I read a book by Nick Hornby called "High Fidelity". A friend of mine suggested it to me as he thought that I would like the music that was mentioned in the book. The main character of the book tells about the development (if one could call it that....) of his music appreciation as it related to his advances and rejections on the social front. He started when he was a teenager and the book progresses to age 35 or so. It made me think and remember.....
I finally figured out why I am so obsessed with sex. I started too young! Reading the book "High Fidelity" made me think about all those wonderful women that I have experienced for good or for bad. When I was in college, a friend of mine, who is also on "the List", asked me how many girls had I gone out with. My answer: about 150. She then asked me how many had I gone out with and spent money on them. My answer: About 150. She then asked me how many could I remember their names. My answer: About 130 that I can still remember the names AND phone numbers. She didn't believe a word I said so she then asked my roomate the same questions about me. His answer: About 150. What point do I want to make here? I have more experience than the character in "High Fidelity" and could write a better book. But it really did get me thinking. After all these years, how many do I still remember? You want to really know? Well, let's see how far I get. Some of the names will be changed in order to protect the innocent.
My very first, and this is the reason why I said that I started too young, was Christine. Chrissy was beautiful. She had blond hair and blue eyes and porcelain skin. She was also the first non-Jewish girl that I had any experience with. Well, that makes sense as she was the first anything girl that I had any experience with. We would hide out in her garage and play doctor. I, of course, did the examining. I did very very thorough exams as I only wanted the very best for my patient. Thanks to Chrissy, I learned about the marvels and the mysteries of the female external anatomy. I also learned that through a certain orifice that I, as a male lacked, I could peek into her very soul. I would peel back the soft protecting lips and view a wonderful flower that waited to be plucked. Or so it seemed at the time. Our relationship stopped when my f****y moved away to another town. Years later, I went to look for her, but, her f****y had also moved away. Why do I say we were too young? We were in First Grade!
Much to my chagrin, there was a hiatus after that of many years. Not for lack of trying on my part. I learned that girls that age thought that guys were creepy and something to stay away from. There was no way that I could convince any of them to participate in my games and fantasies. I had to wait until 8th grade for girls to discover their sexuality and accept my overtures. That is not to say that there weren't a number of love affairs, at least, on my part, along the way. There was Rita, who I thought was an amazingly hot girl. She would have nothing to do with me, but, I was crazy about her. And Susan,who was a dream. She had eyes that were always half closed as if she was dreaming. She was very tall with long brown hair and a willowy body to complete the picture. She was the first who said to me "let's just be friends" and so it was. Unfortuneately, because of the intervening years, I was amazingly shy and totally lacking any self confidence.
Among the first, and I apologize for the lapse of memory to put things in order, was Jamie. She was new to the school and obviously more experienced than any of us. She organized "make out parties" at her house. Games of spin the bottle allowed us to master the intricacies of that first kiss. As things progressed, we even were allowed, on occaission, to use our tongue for some dental exploration. As time went on, we progressed from the low light area to the designated closet away from the prying eyes of our peers. Jamie was the first that allowed me to touch a breast, be it covered by bra, shirt, and sweater and for ever so short a time. In her footsteps followed Sally and Kathy. The dam was cracked, the floodgates were slowly opening, and soon, I was on my way to the great beyond. Actually, as my father so aptly put it once very late at night when he walked into my room and caught me redhanded, literally, I became a slave to my erection....
Unforetunately, in my high school, I developed the image of a very strange person and became a social outcast of sorts. Oh, I had some friends, but my social/sexual development was extremely limited to say the least. I really would use much stronger language but why do it. I'm sure that you understand what I mean. There were three things that saved me: my guitar, my youth group, and summer camp. I also developed an interesting quirk: recycling. This will be explained later on and you'll see what I mean.
Guitar: When I was 14, I started learning to play guitar. I began with a junky 6 string that served me well and at 16 bought the Yamaha 12 string guitar that remains with me to this day. The Yamaha was bought in New York City. I went into the City BY MYSELF! At the time, this was a very big deal for me. There I was wearing my denim jacket, jeans, black motorcycle boots, and my hat--which was my trademark and remained with me until age 25 when I stupidly gave it to, what else?, a girl (a one night stand who gave me the most amazing blow job). Oh, the jeans also went to a girl (Sue who promised me that if I would open my heart to Jesus, she would open her legs to me. Neither ever happened). The denim jacket I still have as it was a present from a girl (Carol, who was a love at 16 and invited me to her senior prom). So there I was, in the City, buying my 12 string. It cost more than I had planned and I had to walk all the way back to the Port Authority Bus Station. There, I discovered that I didn't have enough money for the bus fare home. This was way back in the days before cell phones (to call my mother) or credit cards for everyone. What to do, what to do? I opened up the guitar case and started playing. It took a while, but finally there were enough kind souls who contributed to the few coins that I had put in the case as bait and I had enough for the bus fare home.
The guitar acted as a social magnet. I would play at all kinds of places. We, my b*****r and a friend of ours, even put together a group that played folk/country songs and we performed. That was a great way to meet, you guessed it, GIRLS! I got myself invited to parties so that I could play (every pun intended) there. Through the guitar, I met the following:
Amy: Amy was a beautiful girl with absolutely the largest breasts that I had ever encountered. Her nickname? Amy Juggs. Aside from feeling those wonderfully soft globes against my chest, they remained beyond my reach.
Beth: Beth introduced me to classical music. She felt that Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Led Zeppelin was noise. She took me to concerts and shows. I drew the line at opera after going once. Even I have my limits. In any case, Beth was a true love. She was also a true prude. We would play guitar together for a while and then I would want to move on to bigger and better things (oh, and she had those physical attributes!). Hot and heavy kissing was about the limit of our relationship. And so, it was time to move on. Beth will, however, continue to show up in the never ending saga. A small insight into what I meant by "recycling."
There were others but so brief, that their names escape me today while looking at this 40 years later.
I would like to deal with camp before the youth group. Camp Hugh Beaver was an experience. I was there for 10 years every summer from age 7 to age 17. There was a short interlude at 18 for a week that was "character forming", but, we'll get to that later. At camp, I could be myself, I could grow and develop, I was without the negative stigmas that I had "at home." I don't remember how it began, but at some point, there was a crew of older counselors: Pat, Kathy, Hynda, and others who adopted a few of us campers. Every night after they put their campers to bed, we would get a visit and a good night kiss. Of course they came to visit our counselors but we enjoyed the fringe benefits.
Camp had a shower room. There was a wall that divided between the boys' shower and the girls' shower. At the top of the wall was a space that one could peek over. The problem was that as much as the boys wanted to peek, the girls were aware of this fact of life. Punishment for peeking, if you got caught, was to be sent home. The question was: is it worth the risk? Should I endanger the known bird in hand (the goodnight kiss) for the possible peek at the bird in the bush (if you don't understand that one, then why are you reading this?) and getting caught and sent home? That's not to say that I didn't climb up on occasion. I just never looked over....
As I grew older and became part of the camp staff (my personal staff was always ready for action), I also took my guitar with me for the summer. After putting the campers to sl**p, we would sit and play and sing. There were two special girls my age who attracted my attention: Mary Beth and Mary Ann.
Mary Beth was a very vivacious, good looking, well endowed, enticing girl. Similar to Amy (juggs), she had noticable physical attributes that drew boys like bees to honey. She remained, however, smiling, laughing, friendly and sexually aloof to just about all comers (I am sure that she was the subject of many a wet dream by campers and counselors alike). One of the absolute joys of camp existence was going swimming and seeing Mary Beth on the dock by the lake. No bikini, just a one piece bathing suit. Ah, the things that were imagined. It's a good thing that the lake water was a little chilly and we would be able to conceal our interest and arousal.
Mary Ann was a different story. She was the side kick, the lady-in-waiting, the number 2. Mary Ann was very quiet, similarly built, but exuded a very different personality. Over the years, we became fast friends and she was one of my first and favorite pen pals (due to the distance between us during the winter season). In a way, I'm glad that I no longer have those letters that reflected the banality of teenage existence in the '60's. I do, however, remember one letter and the response to it. I wanted to shock Mary Ann out of her country/Catholic/solid existence. I wrote my very first sexual fantasy to her. The response was quick and precise: please do not write such things to me again. That put me in my place for a very long time. There was one exception to the rule that existed for years within our relationship. One night, the very last night of summer camp in 1970, things took a change for the interesting. At the time, I was suffering from a severe case of poison ivy. My legs and chest, and everything in between, was covered with poison ivy. I looked like the calamine lotion k** when I got undressed. I would bathe in the stuff in order to relieve the itching. In any case, there we were, four of us--MB, MA, another counselor named John, and myself--sitting around a small campfire, playing guitar, singing, talking, in general messing around. I truly don't remember whose idea it was to go into one of the vacant cabins but we did. MB and John on one bunk bed and MA and I on the other across the room. This was the very first time that I had ever been with Mary Ann in a possible sexual encounter. We started hugging and kissing. And that, dear reader, was the furthest that things went. I was torn between attempting a sexual conquest or guaranteeing an infection of poison ivy which would ruin any and all chances for a future relationship. Although I felt that I could have continued with Mary Ann, I felt that I couldn't risk exposing myself, and by physical contact, her, to my poisonous condition. At the time, she had no idea of how close she came to infection and so entered my personal pantheon of lost opportunities. Mary Ann will appear later on in this story, dear reader. Just keep your pants on. No, that is the point of this writing--to get your pants off....
Posted by bbbooom 3 years ago Views: