@ 27.105 MHz: In The Back Of The Van, A Long Road Trip; With Our Parents Forward

Seated with you, on the bench seat in the

rear of the long van's passenger compartment,

we drew the oversized blanket cozily around us,

right up to our chins so that we were completely covered

against the chill air of this winter night, bereft of

clouds that might have obscured the star's beauty.

Amazed I was---a nerd, dweeb, geek, four-eyes

(also called "queer," "faggot," and "dyke"---although

I did not understand how they, who flung those

words at me, could know with such stern certainty)---

to be next to you (slender, lithe, agile; soft curls

spilling beneath your collar---tolerated only because of

your athletic prowess, captain of two of our high school's

varsity teams); and I, slightly chubby, clumsy, awkward,

with a pipsqueak voice and no conversational skill,

was definitely the beast compared to your

exquisite, innate, and provocatively suggestive beauty

(such admissions, in that time and place, were

routinely discouraged, sometimes with injury

added for emphasis).  Distant cousins, although

both adopted without blood ties and only legal kinship,

we ignored our four chattering parents, seated forward as

they ignored us, for what was to be noticed in the gently

amber glow of two small "courtesy" light on either side of the

bench we quietly occupied.  As if making yourself more

comfortable, you slid your shoes (beneath the blanket's

lower edge) off, with a sigh, and said, "That's class," and

"You should take yours off, too, it's always better."  And

I, even had I disagreed with your opinion, would not have

refused the invitation (after all, being inexperienced, I

was not entirely stupid).  Noises, of any type, might have

attracted certain parental scrutiny, or perhaps---even more

frightening, to me---a pull-over to the shoulder for a

change of seating to effect punitive separation; so,

adroitly surreptitious, you leaned against me and placed

your moistened lips upon my left earlobe, and I succumbed

without any resistance to the swirl of your tongue's tip

(no push-away or rejective posture even momentarily

considered).  Similtaneously (and arising, I presume, from

your athletic skill), your unshod feet found mine and

clapsed them in an ardent embrace).  The old blanket

provided a most convenient covert or camouflage from the

standardized parental observation and intrusive disapproval.

Your smile was assuringly genuine, but I---the bookworm

instructed by the great poets of homogenous love---was

able to discern the unspoken need in your gaze and in the

fervor of your unexpected, but no less welcome, gestures.

Your eyes met and held mine as you extended your

left arm so that your hand's nimble fingers unzipped my

winter jacket, and then unbuttoned my unfashionable

dress shirt, pulling and pushing the flaps aside.  With a

gasp of pleasure I thought of Robert Herrick's phrase---

"nerv'lits," circlets of nerv'lits---as you brought to the

barea of my torso the most delightful sensations, in a

variety of tactilities (some of which I, myself, had

imagined during late nights' fantasies that always

preceded slumber and sometimes culminated in

unusually detailed, erotic dreams).  And my breath

seemed to catch in my throat, as sudden gasps or

slow sighs; and somewhere in the back of my mind,

apart from my intense concentration on your subtle

ministrations, I thought "Even if this is the only

"time, it will resonate through the duration of my life."

But it was not to become only a remembered anomaly; a

first but not, oh thankfully not, the last of its kind; as I am

often reminded, by your class ring dangling from a

sterling silver chain (a gift you brought me, shyly, the day

you asked me, your cheeks reddening, to "go steady"---in the

parlance of that time and place).  I feel its smoothness

upon my flesh beneath the silken, fabric of my "disco"

shirt and I think, again, of the poetry of
"nerv'lits" in circlets eagerly caressed and as

eagerly bestirred. 



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