My Real Memoir
Sex. A friend commented recently about my Leave It to Beaver life. But I’m not The Beav, and I never was. Beaver Cleaver was a fictional character in a sweetly sanitized sitcom. One who never discovered at age eleven that it felt good to touch himself “down there.” And who never played “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” pre-adolescent games with a friend’s sister.
I’d just turned sixteen and was the poster boy for unrequited yearnings. My head was full of stories and my body was full of desires. I had a moral compass (see pen pal letter above), but it was borrowed and rusty, and I soon abandoned it on the trail. It wouldn’t be until a decade later that I’d heed the Apostle Paul’s advice and reject being “shaped by this world” in favor of being “metamorphosed by the regenerating of my mind.”
It was a sultry summer. The Lovin’ Spoonful’s hit “Summer in the City” distilled my longings and quickly became my personal anthem. My girlfriend Kelle and a close Drama friend Leslie felt the same. We’d been cast in the chorus of a community theatre production of The Pajama Game and were looking forward to singing and dancing in sexy sleepwear. Which turned out to be warm, unsexy flannel, but we still had fun, and Leslie acquired a clever boyfriend named Lance in the process.
After rehearsals, the four of us would cruise Whittier Boulevard, dip our Big Boy fries in blue cheese, and seek out the cool breezes of the Whittier Hills. One night, Kelle and I ran up to the top of a parking structure. Thinking of that “Summer in the City” line, “runnin’ up the stairs, gonna meet you on the rooftop,” I playfully stroked the bumps on her blouse, making sophomoric allusions to the nearby hills. Then we kissed deeply and…Leslie and Lance arrived.
But a month later, those unfulfilled longings bubbled over at…
“Fred’s Orgy.” My buddy Fred, who’d graduated the previous spring and joined the Navy, invited us to his Farewell Party. Kelle and Leslie suggested everyone wear sexy sleepwear, the kind we didn’t get to wear in The Pajama Game. But Fred said nobody was willing. So Kelle and Leslie wore pants.
But after we arrived, in the privacy of Fred’s bedroom, they took them off. Kelle had bought a pair of cheeky sheer-backed panties. We flirted, kissed, even kissed each other’s dates. And then Kelle suggested we join the rest of the party. So Leslie put her pants back on and she and Lance left the room. But Kelle decided to greet everyone just the way she was. I nervously grabbed a beer (the first I’d ever had) and followed my lithe, pretty girlfriend in her see-through underwear as she made the rounds. Former thespian Larry leaned in, and said, “Lucky man!” But I didn’t feel lucky. Or like a man. I just felt scared. And when a couple of college guys started to “pet” Kelle, I quickly dragged her back into Fred’s room.
We lay down on Fred’s bed and began kissing, and then…nothing happened. I was afraid someone might come in any minute, and all I could think of was protecting Kelle. She was deeply insecure after multiple stepfathers and constant moving, so her newly-single mom agreed to stay put, allowing her to spend all four years at the same high school. For the first time in her life Kelle had a circle of friends who loved her for who she was. “But even then you were trying to gain acceptance by being the ‘cute, sexy girl,’ weren’t you?” I asked her when I got her OK to share this story. Kelle’s response was an unequivocal, “Oh, yes.”
She remains one of my dearest friends.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Mitch Teemley 
Pingback: Boys Just Wanna Have Fun | Mitch Teemley
Bless you for wanting to protect her. Most guys I knew would have been perfectly happy to leave the door shut and have people assume the wrong thing. I was a very naive teenager, and I suspect a bunch of angels were working overtime keeping me safe. I certainly wasn’t very wise about putting myself in bad situations.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Ditto, Annie. Our frontal lobes weren’t all that well developed, were they?
LikeLiked by 2 people
(*Huh?*)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Because their frontal lobes aren’t fully developed, psychologists say, teenagers tend to make foolish and risky choices.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yeah, that was a joke. I was answering for my teenaged self.
I remember when I was a middle school teacher, reading that the average 8-year-old makes better choices than the average teenager. I believe it. (And when you ask, “Why did you do that?” the teenager’s answer is, “I don’t know…”)
LikeLiked by 2 people
Aha. In this case, I was the clueless one, Annie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
My bad. I didn’t include the smirk. (😏) Speaking face to face is still better, isn’t it?
LikeLiked by 1 person
You were a gentleman with integrity at an age when many aren’t. I’m sure keeping Kelle as a friend made it all worth it!
LikeLiked by 4 people
Oh, I’m afraid I sound nobler than I was, Nancy, but thank you. And, yes, Kelle’s friendship has made it all worth it!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Okay, so maybe you didn’t live a Beaver Cleaver teenage life, but I think you had an idyllic 60s childhood. Had I known you back when I was growing up then, I would’ve thought you were very cool for several reasons, but mostly because you actually cared about your girlfriend. I love reading your letters to Judy. It has been fun seeing them evolve.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Oh, you’re just saying that because of your name. ;>) I cringe when I read those letters, Kellye, bad spelling and all, but they do correct my Beaver Cleaver memory.
LikeLiked by 1 person
With the exception of having to watch the Viet Nam War during dinner every night, I would say that growing up in the 60s was pretty great. I just wish I’d had a pen pal so I could cringe when reading the letters too!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hah!
LikeLike
I remember it like it was just last week. Mmmmmm
LikeLiked by 2 people
Kelle?
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣
LikeLiked by 1 person
I always pictured the Beav as my younger brother, while I was the uptight older brother whose name I’ve forgotten. I remember a few kisses but “NO TOUCHING!” until well past high school. Of course, I grew up in the 50s which makes all the difference.
LikeLiked by 1 person
True, Rob. And the big brother was Wally.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wally, forgettable just like me. Older brothers like me and Wally deserve more recognition for the great weight of responsibility we bear so that younger brothers can be adorably unruly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So you were a normal, healthy 16 year old. 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Pingback: Sex 101 – DIGITALNEWSLINK
Kelle was very lucky to have you there. Even as a young man, you quickly figured out what was truly going on, and actually saved her from herself. In my book, that says a whole lot about your moral character.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The best of times, eh, Mitch? And with the innocence of childhood and adolescence of natural physical and mental growth to back us up to the summer in the city days of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll – who could ask for more? Real good times, we were fortunate.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m thankful that you didn’t “follow through” with Kelle–and I’m sure she is, too. On a related note: There was a girl who wanted to “do it” with me, but I had previously told her I wouldn’t “do it” unless we got married, and I said “No.” Subsequently, we broke up (thankfully), but she later thanked me for that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m thankful for that too, Keith. Although, unfortunately, I was quite promiscous in the years that followed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey, we all come to faith in Christ–and understanding of what He wants and doesn’t want us to do–at different ages.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Cheddar Cheese and Rock ‘n’ Roll | Mitch Teemley