Posts Tagged ‘teen love’

Spoken in Confidence

January 17, 2010

My dad had assigned me picket fence duty on Saturday.  This meant that I had to gather up spare pickets and replace ones that had been broken by errant baseballs, various body appendages hitting them, and other methods that forcefully rearranged pickets.

I was busily engaged in this when my next door neighbor, Kathleen, walked over and rested her forearms on the fence.  She and I had been neighbors for a while and, even though we had gone to a couple of movies together, not what you would call ‘an item’.  She was fun to be with though.  But today it appeared she had something on her mind because she had a little frown on her face and took a bit of time to say anything.

“Tom, we’ve been friends for a while haven’t we?”

“Sure Kathleen.  Ever since grade school.  What’s up?”

“Well, I have this problem – er – not really a problem, but something like it.  I really could use some advice.  I need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll help if I can.”

“There’s this guy I know and even though I’ve spoken to him a lot, I just can’t get up the nerve to tell him that I really like him.”

“Do I know him?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to tell you his name right now but I’m around him almost every day.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Go ahead – what?”

“Go ahead and tell him you like him.”

“Well, sometimes I think he might already know, and then other times he doesn’t act like it.  I’m afraid that if I tell him that I like him he won’t like me back.  I don’t know what to do!”  She wailed.

“Well, don’t think like that.  Maybe he really does like you.  You’ll never know unless you tell him will you?”

“But, what’ll I say?”

“Tell him what you’re telling me; that you like him.”

She shuffled her feet a little, dropped her eyes down, and spoke in a small voice “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Ah, that matters a lot.  I’d just go ahead and tell a girl that I loved her I think.  But I can see why you’re worried though.  If he doesn’t say anything, or walks away, that would make you feel really bad wouldn’t it?”


“On the other hand you’re really cute, nice to be around, and I’d be happy to tell anyone you were my girlfriend.  Go ahead and talk to him – tell him what you just told me,” I repeated.

“So I just go and say ‘hey, I really like you a lot and I hope you like me a lot too.’   Is that about it?

“Yep, just about right.  Now go and say it.”

In an even quieter voice, she said “I already did.”

I opened my mouth several times to speak, but each time I went mute.  I stood, turned to face her fully, and reached out with my hand to tilt her chin up.

“Kathleen, I…I didn’t know.  You’ve been right there in front of me all this time but I just didn’t know.  Maybe I love you too.  Maybe that’s the reason I choke up and get tongue tied around you.  Maybe that’s why my brain turns to jelly and I have to remind myself to breathe.”

She leaned forward over the fence and met me halfway across.  Our lips touched, gently.  We kissed.

“I’m so happy,” she said in a whisper after we came up for air.

“That’s not mending the fence!”  My dad shouted from the kitchen window.

“Yeah, but it beats the hell out of hitting your thumb with a hammer.”  I thought to myself.



Frustration 201

January 1, 2010

Our walk to the Base Exchange snack bar was uneventful.  We engaged in small talk for the ten-minute walk.  Overall, I’d have to guess that she talked around ninety percent of the time.  My responses were limited mostly to a quickly interjected ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

We pushed the door open and walked in to a noisy hubbub of music, chatter, clanking glasses, and loud laughter.  She spotted some of her friends sitting at a table and grabbed at my hand to pull me towards them.  I had already met everyone at the table, and most of them, both male and female, I could well do without, but allowed myself to be guided towards them.

“Hey Molly, Tom, how’s it going?”

I opened my mouth, but it was Molly who replied, “Fine. We have just enough time for a quick shake before going to the dance.  Are you guys going?”

Everyone indicated that, yes, they all were going.  One of the male-type people (I had immediately christened ‘The Big Bozo’) in particular put out his hand which Molly took so he could pull her to a chair next to him.  I bristled a bit, as I had to take the chair opposite the table from her.  What the hell, I thought; she was MY date, not his.

I already knew what she wanted so I went to the counter and ordered.  While I waited, I glanced back and saw her smiling and laughing at something the big bozo was saying.  My thoughts were only on how much fun we would have at the dance so I ignored the small voice at the back of my mind that kept repeating ‘you’re in trouble knothead.  She’s way out of your league’.  Against this, I argued ‘yeah, but how bad can it be?’

I suffered mostly in silence as the talk swirled around the table.  I learned who was going skiing, who had a new bunch of records, who was ‘going’ with whom, and all other bits of useless information.  Finally, Molly looked at me and said to the group “We’d better get going.”  En Masse, the entire group pushed back chairs and began putting on coats.  In one big gaggle we walked out the door and flowed towards the school.

So far, the evening was a total bust.  Not only had I really had a chance to get Molly alone much, but also now I was among a group of her friends that would surely monopolize her time.  My inner voice was getting louder, and yet I still ignored it.  After our coats were dropped off in the coatroom, I was able to cut Molly out of the herd and make her amble with me towards the edge of the room.  We found two open seats next to each other and began watching the activity from the sidelines.

There didn’t seem to be much dancing yet, but the music had started and we began tapping toes on the hardwood floor.  Since the dance was in the gym, the acoustics were not too great, but volume was the key, not quality.  As other kids headed for the middle, I asked Molly if she wanted to dance.

“Sure, let’s go”

About halfway through a fast one, I got tapped on the shoulder by Bozo.

“Can I cut in?”  It was not a question as he caught Molly in mid-spin and whirled her away from me.

Well, poop, I thought.  This isn’t going nearly the way I thought it would.  My inner voice agreed and added ‘like, wow, man’.

Molly came back to me on the sidelines just at the start of a nice slow dance and pulled me to my feet.  We started dancing and this time I was determined to keep predators at bay.  She nestled her head into the hollow of my neck and began humming the tune.  “Hey!”  I thought, “This might get better after all”.

Two dances later I was again cut in on by yet another person I had named Slick.  Slick had a high pompadour haircut and was dancing entirely too close to Molly for my tastes.  This was getting monotonous.

A couple of glasses of punch, several more fast dances and another slow one began.  We moved to the dance floor and were again wrapped in each other’s arms.  As we danced, I began to get an erection.  I knew without a doubt that she could feel it when she would bump against me, so I tried very hard to minimize contact.  I think she actually enjoyed my discomfort because I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye.

‘Is that you?” she whispered as she nuzzled my ear.

“I certainly hope so” I replied.  Probably not the best time to crack wise, but it was the only thing I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

“I’m sorry.  Does this help?”  She asked, shifting her position slightly, which only added more pressure to the object in question.

“Not really” I said, trying my best to relieve pressure without being too obvious about it.  “Can we go sit down for a while?”

“Okay, if you want.  I’m sorry,” she added again.

“It’s okay Molly; don’t worry about it” I added, taking her elbow and moving her slightly ahead of me for cover towards our chairs.

I managed to get the two of us back against the wall without anyone laughing or pointing at my tented slacks and me.  I began mentally berating myself for wearing the tightest pants I own; what was I thinking!

Once seated, I arranged her light sweater across both our laps so I could ‘tend to my pressing problem’.  I was beginning to think that she was a lot cooler person than I had originally thought.  At first, she came on as a real bubblehead, but now, under these circumstances, she had a much calmer demeanor.

She scooted her chair closer to me and held one of my hands – as my other was busy – and then kissed me on the cheek.  Warning bells should have begun clamoring by now as this was very un-Molly-like.  If I had been using my brain cell I would have picked up on her intentions, but, no, not me.  I had almost finished adjustments, when, to my astonishment she reached under the sweater and put her hand directly on the ridge in my pants.

I quickly slammed the door on my little inner voice, turned off all of my situational awareness, and switched into lust mode.  I turned to look at her directly and found her already staring at me.  I think what finally put me into terminal tumescence was when she stuck the tip of her tongue out, slowly ran it over her lips, and squeezed with her other hand.

‘I know where we can go if you want.”

Did I want?  Did I want?  Of course I want.  My pulse rate doubled, my palms began to sweat, and my mouth went totally dry.  Here was what was arguably the prettiest girl of the class asking ME if I wanted to ‘go somewhere’ with her.  What a silly question.

Carefully, we got up and, using her as a cover again, I draped her sweater over my arm and held it in front of me.  As we started walking towards the exit, I felt as if everyone’s eyes were on me but when I glanced around, I saw that not a soul was even looking in our direction.  In a way, I was kind of disappointed. Here I was going to neck with Molly, and nobody I could brag to about it later.  With a gait just a little awkward, I escorted her from the dance and down one of the halls towards wherever she wanted me to go.

“Where are we going Molly?”  I whispered.

“Secret place.  Sheila and I found it last month.  You have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay, I won’t” I promised, knowing full well that if it was a really cool place that I might not actually keep that promise.

We worked our way down one hall and over two smaller halls heading, I thought, towards one of the band rehearsal rooms.  I didn’t know of any place near there that would be private but I followed along.  I could hear my inner voice banging on the door to be let out, but I ignored it.  It wouldn’t do to have him ruining the mood.  I was fully capable of doing it myself without his help.

We did in fact reach band rehearsal hall number one.  Molly slowly opened the door, peered in, and took my hand to pull me in.  Once we got inside, she closed the door.  The only light was from a small bulb burning on the raised platform where the director stood during practice.  She kept my hand as she crept across the room and lifted a corner of a huge banner that almost covered the far wall.

Hidden behind the banner was a small, half-sized door with a pull ring on it.  She tugged at it until with a small snap it opened.  I looked hard, but nothing was visible inside.  I mentally mapped this end of the school and thought that this might be an area between the science lab and the typing room.  What it was doing here mystified me.  Mystified or not, I was as ready as ever to investigate.

Molly lifted a leg (showing a lot of sheer silky thigh), stepped over the threshold, ducked her head, and swing into the room.  She leaned back out, and reached for my hand.  Since I had moved a bit closer what she actually grabbed startled both her and I.

“Oops, sorry” she giggled and motioned with her fingers for me to follow her.

“Anywhere” I thought to myself; “I’d follow her anywhere.”

When I stepped over the sill and entered the room fully, she was standing below a small light on the wall.  The room was not very big, but had two larger doors on each side.  One door was definitely not in use because there was a huge piano pushed against it.  The other door was much larger, but had a twist-style lock on it which could be thrown from the inside.  I turned back to the hatch we had come through and could see that it was just an access panel, not a proper door.

“Molly,” I said, “how did you ever find this place?”

“A couple of us girls were in the band room last month and one of the windows was open.  A gust of wind came in and blew the banner a bit.  Sheila told me later that she’d seen a small door behind it.  After class, we peeked and there it was.  It was screwed shut, but she found a screwdriver and we undid the catches.  Now, we can open it when we want.  Neat, huh?”

“I’ll say.  It’s a perfect place to be completely alone.”

“Yeah” she said, and clicked the switch controlling the only light in the room.

Immediately everything went totally black.  I have a good memory, and now I was mapping the room as I had last seen it.  Molly was standing about ten feet directly in front of me, the piano was on my left and two small rolls of grey matting were on my right.  The little door was behind me because I reached back and touched it.  I also had very acute hearing and heard her stepping lightly to my right.  My head tracked the sound but I couldn’t see anything at all.  She giggled.

“Come and find me” she whispered, and then moved again to the side.

I did a Boris Karloff towards her with my arms outstretched and walking slowly.  I touched her shoulder, I think, but she dodged away again.  She must have been crouching down as she moved because there was nothing at shoulder height any more.  I turned towards rustling and again reached out.  This time I found smooth skin – an arm?

“Tag, you’re it” I teased and stood still.

An arm came at me from my left this time and wrapped around my waist.  When I turned towards it, she held fast and put the other one around me.  When she leaned in towards me I began to figure out what the rustling was.  She had unbuttoned the front of her blouse and her bra-clad breasts were poking me in the ribcage.  Oh, man, I thought.  This was something I had longed to see and couldn’t make out a thing.

She moved her head close to my neck and nipped at my collarbone with her lips.  This was the spark that ignited my lust again.  I shot to attention just as she pushed her hips against mine.  My erection was trapped against her firmly.

“Ooooh, that feels wicked and warm.  What are you hiding down there?”

“You know very well what’s down there Molly” I teased.  “The question is: what are we going do about it?”

Meanwhile, I had had enough of her breasts poking me in the chest and brought my hands up.  She grabbed them and stopped me before I made contact, telling me to wait.  Wait, I thought; wait for what?

More rustling.  This time I was sure she had taken off her blouse because she allowed my hands to complete their journey around her shoulders.  As I pulled her closer, they dropped down her back and encountered her bra strap.  While I was occupied in unfastening the clasp, she started a circular movement of her hips against mine.  I didn’t know if I could take much more of this without some serious relief.

The bra hooks finally opened (after I figured out there were more than one hook – who knew?)  It fell away to the floor and she pulled herself closer to my chest.  I could feel those soft breasts pushing against me as she slid her hands downward and rested them on each of my hips.

“So, now what can we do Tom?  How about this?”  She asked, pulling on my belt.

By now, the little voice had battered down the door I had locked him behind and was screaming in my inner ear “Dammit, Tom, she’s playing with you!  Listen to me.  She’s out to break you.”  I wasn’t listening; I was terminal and nothing short of all out sex was going to help me.  She yanked again on my belt, worked the pin out, and pulled it open.  This was followed immediately by my top button and soon the sound of my fly zipping down filled the air.

Oh, damn, she was really going to set me free here I thought, but she suddenly stopped and pushed against my chest.  This moved me away from her and, when I tried to follow, my pants fell down and tripped me.  Down I went holding my hands in front of me to break the fall.  I landed on both palms fortunately and did an impromptu push-up.  She had moved again because all I found was her blouse and bra.  She giggled in the darkness to my left this time.

I managed to pull my pants back up and stuff myself, painfully, back into them.  Where the hell was she now I wondered?  Standing completely still, I sensed that she was moving further to my left – over by where the rolled up mats were.  I moved quietly in that direction and reached out, low this time.

I touched her skirt on this try which caused another giggle.  Crap!  She WAS playing with me.  I reached out again with both hands and landed on each side of her hips.  I held tightly to the bunched up skirt as she turned to one side and back to the other.  When she did this I noticed that only she turned, not her skirt.  It was lying loosely around her hips and, as I moved closer, it began to slide downward.

Over the last few minutes my erection had waned, but now it popped back strongly and threatened to make an appearance without anyone’s help.  I was hit by so many emotions at once; I simply hadn’t the processing power to figure out what to do next since all the blood had drained from my brain.  Molly solved that by standing up straight and letting her skirt fall to the floor.  In a high-stepping movement, she managed to evade me again and danced away to the other side of the room.  This wasn’t my idea of fun at all.

“I’ll come back over if you promise not to grab me,” Molly’s voice from the gloom.  “Take your shirt and pants off and I’ll come back over.”

Now we’re talking.  I quickly unsnapped, dropped my pants to the floor, and kicked them away from my feet. My shirt followed them right away.  Her hand touched me on the chest and felt across it to make sure I had taken my shirt off.  Then it dropped to the bulge in my shorts.  In my mind’s eye I pictured her in front of me, wearing nothing but panties.  Things went a little crazy right then because for no reason she shouted “Now!”

The light popped on, brilliant after such a long time in total darkness.  A single pair of hands began clapping, followed closely by several more.  When I squinted out at them I found that there was a small crawl space over one wall and lined up on that wall were at least six heads.  Their hands hung over the edge and they were all clapping.  Molly stood before me, in nothing but panties and sported a satisfied grin.  I, on the other hand, was standing there in nothing but my shorts sporting a huge hard on.

Bozo, Slick, the Asshole Brothers, Sheila, and Simone were above me clapping like mad.  Molly had her hands to her mouth and was at least trying to stifle her laugh.  I had to give her that, but obviously I wasn’t going to give her anything else.  I was mortified beyond belief.  With as much dignity as I could, and that’s pretty hard when you have an erection to contend with, I gathered up my clothes, put them on hurriedly, and stalked to the little hatch.  I smacked it open and crawled through without a glance back at them.

Next:  Frustration, Post Grad


Frustration 101

December 27, 2009

As I look back on it from the distance of 50-odd years, I can see that making any headway with Molly was doomed from the start.  She was a General’s daughter, went around in girlish circles surrounded by others who doted on everything she did.  If she wore a pink sweater one morning, by noon every one of her group would rush home at noon and put on a pink sweater.

I watched from afar; and by that I meant from the county of Afar (near the town of NoWayJose).  My best friend had a sister that was best friends with one of her inner circle of girls.  By word of mouth, which I am now sure was either garbled in transmission or purposely twisted to thwart me, I was informed that she ‘liked me’.

The term ‘liked me’, in the teenage glossary of the day meant that the person you were telling this had to be at least four people removed.  Apparently the term went from her lips to the girl in her group that was friends with my best friend’s sister thence to my best friend who delivered the line with a Cheshire Cat-like grin.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” He asked with glee.  “Ask her to the dance next week?”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.  She has enough guys hanging on to her she looks like a tackling dummy.  I haven’t got a chance.”

“Well, you never know.  Stranger things have happened.  Give it a try.”

I did think about it for a while.  A couple of days later the same remark was made to me directly from a different source.  In a gross violation of the ‘code of the group’ I was informed by one of her immediate circle that she ‘was waiting for me to call’.

I suspected some sort of trick because normally she wouldn’t bother at all with someone as insignificant as me.  Taking in to account that I was the son of only a light Colonel I was hardly worth of her.  Still, being told by two different people that she ‘liked me’ was something I couldn’t ignore.

I spent the next two school days doing what now would be called stalking.  I lurked around corners, watched her closely from the back of the room in two of our common classes, and spent a ditched study hall sitting at the top of the grandstand taking in the girl’s soccer class.  I had to admit, in short-shorts she was definitely a looker.  Brilliant blond hair, blue eyes, almost as tall as me, good looking, and extremely well-built.  I grew drowsy as I watched and fantasized her and I together in a warm ski lodge, trapped by a huge blizzard, warming ourselves with brandy on a bearskin rug in front of a crackling fire.  Damn, why does that have to pop up now?

All the ‘he saids’ and ‘she saids’ came to a head on Friday afternoon.  I was hurrying to math class and turned my head to answer a question from a buddy as I rounded a corner.  BAM!  I ran headlong into Molly.  We crashed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.  We got sorted out quickly and, after my stammered apology, she looked me right in the eye and said that she didn’t really have this in mind when she said she wanted to meet me.

I blushed pink and again stammered a reply.  I don’t remember what I said, but I followed it up with something inane I’m sure.  She gathered up her books and swiveled down the hall.  I could only stare after her.

My brain kicked in with a mental thud, my feet turned back towards her disappearing hips and I rushed up behind her.

“Wait, Molly, wait” I called plaintively.

“Yes” she answered, turning to see who it was and seemed to flinch. “Oh, hi.  You’re not going to run me down again are you?”

“No.  I’m really sorry about that Molly.  I’m such a klutz.”

“Well, there may be hope for you though.  What did you want?”

There it was.  Right out in the open now.  I would have to either put up or shut up.  My throat closed, but I managed to croak out “do you want to go to the dance with me Saturday night?”

This was said with a very sincere look and little more.  I doubted greatly that she even knew what planet I was on much less really wanted to go to a dance with me.  My palms got sweaty, my heart rate tripled, and I started hyperventilating all in the short time it took her to form an answer.

I was so sure she would turn me down that I almost turned away prepared to mumble a “thanks anyway” but she surprised me totally by saying “Sure”.

The word ‘sure’ echoed in my empty head for milliseconds before firing my ‘holy cow’ synapse.  My eyes opened a little more, I mentally danced a little jig but physically answered “great, what time do you want me to pick you up?”

“How about seven?  That’s a little before the dance starts and we can go get a soda before it.”

I managed to get a “thank you” out without sounding like a complete idiot (nobody can be a complete anything, but I sure tried sometimes).  “I’ll see you then Molly.”

She went one way and I turned and floated back down the hall the other way to my locker.  Somehow I got through the next class and headed home.  My buddy came over and we chatted for a while.  I was dying for him to ask me if I had done anything about Molly.  Finally he did and I casually said that she was going with me to the dance tomorrow.  If I had smoked I would have leaned back in the chair and lit a Marlboro before I answered.  I was oozing calm.  Inside, I was a mass of insecurity.

“No shit?” He asked.  “That’s great” he said as he walked to the phone; presumably to alert the press.

“Yeah, well, it’s just a dance date Jerry, not an engagement” I called after him.  “We’re not going to Paris here.”

He came back a moment later and said that he and his girlfriend would come along with us.  Now, he was a great guy, and I liked his girlfriend Beth a lot, but, I kind of resented him intruding on what I had hopes of being a stellar night and it must have showed.  “Just kidding” he said.

Saturday I awoke early and tended to every one of my chores without being hounded by my parents.  I dodged taunts and hassle from my brother and helped my sister with some of her dish washing duties after breakfast.  My mom looked askance at me but didn’t say anything.  I am sure she thought I was up to something.  I must have stepped over the believability line when I asked her if there was anything else I could do.

“Are you feeling okay?” She asked, leaning close to playfully slap a hand on my forehead. “What’s the matter — got a hot date?”

Ahhhhhhhhh!  She’d guessed it right off the bat!

“Not a really big one, but I’m taking Molly to the dance tonight.”

“Molly?  General Confusion’s Molly?  I thought she didn’t know you existed.  Isn’t that what you said just a few days ago?”

She had me there.  I did, in fact, tell her that on Wednesday but I hemmed and hawed a bit and answered obliquely – “sorta, but I asked her yesterday and she said ‘yes’.”

“Well, good for you.  What are you going to wear?”

Damn, zapped again.  I hadn’t a clue what I was going to wear and told her so.  She answered that I had better make up my mind because most of my clothes were still in the laundry room.

I flew down the hall and dumped a load of my best shirts and pants into the washer.  Then I headed to my room to plan my assault on Fortress Molly.  I might prove to be a long, and embarrassing, campaign but maybe I could overcome her defenses and emerge victorious.  As Jerry said ‘you never know’.

There is a Burt Reynolds movie called ‘Hooper’ (1978) where, as the opening credits roll, he is dressing to the sounds of a trumpet doing a Toreador theme solo.  In retrospect, I can see where this applied to me that very evening as I slowly readied myself for my date one article of clothing at a time; after first gassing everyone with deodorant and aftershave.  Well, all seven hairs on my chin needed to be clipped.

Finally, with a flourish of a Mariachi band’s finale I emerged from my room.  I was slick from head to ankle because, as my brother pointed out, I had forgotten to change out of my sneakers into my Bombers (see:  So much for being classy.  I was back on the ground again and NOT ‘Bond, James Bond’.

It was a cool evening but I don’t think it registered on me as I walked over to Molly’s house.  She lived up on what was called Officer’s Country up on the hill.  I got more and more insecure the closer I got to her house.  What if this was just an elaborate joke?  What if she was just going to giggle at me all slicked up?  What if her dad answered the door?  What if my head fell off and I got it back on wrong?  All of this went through my mind on the twelve mile walk up her driveway.  I paused for the final time ready to push the doorbell, pushed the hair out of my eyes and rang it.

“Hi Tom, I’ll be ready in a second” said Molly, pulling me into the hall and pointing into the living room.  “Go sit down and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay” was all I could work out of my parched throat.

I looked around the room and discovered that not only was her dad there, but her mom also.  This was going to be very painful.

“Hello Tom” said The General.  “You’re taking Molly to the dance tonight?”

For a General he sure had his finger on the obvious I thought.  However, I managed to speak briefly in some sort of coherence that “yes, I was”.

“Hi, I’m Molly’s mom, June.  Your mother is Betty isn’t she?”

“Um, yeah – er, yes, she is.”  How did she know this? I thought, and then remembered that both of them probably saw each other at the various officers’ wives functions they gave at the club every month.

“We don’t see very much of her, is she ill?”

“No, not that I know of.  She is kind of a quiet person and not likely to go out very much.”

This was a total fabrication because I can remember many times she told us that she would rather be nibbled to death by baby ducks than attend one more ‘tea and crumpet’ session with other officer wives.  Nothing put her off more than the pretentious airs of “Missus General” and “Miss Colonel”.  She was more a beer and pretzels person than fine wine and cakes.

“Well, tell her I said hello will you?”

“Sure thing. Ma’am.  I’ll do that.”

I was saved from further conversation my Molly appearing at the door and motioning me she was ready to go.  I said my goodbyes, helped Molly into her coat, and we hustled out the door.

Next:  Frustration 201


A Wonderful Christmas Gift

November 14, 2009

Since it is nearing Christmas time again (Yeah, I know; it is still six weeks away – but all the stores would have you believe it is tomorrow) I think relating what, for me, was my finest Christmas of my teenage years, would be in order.

It is the winter of 1958 and all through the housing area plans are being made for parties everywhere.  In Germany everyone really gets into the spirit.  Huge gatherings in town squares with caroling, red noses, smoky fires in barrels, chestnuts, warm drinks of an alcoholic nature and the like are the norm.

My girlfriend Virginia, with whom I had been going steadily (and steady) for over two years (I may have mentioned her before), and I dressed warmly and headed out the gate to town.  The sky was the color of lead and the wind, while brisk, was hardly noticed by us as we walked arm-in-arm down the street.  Halfway to the Stadtplatz (City Square) it began to snow.  Large, fluffy, flakes drifted downward and smacked us in the face wetly.  We were oblivious to this however as we savored the solitude of our walk.  We only had eyes for each other.

I had plenty of time on the stroll to reflect just how lucky I was to have Virginia as my friend and lover.  She had a droll wit, sparkling personality, and, most of all would put up with me.  She would catch me in a half-turn looking at her and glance back with a smile and say “What?”  “Nothing” I would reply; “Just happy to be with you today”.  She responded with a hand squeeze that sent thrills through my being.  Damn, she looked beautiful with snowflakes in her hair.

Turning the final corner, we entered the square.  The festivities were just getting started so we walked to the middle and joined in.  First off, we had to have some warm chestnuts which we bought from a vendor who had his charcoal fired pot overflowing with chestnuts.  Right next to him was a Glühwein seller.  Glühwein is a hot, spiced, wine which is usually made from a poor vintage wine.  What they do is add spices and honey to make it drinkable again.  Topped off with a cinnamon stick there is nothing else that will beat cold weather.

Armed with a paper cone of chestnuts each and a cup of Glühwein, we were ready for the rest of the fun.  As we wandered from kiosk to kiosk looking at all the items for sale I began thinking that this would be the perfect time to see what Virginia was interested in and get it for Christmas.  I had a fairly well paying job in the base PIO photo lab (Press Information Office) so, at the moment, I was flush with cash.  I had to get her something memorable because we had come to realize that this would be our last winter together.  Her dad was being reassigned in the spring and who knew what would happen then.

We passed tray after tray of doodads, gewgaws, and whatnots, she and I would pause and look.  Several items caught her eye, but I could see there was nothing she really wanted.   One vendor, in an isolated corner of the square, had a huge amount of silver items hanging from strings across his cart.  She has always been interested in anything worn around the neck.  She has a completely full jewelry case of necklaces and the like.  Still, she wanted to see what he offered.

I saw her reach for an item, pull her hand back, and then reach again for it.  When I saw what it was, a slow glow appeared behind her ears and down to her throat.  It was a miniature Eiffel Tower – about six centimeters long on a delicate chain.  I whispered in her ear “I know what you’re thinking” which brought her flush to full bloom.  She smiled at me without saying anything and held the charm to her throat.  “It’s perfect” she proclaimed.

She and I became one, in every sense of the word, on the train to Paris last summer.  It was I had to agree, the perfect gift.  I wondered if, every time she saw it, she would think of me.  I knew I wouldn’t forget that trip for as long as I lived.  ‘The first time’ is just that and cannot be repeated.

But then, she looked at the tag.  It was a solid silver charm and cost a great deal of money – even back then.  With a sad last look, she put it back in the little blue box and handed it back to the vendor.  I hugged her and made our apologies to the old guy as we walked away.  I knew I was going to come back here so I winked at him as I turned.

Continuing around the square we ran into a group of people standing in front of a small bandstand with a collection of musicians on it.  It isn’t often you get to listen to a band composed of an accordion, a trumpet, a set of drums and two guitars.  Surprisingly, they made very good music.  We sang along to a few Christmas carols and a couple of popular songs while sipping our second Glühwein.

We eventually got a little hungry so we went in search of a place to eat.  Neither one of us really wanted to have just a wurst or something like that so we headed to our favorite little Inn for dinner.  Before we left the square though I excused myself and headed for the restroom.

I rapidly walked away and headed immediately for the little stall where she had seen the necklace charm.  The old guy remembered me and we chatted for a bit on the quality of the charm.  He admitted that what he had hanging and on display was his “tourist items” but then brought a box out from a shelf under his cart.  It held a much more lustrous (and heavy) charm that I was sure would cost much more.  He indicated that he would like me to buy it for my young lady because it obviously meant something to the both of us and that he would sell it to me at half the listed price.  “She is very pretty and should have the best” he said.  I couldn’t have agreed more; and bought it.

I caught up with her and we walked a few blocks to the Inn which was crowded, but not full. We had a wonderful dinner and strolled back up the hill to the housing area in the snow.  It was a perfect end to a perfect day.

Virginia and I hosted the final party before Christmas for our group of friends.  It was a great party with a complete dinner, loads of games, and intimate dancing afterwards.  Between the games and dancing, however, was a gift-giving.  Each of us gave and received gifts from everyone else.  One at a time, we opened them.  I could hardly contain myself until Virginia announced that she would open mine.  The box had changed from square to a rectangle and the color from blue to red, but she knew right off what it was and with a cry of joy opened it.

She threw her arms around me and, for a moment, there was nobody else in the room for me but her as we kissed.  Man, I really loved this girl – this woman.  I nuzzled her neck as I passed the chain around it and fastened the clasp.  All the other girls gathered around, ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ at it.  I am sure that everyone who had been on the trip with us knew exactly what it signified but I didn’t care.

For the rest of the party I would catch her fingering the charm and smiling at me.  When we danced, we held tight to each other; and, when it was time to go home, we walked arm-in-arm through the snow to her house in the dark, still, night air.  For the rest of her, and my, time there in Germany I don’t think I ever saw her without the charm around her neck.



Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 4

November 4, 2009

After breakfast the next day, all of us piled into our two cars and headed back to the fairgrounds.  The parking, as usual, was chaotic but we finally managed to park together way at the back of the dusty lot.  By the time we got to the entrance gate we were already tired and thirsty.

The parents split off again leaving us kids to our own devices so we took off for the nearest place we could get something to drink.  As it turned out, the Belgian Congo exposition was the nearest and they had a sort of coconut drink that was very refreshing – also expensive.  We all had two of the milky drinks before we moved on.

Next on our agenda was the cable ride over (or actually beside) the Atomium.  It was a simple end-to-end lift with little round cars that seated four.  The cables actually ran through the open structure of the Atomium so you approached it, dove through, and popped out the other side.

After that ride, we queued up for almost an hour wait to get enter the Atomium.  Once inside, you had to be a hardy soul because there were elevators, but they were only for the sick and infirm.  We managed to huff and puff our way into one of the upper bells but decided to go no further.  I’d climbed to the top of the Washington Monument and had no desire to do that again.  After spending a while looking out the portholes at the entire fair grounds we left and took the tram to the Soviet Building.

Except for the French and the United States buildings, the USSR had probably the largest building on the grounds.  It was immense and held all sorts of interesting displays.  There was the obligatory huge statue of Lenin but what caught my eye was the replica of Sputnik in the aviation section.  There were also sections on agriculture, machines of all description, and a car assembly line.

By contrast, the US building was quite different.  It had wide tree-lined areas where periodically a fashion show would be held; demonstrations of “future homes” which had great expectations, but just didn’t pan out; a lot of fountains with synchronized water spouts; and, finally, a glass-walled booth with “Waldo” controls in them so that they could reach out and tap people on the shoulder and the like.  Waldoes are the name given to the remote control arms used mostly in nuclear laboratories to handle dangerous items.  One guy manning the controls was so good that he could lift a person’s wallet right out of their back pocket – with that person’s permission that is.

The three of us began to crash around three in the afternoon and began searching for another café. We found one at the US pavilion and rested our weary feet.  After a short burst of rapid-fire French, Adrianne told me that they were planning on leaving this evening for home.  Colombe looked sad at this announcement, but I guess she knew it all along.  In silence we trekked back to our meeting place for the trip back to camp.

Adrianne headed for the beach again while Colombe and I walked towards the boat rental place.  This time we just got a swan pedal boat and aimlessly wandered the lake.  At one point, we ended up on the little island but there were so many people on it we couldn’t be alone.  By the time our hour was up both of us were pretty frustrated at our attempts to get off by ourselves.

As the sun fell towards the horizon, we chanced on a perfect place.  There was a large structure that sat off to the side near a wooded area.  From the front it appeared to reach the ground, but when approached from the back through the woods you could see that it was supported about six feet from the ground on pilings.  There was a door in the lattice held by a simply hook which, when opened, allowed us to get under the building.

We worked our way deeper under the building until outside noises faded and we were completely screened from view.  When I threw down our ever-present blanket Colombe sat and then lay back reaching out to me with her hand.  When I took it, she pulled hard and I dropped down near her.  She began immediately raining kisses all over my face and neck.  Not to be outdone, I returned her effort myself.  Kisses and caresses became more and more serious until we were both panting for breath.

In the process, her blouse had become unbuttoned and her bra removed.  My shirt was gone completely and my belt unfastened.  She lay on her back and, while holding my gaze with those incredibly blue eyes, lifted her hips and pulled her Capri pants down to her knees.  I removed them completely and put them aside.

She reached out and found my erection and was in the process of liberating it when I stopped her for a second.  She looked puzzled at me until I held up a foil packet I had taken from my dad’s shaving kit the other day.  All she could say was “Bon!”  And she wasn’t kidding.  I ripped it open and we both rolled it down.

I rapidly removed my shoes and pulled my clothing the rest of the way off.  When I bent over and began kissing her breasts she closed her eyes and started humming to herself.  She hadn’t let go of me though and while I kissed lower and lower, she did a slow stroke that drove me wild.

I finally had reached a turning point and pulled the elastic of her panties away and down her legs.  I rolled over her and between the two of us our bodies met, and joined.  It happened so rapidly that her eyes flew open and she gasped once and recovered enough to begin pulling on my hips as she raised her knees.  Silence punctuated by kisses, sighs, gasps, and an occasional word in English and French ensued as we melted into each other.

Once she rolled me over to be on top for a while and then let me roll her back over as our passion erupted into a mutual climax.  She bit my shoulder again, much harder this time, to keep from crying out; I had to let out a small shout as she did.  Finally, and much too soon, it was over and we lay back in the afterglow gasping for air.

Slowly we got dressed, shook out the blanket, and made our way to the door.  Just before we opened it, she kissed me deeply and thanked me once more for the wonderful time.  She would be leaving in an hour or so and I would never see her again.  I’d have the memories though for the rest of my life.

Hand in hand we walked back to our tents and rejoined the others for dinner.  Conversation was relative light, but quiet, as we finished supper and they went off to pack up their car.  As the got ready to leave, Adrianne and Colombe both came over and kissed me; the former with a tiny bit of tongue and the latter with a lot of tongue.  She was a hell of a kisser.  Both turned, got into the car, and they drove off.  I had an address and a telephone number but I wasn’t sure I would ever write or call.  One never knew though.

We left Brussels the next afternoon and went back to Stadt.  It was a very quiet trip except when my mom noticed that the little bite mark had a twin on the other side.  She didn’t really say anything, but I could hear wheels turn as she mulled that one over.  I wasn’t ready to lie to my parents about what had happened so I was thankful that neither one of them asked.

All told, it was a hell of a trip to the Worlds Fair.


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.


Racing my VW and a final girlfriend

July 19, 2009

In the late fifties, VW’s were not imported into the US.  Every one of them had come from a serviceman returning from Europe.  My dad had shipped our family car (a VW bus) and mine at the same time.  His was destined for New Jersey so we could use it to cross the US and mine sent to Oakland.  On our trip across the country, every time a VW would come towards us, headlights would flash.  I only remember a total of about ten or eleven other VW’s on the entire trip.

Neither car had a gas gauge.  Instead, they were fitted with a control that you could activate manually which gave you about a gallon and half more gas.  You ran with the control set normally until you actually ran out of gas.  Then you pushed the control over into reserve and re-started the car; or coasted in gear until the engine fired again.  Given the mileage we both enjoyed (35 to 40 mpg) we could begin hunting for a gas station and be reasonably assured of finding one before finally running out of gas.

My car’s gas tank was under the hood.  It had a huge twist-off top and, when you dipped the specially calibrated plastic stick into it, you could tell with good accuracy how much gas you had left.  I had also discovered that if I were to put the spare tank control in the middle position I would “run out of gas” in about a mile or so.  This, I decided, was a Really Good Deal.  Other guys could try and fake running out gas on a lonely road, but I could actually DO it.

The ‘car club’ crowd ignored me completely as they just figured I had a toy car.  They had no idea that my little toy car could hit over 90 on a straight road and was finely tuned for Autobahn driving – where there were no speed limits – and had a great gear ratio that matched the simple thirty-six horse, four cylinder engine..  They pretty much left me alone after I showed up at the track on public day (where anyone could enter a car in the time trials) and blew the doors off half the guys in their stupid club.  I was consistently in the mid-ranges of time for a quarter, and, should we have been allowed to go side-by-side, I would have beaten them off the line every time.  Their heavy cars and giant engines produced tons of burnt rubber and failed to move them forward at the green light.  My little ‘toy’ car would grab the cement with a little chirp and accelerate immediately as I ran through the gears.  Eventually, my dad heard about the racing and told me to stop.  I did too, as I didn’t want to hurt the car – too hard to find parts in 1958 for a VW.

Our auto shop teacher was very intrigued by my car too.  He gave me permission to being it into the shop for a week and I allowed all his classes to look around, into and under it.  The engine was the most interesting to them.  I showed him how to change the oil, pull off the valve covers and adjust valves, and to generally take good mechanical care of it.

Before we left Germany, my dad and I both went downtown to the garage where we had our cars serviced and studied repairs every evening for two weeks under the stern eye of Herr Busch.  We must have done at least ten or fifteen oil changes and valve adjustments.  My dad even got to help rebuild an engine while I watched closely.  I got to pull an engine out, replace a clutch disk, and reinstall it.  In later years, I could do this operation in under an hour.  We both learned pretty much everything about those little cars.  Lucky we did because there was not one single VW repair shop in the whole San Francisco area.  Any parts we needed had to be specially ordered direct from Germany and would take as much as six weeks to arrive.

Eventually, my sophomore and junior high school years passed and I rolled into my senior year.   During that time I never really had a girlfriend.  I had a few girl friends, but none that really took my heart like Kathleen, Virginia, or Danni.  The local girls here were nice, but some were pretty vain and self-centered.  The world revolved around them and getting close to any one of them was really difficult as they tended to form cliques.  I even learned how to surf just so I could be on the beach with their well-rounded tops and bottoms (cowabunga!).  I did my first (and last) spinner when one of the girls’ tops got pulled off by the surf.

I nearly finished High School without a serious girlfriend until the last couple of weeks in my senior year.  I found that reverting back to my European manners was strangely attractive to my some of my female classmates.  One, in particular, whom I had observed from afar but couldn’t work up the courage to ask for a date for some reason, said “yes” when I asked her to a graduation dinner my parents were throwing for me at a little restaurant in Sonoma.

Because she still lives in the same area, I will call her Shannon.  She was a quiet girl and, I think, a little of an outsider like me.  She lived very close to the school so there was no opportunity to drive her home or anything like that.  I had to devise other reasons to see her.  I was really attracted to her.  I found that my manners also impressed her family because they wouldn’t let her go with me on a date until they had met me.  I really turned on the Old World charm for them.  I had to be on my good behavior because my parents had moved yet again to Montana at the beginning of my senior year and I was staying with friends of my family across town.  I wouldn’t do for me to make an ass of myself.

Shannon and I only kissed once, in the very romantic back garden of the old mill used as the restaurant.  It was a chaste kiss, but I felt it down to my toes.  I had resisted falling in love again because of the serviceman’s curse – “do you really like it here?  Then get ready to move.” I simply didn’t want to go through that again with her.  She was very nice, and fun to be with, but even if she felt nothing for me, I would feel sad to be once again leaving something of me behind.  We parted friends and still remain so even now.


Goodbye Danni and hello California

July 13, 2009

My relationship with Danni soon moved into a second stage.  Our first stage was pretty platonic.  We enjoyed traveling, and just being with each other with no actual sexual overtones. As she became more proficient in English, she and I were becoming closer and I realized my attraction to her began to change from platonic into something a little closer to love.  I hesitate to use the word love in this context so soon after the departure of Virginia, but that’s the closest word in either language.

One evening as the four of us sat around the table sipping our after dinner wine, Otto lit his pipe and happened to mention that my old room was available tonight if I wished to stay for the evening.  Herta glanced between Otto and I, and rolled her eyes towards Danni, who blushed and looked at her plate.  I didn’t stammer any more when presented with a potentially embarrassing situation so I put my hand on Danni’s, turned to Otto and told him that I would like to stay the night, but I would like to be alone for a while right now.  He nodded and told me to take my time, the room would be there all evening.

I lifted my wine in salute to Danni and went into the small lobby where I sat down and faced the fire.  I began to weigh my feelings.  I still carried a lot of love for Virginia even though she had giver hers to another guy.  Danni, on the other hand was here, and not in Italy.  My circular argument with myself whirled on in my head until a hand dropped softly on my shoulder.  Danni had come to join me.

I held her hand as she rounded the chair and sat down on the footstool in front of me.  We both faced the fire as I dropped my hands to her shoulders.  We didn’t say a word, not one word, but I stood up, set down my glass, and lifted her to her feet.  She turned around and kissed me tenderly, and we walked hand in hand up the stairs to my room.

I tried my best not to compare Danni with Virginia but the effort became difficult at times.  Danni had a lust for life that spilled over into her lovemaking.  Nothing seemed to bother or embarrass her at all.  Over a few visits she taught me quite a few more ways to please a woman.  I also found that there are many more ways too, for them to please a man.  We began expanding our knowledge by simple experimentation.  Each new thing I learned was filed away mentally for future use.  She and I had a wonderful time together.  She knew that my time was going to be short as my dad’s three years was almost up but that didn’t appear to bother her.  Maybe it was me that loved too heartily and heavily.  Maybe she had the right idea after all – love the one you’re with because there may not be another.

My dad had told us a month before that we were going to California, but not, exactly when.  One day he said that we had just six weeks left.  I went downtown and told Otto, Herta and Danni the news.  We were a bit sad, but I wasn’t as torn up as I had been when Virginia left.  Danni’s English was pretty good now but she reverted to “you are sad feeling for me, yes?”  I hugged her to me and told her “yes, I have sad feeling for you Danni”. That evening we made love for the last time and I never saw her again.  We both wanted it that way.  I hope she married and did well for herself over the years.

This time we were flying over the Atlantic instead of on a pokey ship.  Since jets hadn’t been put into transatlantic use as of yet (in MATS – Military Air Transport Service), we drew a four-engine C-118 for our travels.  This thing was really slow despite the four roaring propellers on the wings.  We didn’t have much range either as we had to stop at Shannon, Ireland and Gander, Newfoundland, on the way to McGuire AFB, New Jersey.  Still, fifteen hours beats two weeks any time.

Following the obligatory visiting of the relatives as we crossed the U.S., we hit our new home in Northern California just a week before the first day of school in our town.  I knew I was in trouble the moment I entered the general population.  My European attitude towards most anything grated on everyone’s nerves and I became a pariah almost from the beginning.  It started by me opening my big mouth in German class (which I was lucky to get into) and began to rattle off my greetings to the teacher.  She had hardly understood a word I said.  She haughtily informed me that she spoke ‘high’ German and my language was guttural to her finely tuned ear since I had learned mine ‘down south’.  Well, holy cow, please excuse me.  This entire conversation, having been in German, went right over the heads of my classmates.

Not getting her point, I pressed onwards trying to draw the class into the conversation.  This was a huge mistake because they didn’t understand at all – much less want to converse with Mr. Know-it-all.  I finally sputtered to a stop, uttered an apology – in German – and shut up; totally embarrassed.

This performance was broadcast around the school in nanoseconds.  I was greeted with mock-German gibberish as well as other more common epithets known to teens everywhere (brown nose, nerd, and the ever popular dickhead).  I struggled to fit in, but just didn’t make it at all.

Insult was added to injury when I was informed that I had to take driver education before I could get my driver’s license in California.  It was the law.  Now, I had been driving for almost a whole year while in Germany and had even taken a road trip over into Belgium, Holland, and The Netherlands the previous summer.  Hell, I even brought my car (a Volkswagen convertible) back with me.  It hadn’t arrived yet, but it could come any day now.  Now I was being told I couldn’t drive?  What stupidity was this?  I enrolled in the class and endured sheer terror as fledgling drivers careered around corners, burnt rubber (starting and stopping – remember stick shift cars?), and generally made you feel you should kiss ground after every lesson.  After my first turn at the wheel, the teacher told me I couldn’t drive any more because I didn’t need it; then added that I would still have to endure the three weeks of the class.  No getting away from it.

Finally, the class ended, I went for my test, passed it, and put away my International Drivers License so I could use my new California one.  In what I thought was only several centuries, the little car finally arrived.  The fact that it had to go through the Panama Canal to get here from Europe explained why it took so long.

The very first day I arrived in the student’s parking lot in my strange little car everyone clustered around to take a look.  When I opened the hood to take out my books, the first thing they noticed was that I didn’t have an engine.  This was a cause of great concern because every car had to have an engine.  I pointed to the back and told them the engine was in the rear.  When I got out and lifted the lid, hoots of derision resounded from the male side of the gallery.  “You call that an engine?” was the most common comment.  “How do you wind it up?” was another favorite.  I was much more interested in the female onlookers, whose comments were in the order of “What a cute car!” and “Let’s go for a ride!”  I was often seen after school with as many as seven giggling girls stuffed into the front bucket seat and the small back seat as we headed to the soda shop.  The guys were not impressed.  What did impress them was that I never seemed to have to stop for gas.  Even at twenty-seven cents a gallon, it rarely cost me more than three dollars to fill it up.