a very nice happenstance as it were.  She had very dark, almost black, hair and was superbly assembled in every way.  She tended to giggle a lot, but I was prepared to overlook that purely to be a nice guy.  Right.

Their parents had left them a note with a bit more information than mine: they had met my parents and the four of them were down at the pavilion waiting for us.  At that, we started out walking in that general direction. Colombe grabbed my hand and brought it closer to her face to examine the ring I had on my finger.  It was my birthstone, a square cut ruby, and was set in heavy silver.  She found it fascinating and, after examination, just never let go of my hand.  Well, I’ll be doggoned, I thought.  Things were definitely looking up.

After a satisfying, but very expensive, supper of brats and sauerkraut, the adults decided to go schmoozing with several other couples in one of the bars.  While there were no laws against “underage” people in bars, we younger ones had other ideas.  One of them was to head for the small carnival midway and see what that was like, or we could hang out at a large campfire being set up at the pavilion.  Colombe and I headed for the campfire to get a good seat.

Since I was the one with limited French and she was one of the non-English speakers our common language was German.  It must have sounded strange to others to have an obvious American and a very French-looking girl speaking German but we got along quite well.  After searching for a nice log to lean our shoulders on, we settled down to just chat.

She was from a village near Orleans, which was Southwest of Paris, named Saran.  She lived on a farm and her family had been there for many generations.  She had her own horse and went out riding almost every day.  I envied her that because I loved to go riding but didn’t have much of a chance to do so except when I went to my good friend Wolf and Hilde’s farm.  We continued to chat for a while.

She told me she was slightly chilled and asked if I would go back to the camp and grab a blanket.  The ground was getting cool to me as the sun set so this sounded like a great idea.  Off I went.  When I got there, her sister was there and told me that both her parents and mine were going into Brussels to take in a cabaret show.  They wouldn’t be back for hours.  Okay, this was good news too.

I grabbed a couple of blankets, a bag of pretzel snacks, and two bottles of the local soda to drink, and headed back to the fire.  By now, they had a small blaze going in the fire ring which Colombe and I could feel on our faces.  I fluffed a blanket, laid it under us on the ground, and motioned her onto it.  When we were both resting with our backs on the log, I threw the other one over us.

She scooted over so close to me that our hips were touching and dropped her head onto my shoulder.  I’m thinking ‘this is cool’ as I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.  Now, I thought me and my body had an understanding:  I wouldn’t do anything to hurt it, and it wouldn’t do anything to embarrass me.  This was not the case as the proximity of a nice warm girl caused an involuntary reaction which threatened to cause trouble.

I tried desperately to contain myself, but it was too strong and I had to surreptitiously reach under the cover to make ‘adjustments’.  Colombe snickered, stuck her tongue into my ear, and asked if she could help.  This, if I have to say it, really got my attention.  Without waiting for my answer she reached under the covers also and straightened things out – literally.  With everything again smoothed out, she simply left her hand where it was while we talked some more.  I was soon fully expanded under her ministrations so she gave me a little squeeze and said ‘wunderbar’.

I really don’t remember what we chatted about as my entire attention was on what she was doing with her hand.  I glanced around but no one nearby was taking the slightest notice of what we were about.  In fact, some of them nearby seemed to be even more active and we were.  I could tell it was going to be a really tough evening on my libido.

She rolled even more towards me, pulled on my shoulder to turn me towards her, and led my hand over to her breasts.  Somehow, she had pulled up her sweater so I would have clear access to both of them.  We settled down in that manner simply staring into each other’s eyes.  With no change in either of our positions, or her expression, she reached down with her free hand, unzipped my pants, reached in and ran her fingers over what she had found.  My expression, however, was one of deep surprise but I masked it well.

This emboldened me enough to try some solo flying myself so I reached out and found the hem of her skirt, lifted it, and slid my hand under it.  She began humming to herself as I stroked the front of her panties and she continued her stroking inside my pants.

Before things got really out of hand, so to speak, the master of ceremonies jumped up and began to get the crowd warmed up for the night’s festivities.  The first item was a group sing.  Since it was in French, I hummed along but didn’t have a clue as to what it was about.  Colombe gave me a running translation as we sang.

The blanket remained thrown over us from the neck down as before but she had rolled back away from me and we both sat up – leaning against the log.  Her hand still held me and would occasionally move sensuously a couple of strokes; I returned the favor from time to time.  We followed the evening’s program fairly well until it was time to break up and put the fire out.  I glanced at my watch and was surprised to find that two hours had elapsed.  I also suddenly realized that she had kept my erection alive on and off for almost the whole time.  She hardly ever let it get away from her.

When the fire was finally put out, we reluctantly buttoned, zipped, and otherwise made ourselves presentable.  As we stood, she leaned close to me, put her arms around my back, and whispered in my ear that she would like to find somewhere romantic to go.  I was all for it but didn’t have a clue as to where we could go.  She had been at the campground a couple of days longer than me so she suggested we walk down to the lake.

When our night vision had finally arrived we walked with confidence along the shore trail.  It seemed as if every small path down towards the lake had some sort sound or movement coming from it.  Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea.  It was almost embarrassing to listen to it as we passed.  Colombe remarked on this in a matter-of-fact tone as ‘having fun’.  Yeah, what fun!

After trekking almost halfway around the lake we finally found a little trail that didn’t appear to be taken.  I followed her closely as she broke trail for the both of us.  We arrived on a very small chunk of shoreline surrounded by tall, thick, bushes.  The only lights we could see were far across the lake.  To our left we could hear giggles and an occasional deeper voice.  This was punctuated by the snap of elastic and, shortly, a sigh of pleasure.  We were definitely on lover’s row all right.

I again flapped out the blanket so we could take off our shoes and stand on it.  She moved closer and began lifting my shirt over my head.  I did the same to her and those marvelous breasts sprang into view in the dim light.  I kissed first one and then the other and felt her nipples harden in the process.  She reached down to her waist, pushed her short dress down, and stepped out of it.  She motioned for me to do the same so I unbuckled my belt, unzipped, and dropped my pants to the blanket too.

We knelt down, knee to knee, and put our arms around each other.  She pulled me tight to her breasts and kissed me deeply with a little tongue thrown in.  It was a true French kiss I remember thinking as I responded.  I had also responded elsewhere again as I knew I would.  She found that next and proceeded to slide my shorts down and put her hands on it.  Not to be outdone, I reached over and did the same to her panties.

With a minimum of fuss, we both got rid of all the clothing we had and lay down on the blanket and threw the other over us.  As we rolled together it was that very moment I suddenly realized I didn’t have any protection at all; nothing.  Oh no, this was going to end in disaster I thought as I fessed up and told her.

She looked at me a moment, held up one finger, reached back for her small bag, fumbled inside for a bit, and triumphantly held up a foil packet.  I was saved!  “Viola!” she whispered.  She took charge right then by pushing me on my back and fitting the condom snugly over me.  Once that was accomplished, she startled me by throwing a leg over my hips and lowering herself downward and held me inside her.

That’s all it took to get me completely fired up.  I pulled her down to my chest as she began working her hips to get herself settled.  She dropped her head into the hollow of my neck and we began our dance.  We murmured into each others ear as we progressed.  I was overwhelmed by the warmth of her core and could actually feel her getting warmer until I felt the beginnings of what would be one of my truly great orgasms.

I tried to hold off and, to some extent I think I managed yet another few minutes, but was pushed over the edge by her sitting up, pushing down hard against my hips, closing her eyes and hissing deeply as her orgasm overcame us both.  We held tightly to each other as our emotions took over and put us on autopilot.  My hips jumped upwards to meet hers coming down.  If we bruised each other I didn’t notice it at all.

When we finally broke apart, she rolled to her back and exhaled deeply.  All she said was ‘I needed that – very much’.  When I asked her what she meant she explained that her boyfriend had left her four months ago and she hadn’t been with anyone since that time.   I realized at that moment that she was just really using me, but, I figured ‘what the hell’.  She needed some release and this surely didn’t affect me at all since I would probably never see her again.  It certainly wasn’t going to hurt me at all either.

I kissed her and said that whatever her reasons were, I was grateful for the moment.  She brightened with a smile and put her hand on my cheek to pull me closer.  She kissed me deeply again and sat up.  Then she said we didn’t need this any more and pulled the condom off and grubbed a small hole in the sand under a bush to bury it.  I thought idly that it was a wonder she didn’t dig up two more doing that seeing as how this part of the lake seemed to get heavy use all night.

She shivered a little so I threw the other blanket back over us to keep warm.  Once we warmed up, we both decided that we’d better get back to the campground before our parents came home.  Reluctantly we dressed, shook the sand out of the blankets and headed back out the narrow path towards the lakefront walk.  Arm in arm we slowly strolled back to camp.


Cruel and unusual punishment

October 14, 2009

I don’t really think that my parents set out to make my life truly unbearable, but it sure seemed that way.  Since I was the eldest, I turned out to be the ‘test kid’ for pretty much everything from haircuts to shoes.

Part 1:

I’m sure they thought it best when faced with four kids (two boys and two girls – in that order) that buying a home hair cutting kit made sense.  Now, I’d seen my mom cutting my dad’s hair several times for ‘just a trim’ so I wasn’t too worried when she sat me down in the kitchen on a stool, threw a dishtowel around my shoulders, pulled it up tight, and clicked on the shears.  It was during this first time that I learned to tell just how deep a certain cut was by the change in tone of the clippers.  A seriously gone astray swath would also be accompanied by a phrase, usually under her breath, that wasn’t meant for my tender ears.

After what seemed like the finals of the Australian Sheep Shearing festival, she turned the clippers off and started using scissors for ‘really close-in’ operations.  Raking the comb one way and snipping with the scissors the other way she whacked across the top of my head.

Finally, she pronounced she was done, whipped the dishtowel off, and pushed me out of the stool.  I rushed to my bedroom where I could take a look at my new haircut.  This was a mistake.  I should have just gone directly to hell.

What looked back at me was what appeared as a badly drawn image of Dagwood Bumstead from the comic strip ‘Blondie’.  Despite several escaping shafts of hair from the side of my head, there was what looked like a small gouge right down the middle – but just a bit off center.

Maybe I shouldn’t have moved around as much as I did.

Part 2:

The haircut was applied at the end of summer so that I might be prepared to enter school in the fall not looking like some lonesome sheepdog in need of a license tag.  What also took place was the dreaded “school clothes shopping” trip to the Base Exchange.  Previously, they had been taking us to places like Sears and Monkey Ward for clothes as they apparently had ones that didn’t self-destruct after two days of wear during the summer.  The Base Exchange, on the other hand, provided clothes that would get you yelled at if you even attempted to sneak out the door wearing them after school.  They also tarred you with the brush labeled DORK.  Why my parents ever thought I would want to wear them after school I’ll never know because if I did I would be shunned, or otherwise made to feel unwelcome.  It was bad enough to have to wear them TO school.  This was 1955 and the wearing of ‘blue jeans’ and tee shirts was strictly forbidden by every school in the land.

As we were wandering through the self-proclaimed School Clothes section, my mom gleefully threw shirts, pants, sox, underwear, and other unidentifiable items into her basket.  Once full, she herded me over to the fitting rooms.  Ah!  No!!!  Not the fitting rooms!

Multiple trips were made by me shuttling back and forth into the closet to change into various combinations of clothes.  White shirts and dark pants were pretty much okay with me, but when she pulled out a lavender shirt and light-brown pants I felt the blood drain from my face.  This combination, I concluded, would definitely put me in contention for the “biggest pansy in school” award.  I’d have to leave town after showing up in them.  The finishing touch was the pants were corduroy.   If the lavender shirt didn’t announce my sexual preferences, the ‘whoop-whoop’ of rubbing corduroy would.

Fortunately, my argument of “Mom, I’ll get stomped” held water and she put them back on the rack.  I think she originally chose them just to rattle me.  It worked.

Part 3:

In combination with the above degrading operations, I was also subjected to a visit to the Optometrist on the base.  My parents had noticed that when I was reading that I tended to put my nose close to the page and squinted a lot.  This prompted them to make an appointment.

I arrived in the waiting room the required fifteen minutes early and, according to the wall clock, waited yet another forty-five minutes as the ‘doctor was running late’.  Running?  From whom?  I bet it was from other boys who had been tortured by his machines.

In due course I was ushered into a chair surrounded by diabolical machines designed to suck your eyes out of your head or some such.  First there was the machine that forced your lids open, made you stare straight ahead, and blasted air into the center of your eye.  The explanation was to check for ‘glue coma’.  As far I knew, I stopped eating library paste in Kindergarten so that wasn’t a problem.

Then the lights were dimmed and another machine wheeled in front of me to be pushed directly in my face.  I couldn’t see anything through it so I just sat and waited for what was to happen.  There was a click and my left eye saw a white chart with several dark blobs on it ranging from a large blob on top down to a really long blob on the bottom.  As the Doc manipulated wheels, gears, and spoke incantations, the blobs slowly revealed themselves as letters.  Telling me to read the middle line proved difficult.  I counted the lines – an even number – so what, pray tell, was the ‘middle line’?  I apparently guessed correctly and was awarded several other visual options that made the letters slide sideways at the top, go in and out of focus, and finally coalesce into crystal clarity.  The other eye was treated the same.

I tried to listen carefully to what the Doc told my mom, but it got a bit garbled I think.  He said I had ‘mild my opium’ and ‘a stick matisism’ and that he recommended glasses.  The last word struck like a dagger to my heart – GLASSES!  Oh, no.  I’d seen what military glasses looked like – my dad wore a pair of them.  Every time I saw him wearing them I was seized with an inner mirth that threatened to permanently water my eyes. They consisted of dark plastic (nearly black) with round lenses and made you look like you were wearing swim goggles.  My fate was sealed.  No self-respecting girl would ever be seen with me while I wore them.  At least I wouldn’t get them right away and could try to get in good with a girl before she saw them.

Part 4:

The final nail in my coffin was a trip to the base dentist.  You have to remember that this was back in the mid-fifties and dentistry was still in the Stone Age so to speak.  There were no high-speed drills, cherry flavored gum deadeners prior to getting a jab by a hypodermic needle the approximate size of a fountain pen, or other niceties you have now.

Entering the room you first see yet another chair surrounded by complicated devices intended to torture others into submission.  The most prevalent machine was a multi-hinged device with what appeared as hundreds of little graduated pulleys and wheels wrapped with rubber bands.

Right next to that was a miniature toilet bowl with water running around the rim; no doubt to let the blood drain without getting it on your shirt.  To the side was a small table with hundreds of little pointed things with which to examine every crevice in every tooth.

The nurse sat me down, snapped a tablecloth over me, and summoned the dentist with a “he’s ready doctor”.  No, no, you haven’t strapped my arms to the chair yet – I’m NOT ready!  But the dentist appeared right in front of me wearing glasses that had several other lenses swung out to the side.  Graduated magnifying lenses I thought so he could peer into the cavities he was sure to find.

Grabbing a fistful of little pointed metal things he began examining my teeth.  Occasional he would mumble something to his nurse like “number seven impacting number eight – distilled side – put a watch on that one” or, “number fourteen has an include all on the mole”.

The final result was that I did need several fillings but that he wasn’t going to do them today – thank goodness.  He told my mom to make an appointment to get them done.  How about June 17, 1985?  I don’t think I’m busy that day.