My Real Memoir
It was the Summer of Love, and “love-ins” were popping up everywhere. Marc and I had heard there was one in Griffith Park. So we jumped in his Chevy and went looking for hippies gyrating to guitars and bongos, passing joints, and practicing “free love,” whatever that was.
We never found it.
But I did find the girl from Texas. Even though I’d told my pen pal Judy that I believed in strictly controlling teenage urges; and even though Marc and I had agreed, as Buddy Holly advised, to follow “True Love Ways” and wait until we’d found our one-and-onlys before heading to “second base;” our papier mâché dikes would soon begin to spring leaks.
My first leak came in the form of a curvy little blonde from Buddy Holly’s hometown. On a last-minute call from my friend Kathy, I borrowed Mom’s car and drove to the Disneyland Hotel where she and her cousin Lynn-From-Lubbock had spent the last two nights exploring the Magic Kingdom. The plan was to monorail to mouseland. But LFL wasn’t ready. So I said I’d wait and come over with her. Because I was the perfect gentleman. And because I’d fallen instantly in lust with Lynn’s big blue eyes, big blonde hair, and big other things.
The moment Kathy and company left, our playful getting-to-know-you banter turned into flirting. And then touching. And then teasingly bouncing on the bed. And then making out.
An hour later, we monorailed to Disneyland, where I’d had my first real date with Kelle of scandalous-but-mislabled “Fred’s Orgy” fame, with whom I’d never really done anything but flirt and learn to kiss. Lynn, on the other hand, seemed to have done more, maybe a lot more, and I was her willing apprentice.
After Disneyland, I offered Lynn a ride to Kathy’s house. When we arrived, I parked across the street, and said, “Well, I guess…” and we’d started making out again. Mom’s Falcon Futura was one of the last cars with “bench” seats. True, they were old-fashioned, but they were still good for some things — like window-steaming, hands-wandering make-out sessions.
No, we didn’t have sex. But we gave it a friendly wave. And before Lynn left, we waved at it some more. Under a blanket at the beach. And during a swim day with friends at my backyard pool, whence, while changing back into her civvies, Lynn accidently (on purpose?) spilled White Shoulders perfume on my bedroom pillow. For years afterward, every time I smelled White Shoulders I’d turn in a haze of lustful memories and see an old lady pushing a walker (somehow it became the official scent of the blue-haired set). Talk about cognitive dissonance.
Before she left, Lynn invited me to visit her in Lubbock. I excitedly dashed off an arty note to my Amarillo-based pen pal (above), implying I might soon be visiting her too (I had no idea Amarillo was two hours away from Lubbock).
A few weeks later, my summer of lust turned into a real summer of love. Not with the girl from Texas, but with…
Someone I’d almost forgotten about.
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You were really playing with fire, Mitch!
I was indeed, Vera.
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High five for your partial self discipline back in the day–up until your last unrevealed event! 🙂
Partial thanks, Nancy. ;>) I’ll get to that “last unrevealed event” soon, I promise.
Weeee..doggies, man, now that’s a tale. Not bragging here, but Texas is chock full of those little gals like that. We had them in the 60s and still do. I know, I married one. I applaud your priestly diligence and control, but teenage boys aren’t suppose to poscess those virtues. Falcon station wagon, yep, we had one too, bench seats and all, and no AC. You have to wonder, what happened to the little cowgirl? Good recounteur. Keep them coming.
;>) Will do, Phil.
Oh Mitch! You are such a hoot! I also had a car with a bench seat that my brother borrowed when he had dates (his had bucket seats). Now I can see why. Just call me an 80 year old innocent.
;>)
Huh… I wonder if I actually know Lynn-from-Lubbock. She could’ve been someone who went to my high school! What a small world it is. Your memoirs never fail to make me smile. Oh, and Amarillo isn’t that far. Rave on, my friend.
You’re right, I checked. Turns out it’s more like 2 hours away, not 200 miles (just fix the error). Thanks, Kellye!
Ah, memories… the Chevy, Buddy Holly, first loves… we were all there, they were the best of times, and (to steal a line from a popular song) we thought they’d never end.
So true, mich.
“we didn’t have sex but we gave a friendly wave to it” OMG Mitch that’s GOLD. You’ve made my day and gave me the giggle I needed. It’s fun to wave at sex, bless your young foolish heart.
Happy to provide that giggle, Janet. Sincerely, Young Mitch’s Foolish Heart.
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