She was blond, a
surfer girl, and married at nineteen.Besides those three things,
I could completely describe her with only five more words; they
are as Nickleback sings, "Are we having fun yet?"So, as the
Beatles once sang, "I shoulda known better with a girl like
you."But I didn't.'Cause I was a chump, the thick and blunt end
I met her through a
mutual friend Marc, when he said,
"You wanna go over
to Terry's house and smoke a joint?He's got a wife and kid
"Wow," I thought,
"We're only a year out of high school."
So, like the right
guy smoker I am, I answered "Yes," and my fate was sealed.
When we got to the
door, I tripped on the rug walking in.But instead of that kind of
feeling, I felt like I had stepped on a rollercoaster that was
already moving.Is that weird or what?
So here was a dude
I hadn't seen in over a year, his blond wife, their baby upstairs
asleep, all real domestic like.It's just the kind of situation
you don't mess with outta respect.
We smoke a few,
laugh a bit, say goodnight.The next week we're over there playing
board games far into the night.Jerry has to work; he's a mailman,
goes to sleep early.Uh-oh, I'm in trouble. I shoulda seen it
coming. Someone shoulda said,
"Red flag."But we
didn't have the phrase back then.
She has a
girlfriend, that's good, makes someone for my friend Marc to hook
up with.But after the ol' man crashes, that leaves me for her. I
wanted to keep my distance. So we make it a foursome.
One night we crawl
up into a storm drain to smoke a joint.The next night it's the
beach.By this time we've been partying for weeks, and are pretty
We drove to the
jetty at Ocean Beach, O.B. Jetty.It's deserted, but we look for a
more remote spot to smoke.Police were tough in those days.
Finally Marc and friend wander off leaving us sitting on the sand
alone.She sits real close, 'cause there's an on-shore breeze,
cuddling up for warmth.The combination of fog and darkness were
handing us an invitation to exchange secrets. Our confessions
were in innuendoes and doublespeak, but finally the meanings
slipped out when nobody was looking.
understand," she said, "why you don't get close."
"It's just that…"
but words failed me.
I had a stick in my
hand, and drew a small circle in the sand. "It's just that
She grabbed the
stick from me, and scratched a jagged line through the ring,
breaking it in two.Then she grasped me by the collar with both
hands, and drew me close.
"That's just it,"
she said with serious longing in her eyes, "It's not working
I'd had good news
in my life and recognized it when I saw it.
At this point her
lips had entered the danger zone, so close I couldn't resist. I
believe what happened next was the best kiss on the beach I'd
ever had.After that …let's just say sex and the beach at night,
there's nothing like it.The black velvet darknessquietly
envelopes her breasts. The sound of the pounding surf
effortlessly invades her abandoned southern shores, where pearls
lie carelessly scattered on the sand.This provides white noise
allowing a woman to concentrate on what matters; herself. And
let's face it. There's nothing artificial here. For a woman who
wants to get down to the nitty-gritty it's a real
sand-in-the-panties experience. That is, if she's the kind that
wears them.Thereare nothingso precious as our secrets, or
Two weeks later she
was in an apartment , had filed for divorce, and was on her own.
That put a whole different spin on the situation. But that was
O.K. with me. My gyroscope was ready.