Proceed with caution if bad words get you upset easily. As an author, I reserve the privilege to use these words to enhance my work. If you get crazy about it…too bad. Chill. Feel free to comment up a storm. Thanks.
“Nell Blue De Pinto De Blue” ( Volare )
It was the summer of 1960 or possibly even 1959. I was 15 years old and determined to eliminate my acne problem the natural way. Yes…that’s correct. To actually find a young lady my own age who would willingly engage in sex with me. It was rumored that there were many comely and willing young females available to me. Virtually under every rock was a wanton 15 year old virgin trembling with anticipation. Waiting for me to find them and insert my penis into their vagina…repeatedly. Why…you couldn’t throw a dead cat without hitting a pre-pubescent, pouty lipped, hungry to be a woman teenage young lady.
But…alas…it was not to be that summer…nor the next…nor the one after that. By then I was 17 and had my driver’s license and had every expectation of loosing my virginity in my mom’s car on her Neoga-Hide seat covers. Eventually, I suspected that Neoga-Hide repelled the urge in young ladies to have sex. If not that, it was me that repelled the urges in these young ladies to have sex.
These days had become the no-man’s-land of male teenage angst and a hormonal descent into adolescent insanity in the endless hunt for…dare I even say the word…pussy. In current advertising for male enhancement drugs, it is suggested that you should visit your emergency room if you maintain an erection for more than four hours. Back in those lust driven teenage days…four hours was nothing to take you to your emergency room unless there was a nurse there you were hoping to have sex with. Perhaps after four days I might begin thinking I should visit the emergency room. But four hours…I was just getting warmed up. I wasn’t even chaffed yet.
But I digress, I’m suppose to be harkening back to my activities while listening to one of the more popular recordings of the day. I’ve selected “Nel blu Dipinto De blu” by Domenico Modugno. It was very popular the summer of 1960. I recall dancing to it at our local Country Club. Actually we called it our Country Club because very few if any of the Pool Club members could afford membership in a country club. This was a local swimming pool with a few picnic tables in the woods just west of the club, behind the refreshment stand. It may not have been a Country Club but it was all we needed to have an altogether blissful summer.
This was the summer when the last of the girls developed breasts. Some did in time for last summer and by this summer they were fully blossomed. Ahhh yes, I remember it well. Young ladies in bathing suites…some in bikinis…material clinging snugly to wet, nubile bodies…girls sitting on our shoulders in the pool…their soft, warm thighs caressing our cheeks…kissing in the corner of the deep end where nobody could see us…jumping the fence at night and skinny dipping with a bunch of guys and gals. Rarely did the girls strip naked with the guys but it did happen. As a rule we would hear them lamenting to each other that they were forced to see our penises through the space between their fingers. It was much better when alone with a date. This was still a rather puritan period. It usually took a lot of time and effort to get a young lady’s clothes off. It was during this time I developed an appreciation for the dimples on a young lady’s lower back or that hollow groove on the inside of their upper thighs. This was the period of my life when I began to appreciate the pure majesty of the female form.
Our pool, known as the Ravine Club, had dances. About three every summer. I remember that was the year we all went out and bought these white pants. I don’t recall why really, a big sale or the pants were worn by James Dean in a movie or something frivolous like that. We all looked like waiters on a cruise line. But what I remember most was dancing the slow dances. Screw the fast dances. The Twist, the Mashed Potatoes, the Pony and all the rest. Give me the Righteous Brothers Unchained Melody and Domenico’s Volare anytime. Dancing cheek to cheek…holding them close with your arm around them…your nose in their hair. God they smelled so good. Some danced very close. Sinfully close. She would be straddling my thigh and I hers. We moved together in unison…our bodies rubbing and grinding into one another. Those were the times you had to think of John Wayne or scenes from the latest war movie to keep from getting a woody. It wasn’t so bad while you were dancing. The young lady would either give you a look and a smile, sometimes pushing back with her hips which was my favorite response or she would get embarrassed and walk away and talk to her friends about how crude you were. It could be embarrassing. Especially if you had a big wet spot on your white pants. It wasn’t easy being a male teen in those middle teen years. It would really show on those white pants. The next time you saw those pants they had been cut off. Punished if you will.
So…this was how I spent my middle teen years as I listened to Volare and Unchained Melody. Hell…I wish I could do that all over again.