Actually, it didn’t take that long before I had my own in-the-flesh participatory sexual experience while hitchhiking. The recollection of the afternoon the prior summer in the back of that pickup was still fresh in my mind. And the look that young girl had as she jerked off the farmhand was forever emblazoned on my mind. On this particular June day I was hitching a ride back from a neighbor kid’s graduation at Bowdoin College in Maine. I had ridden up with his parents and the plan was for me to take a bus back home the next day. It was late on a Saturday afternoon and I was only then hitting the road, which was a recipe for getting stuck someplace at night but I had no money for a motel room and all the dorms and frat houses on the campus were now closed for the summer. All I could do was hope for some luck. Best case was I would make it home around midnight. Worse case? I tried to never give that much thought. Actually the very best case would be to make it home sexually satisfied. I was ever the optimist. I was just a kid, not yet nineteen. All I ever thought about was sex. I probably averaged 5-6 erections a day. Had I not been in college, with a roommate, I would be masturbating at least every night. I looked for sex constantly. Every girl I met I thought about bedding. So you can imagine my thoughts when about an hour after I got to the on ramp I saw a car approaching with Connecticut plates. I immediately assumed my oh-please-pick-me-up I-am a normal-guy going-in-your-direction look. At the speed they passed me I doubted they would stop. But then I saw what looked like a girl in the back seat turn around and a second later lean forward. Brake lights came on and with a slight squeal of the breaks the car stopped. I grabbed my back-pack and took off a runnin’ toward the car. I always had this neurotic fear they’d change their mind and peel away were I to tarry. Just as I was about to grab the door handle I caught a glimpse of a blonde girl in the back seat. Her head was down and she seemed to be engrossed in a book. There was a box and what looked like a case of some kind on the front seat. When he saw me hesitate before opening the door the driver, a middle-aged guy with charcoal hair, gestured with his left hand toward the left rear. I scooted around back and with a click the door unlocked. I got in awkwardly. Almost diving into the girl’s lap. In the process I tried to make eye contact with her while I looked for a place to stow my bag, but she kept her head down acting very disinterested. “Just hand it up to me,” the guy said, “I’ll put it on top of this other bag.” I expressed the usual “oh-thank-yous” to which he responded: “We saw your sweatshirt so we figured etimesgut escort it was safe to pick you up.” “Uh…oh yeah, wow, that’s right my sweatshirt.” I laughed. It was more like a stoned giggle since I had shared a farewell joint with Billy before his parents took me to the highway as they turned off to spend a week at their cottage on a nearby lake. I had put my college sweatshirt on because the late afternoon sun was fleeting in typical June fashion and the temperature had dropped into the low sixties. I remember thinking that I needed to get it together quickly. The dad looked really square and conservative. And the daughter, well she was straight out of Chi Omega. I could see that she had long legs. She was probably taller than me. Her flaxen hair was shoulder length I imagined, but she had it in a pony-tail so that was just a guess. She had on a pair of goofy granny glasses (true to the times) that didn’t match the rest of her outfit. She was wearing an oxford men’s cut yellow button-down collar shirt, dark blue skirt which I later determined was a jumper, matching yellow knee socks, and Bass Weejuns penny loafers. Her skins was flawless and there was no sign of any makeup, except maybe some lipstick applied earlier in the day. This girl was definitely out of my league, and obviously not of my lifestyle. She was either preppy or horsey; both fashion genres were common in the New England of the 1970s. I had long blonde hair, and was pretty skinny. I stood only about 5 foot eight. I was hippie cute but still had lingering acne. Generally girls like her looked right past me. For the most part it was OK because I’d become used to that, and had low expectations when it came to chicks of her ilk. I certainly didn’t look threatening to anyone thinking of giving me a ride. In fact, even some of the women who stopped could have done me harm. I was pretty mellow and pretty passive and certainly looked the part. “Katie here graduated from the university today.” The dad said as we accelerated to highway speed. “Show him your degree, honey.” “It’s packed away in the trunk, dad.” She answered so dispassionately that I actually began to feel uncomfortable. In a way she intimidated me, this lowly freshman was wondering how I was going to be able to converse with a stunning graduated senior, so instead I just went back and forth with the dad. He asked me what I was studying, how I liked the school, what year I was in—the typical small-talk stuff. “Are you going back to the campus?” He asked eventually. Since my school was in Boston, he may have thought I was going back there. “Oh no, I’m going home. I live in Wethersfield,” I said thinking he eryaman escort was probably going at least that far into Connecticut. “Great, we live in Greenwich. We’ll get you almost to your front door.” He said smiling at my in the rear view mirror “Far out,” I exclaimed coining the vernacular of the day. “I can call my parents and they’ll come get me.” Southward we rolled along Interstate 95 in Maine. Past the sweet smelling Burnham blue sky blue. They were big, and they were locked on mine. Her eyebrows were sparse, perhaps even enhanced with a pencil. She later told me she heard the same music in her head when she saw my eyes. She had the kind of eyes that could lead a man both down a dark alley and to a place of flowers and soft breezes at the same time. We sort of nodded in agreement that something to eat would be nice. “What were you thinking about, dad.” She said after a few seconds. “How about the Hilltop?” He was referring to the New England institution that was also a Route 1 landmark The Hilltop Steakhouse in Saugus. Ooh I liked that idea. A steak would really hit the spot. “Daddy, I can’t eat that much. Besides, I hate that place.” I could see his visage change in the rear view mirror and he flashed disappointment but Katie was adamant. Frankly, I was kind of bummed myself. I could see him thinking about alternatives. He eventually asked, “How about some chowder and clams?” This time she didn’t look at me. “That sounds better, daddy.” Down went her head again. And down went my confidence level as I began to feel more than a little foolish ever thinking that there was something in her eyes that could give me hope. Her father said the name of some place I’d never heard of. She said “OK.” I just shrugged my shoulders. A few miles up the highway we exited and a mile or so down a back road we approached this place that if it weren’t for a fresh coat of paint and the 6 or 7 nice cars parked in front you’d drive by it. It bore an old mid-20 th century white plastic sign with the Coca-Cola logo on one end. It was the Chowder Something or-other. They also had a sandwich board in the parking lot that said “Clams and Cold Beer.” When we got out of the car I was able to confirm the fact that Katie was tall. But it was more like she was statuesque. She had this hauteur that you’d see with women who had million dollar legs and other striking features, especially women who are taller than many men. She strode purposefully toward the screen door hanging slightly off hinge, obviously from being swung many times a day. I was pretty sure at the time her purpose was to not give me any hints that she was interested. I noticed at least three heads sincan escort turn as we slid into a booth, them on one side me on the other. She was a sight. Other than that wonderful smell of deep frying clam batter and the sound of a corner jukebox playing away, what you noticed was a buzz in the place. Like people were excited to be there. But it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t chat normally. And I was bound and determined I was going to engage Katie in conversation. Her degree was in English and she thought she might just start teaching right away. To my surprise once we started aboutcareer options she relaxed and seemed to lose the attitude. After quickly perusing the menu she doffed the granny glasses for the first time. I could feel my heart start to thump faster. How the Hell can I keep my composure? It was more than just the eyes. She was charming and captivating to the point I was probably being a little rude to the dad. My focus was on his daughter: 100% The wind changed direction so fast. Before long it actually seemed like she was flirting with me. There was so much eyelash fluttering, stroking of the hair, and nervous giggling the guy working the counter had to have noticed it. She seemed incredibly interested in what I was saying, though I can no longer remember the specifics of the conversation. Once our drinks arrived the old man proceeded to sip on his beer and turn his attention the Red Sox game on the TV above the cash register. She’d play with the straw, twirling it around in her drink. She’d cock her head and rest on her elbow leaning forward as I talked. Now I was beginning to wonder if maybe her father would not approve of the way things were going, and dump me off some place in the middle of what was a long lazy New England early summer evening at the time, but would eventually become a dark night somewhere outside of Boston. He seemed cool with it all. Sometime between the chowder and the basket of clams she had taken her loafers off and I felt what seemed like a foot rubbing first up and then down my shin. A short time later I felt her rub the side of my leg, then hook around and go down to my heel. She must have seen my eyes grow bigger as I stopped talking for a bit. Then the father turned away from the game on the screen and asked, “Is everybody’s food alright?” “Oh yeah, dad. I love my soup.” She replied. His eyes moved to me. “Yes sir, chowder was great and I love these clams. They’re perfect.” He sort of nodded and went back to watching the game. And we went back to talking. Sure enough I felt the foot again, this time a little higher. By now my cock was up and bulging in my bell-bottoms. My heart was beating still faster. I wanted to take my own shoes of and return the favor but I was wearing Earth shoes with laces, which made them impossible to slip off. Her father excused himself to see about getting s desert menu and once his back was turned a mischievous grin came across her face while she leaned back in the booth.