Fall of '69 Ch. 02bywilderness©
Author's note: To fully understand the storyline, I recommend reading chapter 1 first.
For me, sex had always been about getting off, and that's all there was to it -- just fun and games. I liked getting off, and I liked getting my partner off. Becky Jeffries screwed it all up for me after one harmless hand job, because she regretted what happened. For the first time, I felt guilty about sex.
"Hey, Beckster, what are you doing tomorrow?"
"Going to church," she said, pulling my baggy sweatshirt on over her head, hiding her figure like a collegiate nun.
"I mean after. Let's play tennis, or I could help you clear out the rest of your stuff from the dorm."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
She marched down the mountain path. "I don't think I should see you for a while."
Exactly what I was afraid of. "I'll behave. I promise. I won't even lick your ice cream cones."
At least that made her smile. "It's not you. It's me. I don't know if I can trust myself around you."
Well, that was different. She liked how I made her feel. "Don't worry about it. You can trust me."
Becky turned and gave me a skeptical look. "Yeah, right."
"Right on!" I caught up and walked beside her. "We'll just be pals."
"Why would you want that?"
I didn't want just that, but it sounded asexual -- plutonic. "Because you're good people. I want to know you." I did too, in every way. "Don't you want to know me better?"
Her silence filled me with dread.
"We can go to church together. We can study in the library together. Lord knows. I need to do more of that."
Desperate, I compromised on one of my cardinal rules. "You can borrow my truck whenever you want."
By the surprised look, I knew she was impressed. "You'd let me borrow your truck?"
I took her unresisting hand in mine and we walked like teenagers. "Sure. Why not? You've probably driven a truck longer than I have."
She paused to think, and said, "Okay, Doc, I'll see you, on one condition. You come to Friday night Bible study with me."
Ouch! "Every Friday?"
Becky let go of my hand and resumed the down hill trudge. "No. Only the Friday's before weekends that you want to see me."
Hoping she would change her mind, I agreed. Then I tried to bring her over to my side of the tracks. "Why don't you come to the Frat house after church tomorrow and watch the World Series with us? It's game two."
A glance of interest gave me hope. Her escape velocity slowed a little. "Who are you rooting for, the Mets or the Orioles?"
"Wow! You know who's playing? I'm impressed!"
"Grandpa was a huge Kansas City Athletics fan. It broke his heart when they moved to Oakland. But the Royals did well for their first season. Lou Piniella will be a hall-of-famer someday. So, I'm rooting for the American League and the Orioles."
"Guess we'll have to disagree on this one. My Pirates are National Leaguers, so I'm cheering for the Mets."
Becky made a sad face. "Too bad, Doc. They don't stand a chance."
"We'll see. Miracles happen. They're on a roll. They made it to first place for the first time, they clinched their first National League East Championship, and they won their first National League Championship. It's destiny."
"Big deal, they won the National's little league championship. They're in the Big Show now." She stuck out her tongue and I wanted to suck it.
"So, come over and gloat with Roger. He's from Baltimore."
"Yeah, right. Like I want something in common with Roger?"
"He's not so bad, straight and sober." Thankfully, she didn't ask how often that happened.
I think we succeeded in putting our physical encounter behind us, talking cordially all the way home, and then we sat in my truck, outside Crossway's house, for 30 minutes.
Finally, she had enough of my BS. "I have to go, Doc. Things to do."
My best puppy dog eyes couldn't dissuade her. "Okay, if you say so."
Becky began to remove my sweatshirt, and I said, "Keep it. You look better in it than I do." The moment became awkward. "Hey, Beckster, thanks for a fantastic day."
I leaned over, and she offered her cheek. I'm sure Crossway was pleased, if he was watching.
"I had fun, Doc. Thanks for," the hesitation lasted long enough for her to blush prettily, "everything."
She was out of the truck and at the front door in Olympic time. With a quick wave, Becky disappeared.
It took a while for me to pull away from the curb. I felt empty. There was a hole in my life I never knew existed. A quote that I'd heard recently came to mind. "Love is friendship on fire," and it felt like Becky's departure just put me out.
Saturday nights at the Frat house were pretty much a rerun of Friday nights.
The Orioles had beaten the Mets 4 to 1, and Roger celebrated like it had already been a four game sweep. "Your Mets are weak, DC." He'd been partying all afternoon and swayed in a nonexistent breeze. "Buford led off with a homerun and showed those losers it'll be no sweat. This is a series they're gonna wanna forget."
"Rog, you're rhyming. You know what that means?"
"Yeah Man, I'm a poet."
"No, Rog. It means you're totaled and you're gonna act like a total ass."
Trying to focus, he asked, "Speakin' of asses, how was that sexy nymphet Becky-wecky? Did you get some honey on your stinger, Buddy? Don't wear her out, 'cause I want some of that when you're done."
My fists clenched, ready to punch the smirk off his sloshed face. But then it dawned on me, I hadn't been much different from him just yesterday morning.
Even hammered, Roger noticed my reaction. "Take it easy, DC." He put his arm around my shoulders. "Man, I think you're hooked. Be careful brother, or she'll reel you in like a sucker, you dumb ass mother fucker." He patted my back, and then staggered off to annoy Jimmy and the skinny redhead on his lap.
The cook didn't work weekends, but he left us a pot of beef stew for meals. I went into the kitchen, dished out a big bowl, and popped open a can of beer. The blaring music hurt my head, so I took my dinner outside to eat in peace at the picnic table. I was on my second bowl when Patty Conway plopped down beside me.
She sat backwards, leaned against the tabletop to push out her boobs, look at my face, and purr, "Hi, Lover-boy." She stuck a finger in my stew and then sensuously sucked it off.
Patty did not lack womanly charm. I smiled, and said, "Hi, Patty. How's it going?"
"Where were you today? The seventh inning stretch just wasn't the same without you."
"I went for a hike, needed some me-time."
A pout clouded her pretty face. "I heard you went on a picnic with the party prude from last night."
Why didn't I tell her the truth? What was I hiding from? A little embarrassed, I said, "That's true."
"How come you never took me on a picnic?"
I really didn't want to answer that. "Do you like hiking in the woods? I thought you only liked strolling around Manhattan."
Patty ran her fingers up and down my forearm. "I'd give the woods a try, if the company was right."
The attention was flattering, and I allowed her fingers to entwine with mine.
"Becky's a country girl. I thought she'd enjoy a break from civilization."
"Sounds like you know her pretty well, already. I'm jealous. I thought we had something special going."
The comment surprised me. "Really? Why's that?"
Her face darkened. "I thought all the times..." She stopped, as her eyes darted to something behind me. "My mistake. Let's just kiss and be friends."
Before I could react, Patty grabbed the back of my head and pulled my lips to hers. The kiss lasted longer and contained more passion than a dozen friendly kisses. I finally broke free.
"What was that for?"
Patty stood and pinched my cheek. "Payback, Lover-boy."
Afterwards, I felt unnerved. I had no idea Patty had any feelings for me, other than a good time in the sack. Unable to finish my stew, I went for a walk to stew in my own juice.
Lehigh had a mediocre football team, and a jubilant post-game crowd wandered around campus, celebrating a rare victory over Rutgers. They were a good source of entertainment for a while, until I saw a girl with an ass that reminded me of Becky. I decided I needed a Becky-fix.
It only took a few seconds for Bill Crossway to answer the knock on his door. His glower made my stomach flip-flop, and I thought, despite his religiosity, he could've been The Fugitive's one-armed man.
"Hi, Bill. Is Becky here?"
"Haven't you done enough damage for one day?"
Now I was pissed. I glowered back, "No, I guess not."
"She's not here," he said, in a less than missionary tone, and then slammed the door in my face.
"Okay. See you in church. Have a great evening."
Becky was on the loose. I liked that better than the thought of her cooped up in Bill's attic, burning incense, and chanting Psalms to conquer immoral desires. But where would she go? The only two places I could think of were the library and her dorm room.
The library was closer. A thorough search turned up nothing, other than eggheads wasting another Saturday night on inanimate ideas. Although, I did spot a couple of four-eyes playing footsie under the table while they appeared pre-occupied with demystifying Rationalism and Empiricism philosophy. Hey, whatever turns you on.
As I approached Becky's dorm, she stepped outside, and my heart beat faster. But something was obviously wrong. She appeared agitated. She wrung her hands and her head snapped around, as if reacting to sounds or movement. Then her roommate, Cindy, came out and put her arm around Becky's shoulders in a comforting gesture.
My pace quickened, and I yelled, "Beckster!"
Becky stared at me as I came near. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her. She wore a dopey grin and her pupils were dilated to their limits.
"What's up, Beckster?"
"Doc, you can help too."
She held out a piece of crumpled paper. "Help me find him."
"Okay?" I took the paper and smoothed it out. It was a telegram from the Army. Her brother Jeremy was missing in action.
With a slurred drawl, Cindy spoke up, "Man, she's trippin'. Becky is so fucking uptight."
"I'm not uptight!"
"She was freakin' out about her brother, so I dosed her with a little Mellow to make her chill out." Cindy waved her arms in a slow circle, "Now she wants to arrange this global search party. Man, she's too much."
Cindy turned and walked back inside, saying, "You be her co-pilot. I can't deal with this shit."
Fuck! I took Becky's hand and started walking. "Let's look around campus, first."
She stopped abruptly and pulled my arm. "No! We have to look in the jungle!"
Acid trips are unpredictable. We'd dealt with a couple at the frat house, and I knew how a person responded to LSD depended a lot on their emotional state and surroundings. Calmly, I said, "Becky, it'll be dark soon. Jeremy is a trained soldier. He'll be fine."
"Take me to the airport."
Good idea. "All right, let's go." Maybe I could drive her around until she came down.
We walked hand-in-hand. Becky's head snapped around erratically, and I was afraid of what horrific jungle visions might appear.
Roger spotted us from the frat house porch. "Becky-wecky, you came back!" He jumped off the steps, fell down, got up, and wobbled over -- his knee bleeding. "Why'd you run off so fast?"
Becky seemed fascinated by the red streak creeping down his shin. Then something clicked, and she turned on me. "You! You were kissing her! I saw you. After I let you touch me, you kissed her!"
Suddenly, my encounter with Cindy replayed in my head. 'Payback, Lover-boy.' She must've seen Becky coming our way, and kissed me just to screw things up between us.
Roger squinted for focus, and said, "Wow, Man. Look at her eyes. Becky-wecky is fucked up."
I stared hard at him, and said, "She just found out her brother is MIA in 'Nam. I'm taking her to the airport."
He slowly nodded. "Right..."
Becky struggled to break my hand hold, and said to Roger, "I don't want him to take me. Will you take me, please?"
Roger smiled benevolently. "No, Babe. I don't need another DWI."
I released her hand and headed for my truck. "Are you coming or not?"
After a slight hesitation, Becky followed. When she got in, I locked her door.
As we pulled out, Roger waved and yelled, "Fly the friendly skies, Lucy."
Bewildered, Becky frowned. "Who's Lucy?"
"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, ever hear of that?"
She started singing it, loud.
I pushed in a Bob Dylan eight-track and changed the subject. "It's a long way to the airport. Sit back and relax, Beckster."
The gas tank was three-quarters full, which meant I wouldn't have to stop for a while. West seemed the best direction, so off we went, headed to God knows where.
Becky stared out of the side window for twenty miles, enraptured by the fall colors. She would ooh and aah from time to time, seeming content. My worst fear was she'd begin to worry about her brother, see horrible visions, and start to flip out.
I just kept driving and changing eight-tracks for background filler.
Soon, it was too dark to see anything except passing lights. Becky became restless. She slid over next to me, and I put my arm around her.
A mile later, Becky sat up and pulled off her sweatshirt. "Hot."
Braless in her flimsy tank-top, she sat closer and laid her head on my shoulder. "Take me home, Doc."
At least she was rational.
"Are you sure you're ready to face Crossway?"
"No. Take me home. Take me to Kansas."
My arm lay across the back of the seat. Becky pulled it down, covered her right breast with my palm, and held it tight. "Mmm."
She wiggled. I felt her nipple harden.
"Kansas? That's not on the way to the airport, Beckster."
"I know." She moved my hand up and down. "The airport was stupid."
"Kansas is a thousand miles away."
"Time flies when you're having fun."
My thoughts were conflicted. I remembered my promise to keep our relationship plutonic. I thought about driving in circles. But, as Becky placed my finger and thumb around her nipple, my brain disconnected. The lure of adventure clouded my judgment. Besides, it was only Saturday night. We still had Sunday to get back when Becky finally came to her senses.
My fingers, with a mind of their own, pinched and rolled the heavenly morsel.
Becky moaned, "Oh, Doc."
That was it. Decision made -- road trip.
Of course, I convinced myself I was only complying with Becky's wishes, just to keep her calm. If I kept her distracted and happy, there was less chance of her acid trip turning ugly. I was making her feel good, for her own good. So, I didn't try to stop her when she started to remove her clothes. The road was dark. I caught flashes of her as cars passed. She giggled all the way down to her birthday suit, and it suited her just fine.
"I'm free!" She knelt backwards and stuffed her restrictive clothing behind the seat. But her sneakers wouldn't fit through the narrow space. Before I could stop her, Becky rolled down the window and threw them out. Then she proceeded to stick her head and chest out.
Grabbing her ankle, I yelled at her to get back inside. Thankfully, she obeyed.
"Close the window. It's cold."
Manic with chemical joy, Becky bounced to the beat of 'Sunshine of Your Love', blasting on the stereo. She drummed on the dashboard and seat, while inching ever closer to me.
Worried about her grabbing the wheel, I slowed down and pulled off onto the gravel shoulder. Safely in park, I turned and smiled at my beautiful passenger, her perspiration glowing in the dashboard candlelight. I had a few seconds to fully appreciate her feminine form, and then she attacked my clothes.
"Wait! Slow down!" I had to help her, or risk having only shreds to put back on. Before she yanked my legs up and pulled off my pants, I was able to hide my boots under the seat.
Once I was naked, she calmed down, sat back against her door, and stared at me.
"Okeydokey, lets move on down the road, before someone stops to help."
This was so unlike the innocent girl I knew, I hoped her memory would be expunged by the drug. This indecent act might devastate someone so chaste. At least we were alone. At least it was dark. At least we weren't strangers and had a sexual history, of sorts. Secretly, I hoped she was acting out exactly how she felt about me. Wishfully, I thought maybe she was using her most pleasurable experience to forget her most painful.
After a few miles, sitting against the door and staring at me wasn't good enough.
Becky slipped over, kissed my shoulder, and said, "Doc, you're beautiful."
"Thanks, Beckster, and you're a beautiful woman."
She tickled my ear with a purr, as I felt her fingers stroll up my leg and dance in the wiry hair. I let off on the gas pedal, when I realized we'd hit eighty.
Afraid of a wreck, I said, "Beckster, why don't you lie down on your back and put your head on my lap."
Giggling, she obeyed.
I began to massage her with my free hand, glancing down from time to time. Other than the barbwire scar on her shoulder, her body was perfect in every way. This was a purely clinical examination, of course. Honestly, I wasn't trying to arouse her, just provide comfort. She seemed content with the soft caress of my fingers over her torso.
But Becky soon had other expectations. She put one foot on the back of the seat and the other on the dashboard. Opening her knees, she pulled my hand down between her legs, pressed my fingers against the hot, damp crease, and whispered, "Please."
I have the willpower of a vampire on Halloween. My fingers slipped easily up and down, over and over, around and around.
Becky was much more animated than the first time I diddled her, loud in fact. Her body writhed mightily with ripples of magnified sensations. The movement of her head on my lap brought my body to attention. Her hands mauled her breasts, twisting and stretching the nipples. The orgasmic screech echoed in the truck cab. Afterwards, my right ear hummed like a transformer.
Becky finally relaxed, and curled up her side. From time to time, she twitched and groaned. I rubbed her back, and she quieted.
When the tape ended I enjoyed the silence. It gave me time to rethink my plan. Kansas seemed an impossible goal. I didn't have the gas money and we didn't have any clothes. So, where could we go to recuperate? Becky said she wanted to go home. So, why not take her to my home? It seemed the perfect choice. Pittsburg was only four hours away and, better yet, I remembered my parents were away for the weekend. They had gone to New York City, to visit my Aunt and watch the Steelers play the Giants.
The gas gauge read just above a quarter-tank as I exited route 80 and headed south towards Altoona. Just past the town of Wingate was a long stretch of nothing. I found it comforting to be on familiar roads, where every turn seemed second nature, my mind free to ponder the naked lovely lying beside me.
Up ahead, about ten miles, was a late-night ESSO gas station. But the attendant might charge extra to service nude customers. We needed our clothes. From previous experience, I knew a secluded spot down a side road -- perfect for potty breaks or, in this case, getting dressed.
The truck bounced over dried tractor ruts, as I pulled behind a hedge row. Becky groaned, but showed no other signs of consciousness.
Quickly, I exited the truck and pushed the seatback as far forward as Becky's body would allow. I had to do the same from the passenger door, in order to reach all our clothes. I dressed myself, and then Becky, enjoying the latter probably more than I should have, and probably taking longer than I should have. It was necessary to make sure she was breathing and her heart rate was normal. Part of me was glad she remained out of it, part of me worried. At this point there was nothing I could do, except keep going.