November 16, 2011

• Love In The Back Seat

                        

  Love In The Back Seat           Well, let me see……long ago, when I was a young teen, sex was fairly new and not a lot of people knew about it. When I found out what it was all about, I realized then, that the reason I had never heard anyone talk about it was because they were afraid people would think they were insane. Seems it made you babble and slur the English language, made you breathe like you were drowning in marshmallows and the ‘event’ was so intense, that it made you forget your mother’s face. Sex was the only thing, next to a mule’s kick in the head, that could stop your brain from making brain waves. In my case the waves were more like “flutters”. I digress…..this great mystery was unfolded to me in the backseat of a 56 Ford, on the night of June 14th, 1963 at approximately 10:15 pm. There was a light misting rain and I remember the car windows were fogged up. I said “oooooo” and she said “aaaaaa” and that’s when the mule kicked me in the head. I was totally embarrassed over my behavior. Shaking, babbling, eyes crossing and I most likely had gas to accentuate the event. I was a mess! I remember little of her predicament except for her shouting OUCH! several times, but I’m sure it was awkward for her as well. From this experience I then knew why sex was only whispered about behind the school gym in shadowed corners and then only among true friends. It was embarrassing! I was all-city on our football team, Honor Roll and president of the school’s glee club and as a maturing young man, I was a walking fountain of testosterones. But, in the backseat of that Ford….I was a sniveling little runt of a teen on the verge of wailing in anguish over the bizarre epiphany. In time, like all rights of passive, the magnitude of what I had experienced finally flourished into a plethora of emotions. The backseat of that Ford soon became an alter of love where I took a number ‘vessel virgins’ to be sacrificed. More vessel than virgin in most cases but none the less, it became sacred. Years later, when I sold the car, it was almost like the passing of a good friend mixed with the confusion of a divorce. A mixture of good memories, shame, selfishness, bewilderment and absolute ecstasy. It was not until my twenties that I discovered sex was a tool used by women to enslave and punish men. It had come a long way from the backseat of my 56 Ford.

   

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