Way back when I was in the ninth grade, fourteen
years old and a man of the world, I had my initial
introduction to the wonderful world of sex and love,
which, at the time anyway, were interchangeable
terms. The whole episode actually began quite awhile before the culminating event took place, because
something of this magnitude and importance couldn't
be rushed into; it took careful, methodical
planning, insight and a hell of a lot of luck.
My friend Mick and I used to scout around the Palmer
Park skating rink during the evenings of a cold and
unyielding winter, skating around the rink endlessly, looking like the cool dudes we were. We would check
all the single babes out and occasionally skate
around for a couple of laps with some of our
prospects, babbling lines so inane I refuse to even
put them down on paper. Anyhow, every so often we'd
get lucky (although, in retrospect, I'm not certain
"lucky" was a fitting description) and this would
entail crossing Gratiot Avenue with our skates still
on, girls in tow, eventually coasting down the snowy
incline to the frozen creek in the woods.
These little trysts were in the genre of amateur
status in as much as a multitude of of other avid
couples repaired to the same woods with intentions
undoubtedly similiar to our's, thus making our plans
by no means exclusive. The most that EVER went on in the woods was a little smoking (just cigarettes in
those days), a little kissing and maybe, just maybe,
if you were really fortunate you might cop a feel or
at least think you had, considering all of the bulky
clothing the little vixens were attired in. This
business went on all winter, with the exception of
when Mick, myself and the rest of the guys played
hockey when the babe situation got particularly
bleak.
There was, however, one ray of hope in what was
otherwise a fairly uneventful winter. We had been
scouting these two foreign girls (I use the term
foreign in that they didn't go to Garfield School or
live in the vicinity of the north end) for most of
the season and we believed we had a reasonably good
idea of just what kind of girls they were. Our kind. We had observed them leaving several times with
different guys, some of them even having a CAR no
less! Now, right there, that's got to tell you
something, right? Anyway, we knew THEY knew we were
around because every so often we'd skate next to them and mumble a "Hi", or some other profound witticism. You know, something like "Hey, whazzhappenin?"
Something really deep. Invariably, they'd smile back at us, uttering something equally as profound.
Something such as "Tee hee hee heee." Very heavy
stuff. Once we had established this meaningful
dialogue with them, we knew they were our's for the
taking. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.
Now you have to remember, this was in 1960, way
before AIDS, herpes or anything else was much of an
issue. I mean, geez, we had heard about the crabs and that you could get them from dirty girls, but we knew that was bullshit because we had seen some crabs in
Mrs. Haywood's science room aquarium and it was
perfectly obvious that a girl couldn't have those
litle buggers without the whole world noticing them.
Hell, you'd be able to see them bulging and moving
around in her pants, so we knew this whole crab
theory was initiated by adults who didn't want their
kids fooling around with each other. I did get kinda scared though when Mick, who would become an
orthopedic surgeon later in life, told me how you
could get trench mouth from someone and pointed out
ol' Victor, who had a mouth full of red gums with
green and yellow teeth. He was pretty colorful when
he smiled. In the end though, even the threat of such maladies couldn't deter me; I figured if worse came
to worst, I had some Listerine at home that would
kill just about anything and if the girl I was with
had a rainbow in her mouth I'd hit the medicine
cabinet as soon as I got home. What a genius huh?
The truth of the matter is the the real reason any of these concerns came up at all was because we knew
that the harlots had gone out with a lot of other
guys, some of them pretty audacious looking, even if
the did have cars. The good news was that if they'd
go out with those assholes, it was a cinch we could
pick them up. Hell, we knew with our suave banter and aloof casualness, coupled with our good looks and
sexual knowledge (which consisted of a medical book
and several National Geographics), we would conquer
all!!!
The MASTER PLAN was conjured during a film on
electricity in Mrs. Haywood's science class. As I
gazed at the crabs scuttling around the aquarium,
Mick laid out the first phase of our attack. He had
heard from reliable sources that the door to the
lifeguard shanty by the beach had been pried open.
Reflecting on that for a moment, there is no doubt in my mind that it was Mick who vandalized the shanty in the first place; that'e just how he was. Back to the story...This would be our haven of bliss in which we
would be hidden from the world with our two little
trollops. Yes, this would be where we would ravish
the fair maidens and become REAL MEN. Boy we sure
had some weird imaginations in those days, didn't we? Fair maidens...geez. If they were such fair maidens, why did I persist in staring at the crabs in Mrs.
Haywood's aquarium? Why did I keep looking at
Victor's multicolored teeth? Whatever the case, I
would tell my parents I was going to spend the night
at Micks, which was a great idea as he only lived a
block from the rink and had parents who were more
liberal than mine about curfews and such. Besides,
whenever his parents gave him any shit he'd start
throwing a fit and they'd run out and hide somewhere. Yep. ol' Mick was pretty cool all right, albeit a bit whacked out. He was the only kid I knew who would
light up a fart just so his friends could see the
blue flame. Once, he burned his ass damn good. What a guy. What a pal!
With that part of the MASTER PLAN decided we
proceeded on with our pre-game strategy. We would go to the park's changing room, which was actually a
small building where you put on your skates, get warm by the old potbellied stove and buy a hot chocolate
or a candy bar. Anyway, we decided we'd sit there
for awhile, conserving our energy and body heat for
more urgent and pressing matters as we waited for the girls to arrive, change into their skates and go down to the rink. Once that was completed we would wait
for about fifteen minutes in order to give the girls
the impression that we didn't really care much about
them. What a pair of imbiciles we were. Here we
are, trying to get into these bimbo's drawers and
we're acting like we really don't want to be
bothered. Smooth huh?
.
So, now we're at the park, implementing our brilliant MASTER PLAN. We sauntered down to the ice, looking
aloof and nonchalant and being cool. We skated past
the girls for a couple of laps, finally saying "hi"
to them after a spell. Several laps later we slowed
down and started skating with them, charming them
with our skating prowess and general manliness. Yep, we had completely lost our minds. At that juncture,
Mick eased up next to the the heavier of the two,
leaving me to move along side of the short, thin one. I think Mick selected the larger one because he had
heard bigger girls were easier. God only knows where he acquired that tidbit of misinformation which would become vividly apparent to him throughout the ensuing course of events. After all of this foreplay, we took our respective partner's hands in an attempt to skate around the rink hand in hand without falling on our
asses and looking like a couple of morons. Actually, considering this whole stupid affair, we looked like
and were a couple of morons way before we ever hit
the ice.
Now that phase one was completed, we all skated
around the rink a little longer, Mick and I both
keeping an eye out to see who else was hanging around the rink. Specifically, we were looking for any of
the other damsels with whom we had made frequent
trips across Gratiot Avenue to the frozen creek in
the woods. If any of those holier-than-thou broads
saw us with two foreigners who looked and acted as if they were willing to go a lot further than playing
kissy face at the creek, the closest we'd ever get to a Garfield girl again would be looking at a Playboy
magazine under the bed sheets with a flashlight.
Once we realized there was nobody around to either
observe or squeal on us, we had completed phase two.
We then moved on the phase three, which consisted of
asking the girls THE BIG QUESTION which was
asking them if they might want to go for a skate,
down to the lifeguard shanty. So we did and they
said they'd have to talk it over and skated off,
leaving us there alone in the middle of the rink. We resumed cruising around the rink, slyly watching
their movements from the corners of our eyes,
speculating on what they were discussing. If truth
were to be known they were probably asking each other if there was anyone around who knew them because they sure as hell didn't want any of their friends to see
them with these two dorks.
Being the slick dudes that we were, it wasn't
surprising when they finally caught up with us and
said that, yeah, they'd go with us. So, off we went, kind of walking and skating down the ice covered
streets and alleys, right past Aunt Donna and Uncle
Bud's kitchen window near the alley at which point I
raised the hood of my parka over my head in order to
remain anonymous. Although the shanty was only four
blocks from the rink, it seemed a great deal longer. That was probably because I was so keyed up with
anticipation, but also due to the fact that every so
often we'd hit a bare spot in the road and come to a
screeching halt, actually all of us falling down in
two instances. It didn't do the skates a whole world
of good either as would be attested to the following
day when my father, looking at the blades of my
skates, asked me if I had been "skating on the damn
road, for God's sake". Not me dad, no way.
At long last we finally arrived at our haven of
bliss, wheezing from the final trek of our journey
which consisted of walking over frozen ice pockets on the beach, breaking through several of them and
getting our skates stuck into something akin to ice
cold quicksand. Were it not for love, which, as I
stated earlier was synonymous with sex in those days
and terribly horrible judgment, I would have
shit-canned the whole damn plan and retreated to the
warmth of the old potbellied stove in the park's
changing room. But, of course I didn't do that. So,
inside the shanty we go, visions of ecstasy in our
derranged little minds. I don't remember just what I thought our blissful love haven would look like;
perhaps I had hoped someone had had the decency to
fix it up a little. You know, maybe some curtains
and a couple of chairs or a nice rug, anything.
Well, that wasn't even close. All it had in it were
a few boxes, a couple of life preservers and a small
aluminum lifeboat. Curses. I opted for the comfort
of the upside down lifeboat, thinking it symbolic of
my feelings at the moment...that would be a sinking
feeling. Whatever the case, we didn't waste much
time getting things cooking, probably from the raw
unbridled sexual fervor we were feeling, but most
likely due to the fact that we were both freezing our butts off and needed to move in order to stay
warm.
My "date" was only the least bit hesitant about me
sticking my hand up her blouse, which certainly
dispelled my fantasy as to her being a fair, young
innocent maiden. The reward for this concerted
effort was a handful of nothing contained in what I
now think was a trainng bra. Curses. Yeah, she was
in training all righty. In retrospect, it was a
training bra for me as well, in that it was the first I'd ever tackled. Undaunted by this temporary
setback, I proceeded to slip my hand down several
layers of pants and did so poorly that she finally
lowered her drawers down herself, totally shooting to hell the fair maiden theory.
So, picture, if you will, the two of us, rolling
around on top of the stupid lifeboat, possibly having sex (although to this day I still wouldn't swear to
it either way), fondling, kissing, mumbling (me),
groaning (either her or the wind, I was never sure),
all coupled by barnyard sounds at the other end of
the shanty and topped off with the shanty itself
swaying and creaking in the wind. Yep, everything
was going just fine and dandy in our blissful love
haven until I heard someone howl, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!".
Next I started to hear some whispering and
momentarily some kissing so I returned to whatever in heck it was we were doing, subconsciously having an
image of being found here in the spring with my
drawers at half mast, on top of a lifeboat, my ice
skates still on and a foreign bimbo in my arms, both
of us frozen stiff. What a bizarre thought. My
thoughts were interrupted though, by a yet louder,
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!". Geez, ol' Mick must have been
going for a penalty shot! Subsequently, more yelling and howling and whispering ensued, concluded by Mick
muttering "Aw Shit!">
Well, that just about closed the book on everything. My little fair maiden uttered practically the only
words spoken all night and they were, "I gotta go".
Hey, no argument here lady. Hell, I didn't want to
overdo a good thing and besides, I was freezing my
talliwacker off and I SURE didn't want to be a party
to whatever in hell Mick was up to. So, off we went, bidding adieu to our blissful love haven, once again
trudging through the snow and ice and sand with our
skates still on. No longer hand in hand, as the
girls were skating and walking and tripping in front
of us and I knew I sure as hell didn't want to hold
ol' Micks hand, especially since it had been God only knows where. As we passed my aunt and uncle's house
again I didn't even bother to put my parka hood up
thinking that I didn't even care if they saw Mick or
I or the virgin queens we were with or Santa Claus
running around naked yelling "HO HO HO You
Assholes".
We finally reached the park again, which felt as if
it took even longer than the trip To the lifeguard
shanty and the girls skated off into oblivion as if
nothing happened, which may have been a fairly close
assessment of the whole evening. THen ol' Mick had
to start right in and ask me if I got any and I'm
thinking to myself just what I MIGHT have gotten,
perhaps a case of crabs like the ones in Mrs.
Haywood's class or possibly a dreadful gum and tooth
disease like good old Victor had. But, of course I
gave him the obvious answer, "Sure, Mick, you?". And of course Mick replies, "Nooo problem man. No
problem at all". Sure Mick, you dickhead.
We never saw those to beauties again and I have no
idea where they ended up or whatever became of them.
I thought about them though and what they might have
conversed about after they left us on the fateful
night. The larger girl saying, "So, how was it? Did you get a little?". The smaller one retorting, "Ya I think so, maybe. How about you?". The big one
replying, "Naw, everytime I went for his zipper he'd
yell 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!'. What a jerk!". And
finally, both of them in unison, "God, what a couple
of assholes hahaha".
Well, old Mick and I didn't do too much scouting for
the duration of the winter; heck, too much sex and
love can wear a man out. So we spent the rest of the season playing hockey and occasionally sliding over
to the frozen creek in the wood to smoke a butt or
split a beer we had swiped from either of our
parents. A couple of times we even took some of the
Garfield girls with us, although nothing ever
happenied that could even come close to the lifeguard shanty incident, better known as our blissful haven. At least not that winter. Every once in awhile when
a bunch of the guys were together, old Mick would
wink at me and start rambling on to whoever would
listen about that special night. And as the yarn got more complex, more preposterous and unbelievable each time he retold it, all I could do was to sit there
and listen, thinking, boy, what a couple of assholes
HA HA HA!!!!!
�August 3, 1999
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