I’m still bored...so more from the vault.
It was the summer of 1966. I had transferred from Rutgers Newark to go to the big school in New Brunswick (what the hell is Piscataway?).
My best friends were already there...and one asked me to room with him at Hardenberg. All I had to do was to meet with an academic advisor- go through some motions and then move on / move in. I was a psychology major and I had to meet with Dr. Milton Schwarz (Industrial Psych). No problem. But I thought why not combine the trip from Bloomfield to NB. So I asked Diane if she wanted to join me.
Diane was a Junior at Bloomfield HS. She looked like Joey Heatherton (same Sassoon haircut- short blonde hair, blue eyes, 5'2, with an athletic body, boobs / great face). Two years earlier, when I was graduating from HS...and we had sort of dated, her brother (who was my age) told her that I would probably join a fraternity where college boys got laid. Diane, who was a bit on the edgy side even then said that she didn't want me to go elsewhere for these services....and we made out in her parents basement. She told me that she was willing to let me make love to her (but she was 14! And I was 17 going on 18).
When I say edgy, let me explain. Around this time there was a song by Manfred Mann (and the Men?_JK) "Do Wa Ditty". I hated this song: both the music and the crappy lyrics. Diane loved the song, and was able to strut walk to the song in perfect synchronization. I remember asking about her musical tastes or some innocuous question and she proceeded to tell me that she couldn't talk about that now, because she was still mad at some girl she almost punched in the boobs for some reason or another. Tough hot girls punching each other in the tits....this was better that the pulp porno books that I'd read and had an immediate effect on my package.
But as much as I thought she was hot, Christ she was only 14-15. And I was turning 18....so I let the whole thing D R O P.
Now 2 years later Diane was looking better / better to me....and I thought: what the hell.
I called Diane and asked her if she wanted to see Rutgers with me. She did. So we drove down to NB and I parked somewhere near the Psych dept. (a house somewhere on Frat row)). I walked up the front lawn and introduced myself to Dr. Schwartz (a somewhat timid man...measured). I noticed that he barely paid any attention to me ...but focused on Diane: she was very pretty / sexy.
He asked me what classes I was interested in but before I could answer he was staring at Diane and asked her if we going steady. I don't remember her answer but it was diplomatic / gave him nowhere to go for a follow up.
As I recall Diane was wearing some type of short mini skirt, with a tight fitting top. She was cute and knew it. This seemed to help me in getting some classes that I wanted (including one with Dr. Schwartz, who my senior year was my mentor for Honor's Psych).
With the academics out of the way we hopped into my father’s 1966 Dodge Dart (a definite improvement over the 1964 Rambler American). The Dart had carpeting instead of plain rubber mats for starters...and more comfortable benches for making out.
But on the way back nothing happened...and I was busy avoiding traffic on the NJ TP / GS parkway.
Finally we were back at my parent’s apartment in Brookdale Gardens. I asked Diane if she wanted a drink. I think she thought I meant Coke or 7 Up. My dad had a mini bar (fake fireplace with hanging mirror and carved white wood) that housed Blackberry Brandy (my favorite), Vodka and Coffee liquor. When I showed her what I meant (she was 16 at the time) her eyes lit up and she proceeded to down a Blackberry / Vodka mix …at least twice.
It was still the late afternoon and my parents weren’t going to be home for a while, so we started to make out. Diane decided to change into something more comfortable and borrowed some old cut off’s / a sweatshirt. Interestingly she didn’t put on her underpants, so I could see and feel her bush all the more. Together on the couch we dry humped until either her cut offs or my pants were on seemingly on fire.
Then I as I was getting ready to climax I noticed that Diane wasn’t talking. Her eyes weren’t open and her body was limp. I shook her gently and whispered “Diane…DIANE”….but nothing. I tried shaking her again….still no response.
I FREAKED OUT!
I was almost 20 she was 16 or 17. Now this hot girl who had imbibed alcohol illegally isn’t moving. What happened: did she die of a heart attack? I didn’t know what to do….but I didn’t want to be in the house with the dead girl. I needed to think.
I ran outside to see if Kiernan, Crazy Harry or Stuey were around. Living in a garden apartment means there are four other families living in the same building. In fact right across from me, in the same courtyard was Dick Schaap (we used to play catch)…but I digress. There was literally no one on the street. No cars…no little kids, no parents yelling at their children…it was like a horror movie. I was scared shitless.
After 2-3 minutes I walked back into the apartment expecting the worst and getting ready to call the police. I opened the door and noticed that Diane’s body was not in the same position as when I left- but she was still on the couch. Whatever sexual thoughts I had 10 minutes before were long gone at this point. I called her name “Diane”…and she responded sleepily. Maybe it was the 80 proof brandy. Maybe it was the 100 proof (?) Vodka…maybe it was something medical. I don’t know. I was just glad she was alive!
Like Frankenstein when the lightening hits : “ SHE ’S A L I V E”!!!
She finally got up and went to the bathroom. And when she returned there wasn’t a hair out of place.
Just then the door flew open. It was my parents.
My father, who was a chess master, could speak 6 languages fluently and had a biting sarcastic wit. My mother as bright, sweet and nurturing. They entered the apartment as one, and immediately I felt nervous…but relieved. Diane wasn’t dead..... DIANE WASN'T DEAD! : DIANE LIVES!
I introduced Diane to my mom and then my dad. My father looked Diane over carefully and shot a look at me as if he knew exactly what was going on.
“Well” my father stated “what have you too been up to”?
In my brain I was shouting, “Nothing dad…DIANE’S NOT DEAD”…but I mumbled something in a language that even he couldn’t understand.
“Diane”, my father said “what has Paulie shown you today? What have you worked on”?
Diane came back with a reasonable statement, better than anything I could think have said. “Well Mr. Morrison, Paul and I have been studying French all afternoon” she replied.
My father, channeling his best Groucho impersonation retorted “Yes, I’ll bet he has”.~~
It was the summer of 1966. I had transferred from Rutgers Newark to go to the big school in New Brunswick (what the hell is Piscataway?).
My best friends were already there...and one asked me to room with him at Hardenberg. All I had to do was to meet with an academic advisor- go through some motions and then move on / move in. I was a psychology major and I had to meet with Dr. Milton Schwarz (Industrial Psych). No problem. But I thought why not combine the trip from Bloomfield to NB. So I asked Diane if she wanted to join me.
Diane was a Junior at Bloomfield HS. She looked like Joey Heatherton (same Sassoon haircut- short blonde hair, blue eyes, 5'2, with an athletic body, boobs / great face). Two years earlier, when I was graduating from HS...and we had sort of dated, her brother (who was my age) told her that I would probably join a fraternity where college boys got laid. Diane, who was a bit on the edgy side even then said that she didn't want me to go elsewhere for these services....and we made out in her parents basement. She told me that she was willing to let me make love to her (but she was 14! And I was 17 going on 18).
When I say edgy, let me explain. Around this time there was a song by Manfred Mann (and the Men?_JK) "Do Wa Ditty". I hated this song: both the music and the crappy lyrics. Diane loved the song, and was able to strut walk to the song in perfect synchronization. I remember asking about her musical tastes or some innocuous question and she proceeded to tell me that she couldn't talk about that now, because she was still mad at some girl she almost punched in the boobs for some reason or another. Tough hot girls punching each other in the tits....this was better that the pulp porno books that I'd read and had an immediate effect on my package.
But as much as I thought she was hot, Christ she was only 14-15. And I was turning 18....so I let the whole thing D R O P.
Now 2 years later Diane was looking better / better to me....and I thought: what the hell.
I called Diane and asked her if she wanted to see Rutgers with me. She did. So we drove down to NB and I parked somewhere near the Psych dept. (a house somewhere on Frat row)). I walked up the front lawn and introduced myself to Dr. Schwartz (a somewhat timid man...measured). I noticed that he barely paid any attention to me ...but focused on Diane: she was very pretty / sexy.
He asked me what classes I was interested in but before I could answer he was staring at Diane and asked her if we going steady. I don't remember her answer but it was diplomatic / gave him nowhere to go for a follow up.
As I recall Diane was wearing some type of short mini skirt, with a tight fitting top. She was cute and knew it. This seemed to help me in getting some classes that I wanted (including one with Dr. Schwartz, who my senior year was my mentor for Honor's Psych).
With the academics out of the way we hopped into my father’s 1966 Dodge Dart (a definite improvement over the 1964 Rambler American). The Dart had carpeting instead of plain rubber mats for starters...and more comfortable benches for making out.
But on the way back nothing happened...and I was busy avoiding traffic on the NJ TP / GS parkway.
Finally we were back at my parent’s apartment in Brookdale Gardens. I asked Diane if she wanted a drink. I think she thought I meant Coke or 7 Up. My dad had a mini bar (fake fireplace with hanging mirror and carved white wood) that housed Blackberry Brandy (my favorite), Vodka and Coffee liquor. When I showed her what I meant (she was 16 at the time) her eyes lit up and she proceeded to down a Blackberry / Vodka mix …at least twice.
It was still the late afternoon and my parents weren’t going to be home for a while, so we started to make out. Diane decided to change into something more comfortable and borrowed some old cut off’s / a sweatshirt. Interestingly she didn’t put on her underpants, so I could see and feel her bush all the more. Together on the couch we dry humped until either her cut offs or my pants were on seemingly on fire.
Then I as I was getting ready to climax I noticed that Diane wasn’t talking. Her eyes weren’t open and her body was limp. I shook her gently and whispered “Diane…DIANE”….but nothing. I tried shaking her again….still no response.
I FREAKED OUT!
I was almost 20 she was 16 or 17. Now this hot girl who had imbibed alcohol illegally isn’t moving. What happened: did she die of a heart attack? I didn’t know what to do….but I didn’t want to be in the house with the dead girl. I needed to think.
I ran outside to see if Kiernan, Crazy Harry or Stuey were around. Living in a garden apartment means there are four other families living in the same building. In fact right across from me, in the same courtyard was Dick Schaap (we used to play catch)…but I digress. There was literally no one on the street. No cars…no little kids, no parents yelling at their children…it was like a horror movie. I was scared shitless.
After 2-3 minutes I walked back into the apartment expecting the worst and getting ready to call the police. I opened the door and noticed that Diane’s body was not in the same position as when I left- but she was still on the couch. Whatever sexual thoughts I had 10 minutes before were long gone at this point. I called her name “Diane”…and she responded sleepily. Maybe it was the 80 proof brandy. Maybe it was the 100 proof (?) Vodka…maybe it was something medical. I don’t know. I was just glad she was alive!
Like Frankenstein when the lightening hits : “ SHE ’S A L I V E”!!!
She finally got up and went to the bathroom. And when she returned there wasn’t a hair out of place.
Just then the door flew open. It was my parents.
My father, who was a chess master, could speak 6 languages fluently and had a biting sarcastic wit. My mother as bright, sweet and nurturing. They entered the apartment as one, and immediately I felt nervous…but relieved. Diane wasn’t dead..... DIANE WASN'T DEAD! : DIANE LIVES!
I introduced Diane to my mom and then my dad. My father looked Diane over carefully and shot a look at me as if he knew exactly what was going on.
“Well” my father stated “what have you too been up to”?
In my brain I was shouting, “Nothing dad…DIANE’S NOT DEAD”…but I mumbled something in a language that even he couldn’t understand.
“Diane”, my father said “what has Paulie shown you today? What have you worked on”?
Diane came back with a reasonable statement, better than anything I could think have said. “Well Mr. Morrison, Paul and I have been studying French all afternoon” she replied.
My father, channeling his best Groucho impersonation retorted “Yes, I’ll bet he has”.~~
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