sex and/or street theatre (?)

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  • the tangents have already started and i haven’t even begun.  shit running rampant through my synapse frazzled brain.  sex?  street theatre?  yeah, i prefer theatre, imagine noel coward, for those of you who even know who the fuck he was, and say ‘theatre’.  quite british i suppose.  anyways the other way it’s spelled looks like an optometrist’s eye chart to me.  demon dyslexia. sex and/or street theatre.  simple as that.  or is it?  sex and religion?  philosophical theatre?  yes, of course just get on with it.

    a number of years ago in a lifetime far far away from today…

    summertime.  huntington beach.  surf city.  the old mobile home park behind the sheraton hotel right on pch.   friends parents had a trailer there.  nice place and nothing like where britney spears comes from.  more tangents.  even a nice 3 par golf course wandering through the trailers.  nine iron and a putter.  step out and play.  sweet. 

    friends parents were gone, off to god knows where, and the place was ripe for party time.  college kids high school kids.  need i say more?  you bet.  the place was ours. 

    i was in the living room with a nine iron and promptly put it through the ceiling with my backswing.  it was only 6 or so in the morning.  harbinger of things to come?  general consensus was…maybe no one will notice.  youth in all of it’s bluster.

    ok.  party planned and lots of alcohol.  way too much alcohol.  girls even.  though they knew us all to well so more were needed if  anything was going to happen.  sexually. 

    out on the beach hitting on anything faintly resembling a woman and asking them if they wanted to go to the party.  most of them ran away  frantically seaching for johnny law or somebody like him.  another harbinger?  or just giggled.  perhaps even worse. 

    in and out of the water wandering the beach.  back in back out.  searching.  by early afternoon it looked like the only women there that night would just be the ladies we already knew.  not good for horny young men.

    like a shimmering mirage from a testosterone haze.  she appeared.  sitting in the sand.  blonde and gorgeous.  amazing.  where did she come from?  someone’s gift or a cruel joke?  only time would tell.  like all gorgeous women back then, of that age, and from what i’ve seen today wandring about they always have the homley friend very close by.  in some sort of demented hindsight it seems as if they are the chastity belt of sorts for the more hot babe.  tangents.

    ever swave and debonner the hit was made.  amazingly blonde goddess says, yes.  say what?  friend i’m with and i are pretty much dumbfounded.  did we hear her right?  yep.  but then things are rarely what they seem.  plain jane says, no.  a big no.  we spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with them trying to convince the plain one to attend the festivities that evening.  no dice.

    luckily they were staying at the hotel that weekend with blonde bombshell’s parents.  sadly all of them in the same room.  another harbinger?  we begged and pleaded for a hotel pool side meeting that evening in order to chat some more.  blonde babe was even on our side.  she liked me.  plain babe relented and agreed to the pool side meet.  nothing more.

    after an early dinner friend agreed to go to the pool meet with me.  a nice gesture if there ever was one.  they were waiting.  blonde babe even lovelier in jeans and a shirt.  sweet.  we talked our heads off.  the party had already started.  we hadn’t even had a drink.  it was getting summertime dark.  we were not getting anywhere.  then out of nowhere plain jane says, ok.  fucking yes!!!  there is a god after all. 

    we hit the party and and things are cool with plain jane.  she actually seemed to relax a tad.  no booze however.  but there are other females there.  after a bit blondie and i hit the kitchen for some…privacy?  lust and youth know no bounds? 

    tongues down throats.  hands everywhere.  is it just me or is it hot in here?  or maybe the sunburn?  the jaunt into the kitchen for privacy is actually working.  the move is made.  hand down here pants under the underware.  eureka!  home free and she’s already sopping wet.  what could be better?  well her hand down my pants and past the underware.  bingo!  bacchus  is indeed smiling tonight.

    well, he was for maybe 30 seconds or so.  standing by the kitchen sink and in mid grope a blood curdling scream is heard.  plain jane had gone looking for blondie.  she found her there in the kitchen.  it was right out of a nightmare.  for plain jane.  blondie.  and poor poor me. 

    plain jane does a very nice about face, worthy of any military one, and jets out the front door.  screaming, no shit, screaming and running pell mell across the golf course and into the night towards the hotel.  it’s blondie’s turn to freak out. she’s going to tell my parents.  aw just fucking amazing.  there she goes out the front door and into the night as well.  what the fuck happened was the question from everyone there.  damned if i know, i say, grabbing a quart of beer and heading out the door myself.

    friend and i found them by the pool.  blondie begging jane not to rat her out.  another marthon chat fest.  jane agrees, finally, to keep quiet about the whole sordid affair.  however the rest of the evening is spent drinking sans blondie or any other female willing to go into the kitchen for some privacy.  see what i mean about harbingers?

    this morning’s very fitting music presented by, the rolling stones, ‘exile on mainstreet’. 




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