It’s freezing outside on the beach and being trapped inside we have little to do but turn our thoughts to stories of past youthful peccadilloes. We would be stupid to tell these stories on each other so we have to tell them about old friends and acquaintances who are no longer here to defend themselves but, by the same token, neither can they be embarrassed by these stories.
So, sans names and for better or for worse, here they are:
Blessed be the ties that bind – Many years ago our young couple was still madly in love just as they had been the first time they met but he was beginning to fear that after ten years of wedded bliss things were growing amorously stale in their relationship so he decided to inject some really new-fashioned romance into their marriage.
This was during those famous haymaking years when no (sexual) bars were on hold and our boy was embarking on a fantastic trip of adventurous love making for the two of them.
He had been reading the Penthouse Magazine letters to the editor section. The letters to the editor were all wildly exaggerated stories of sexual exploits in which the letter writer had supposedly indulged. Our hero had no idea the letters were most likely written by Penthouse staff writers.
Anyhow he tees up his bride for the real passion play of the year by promising her, come Friday evening, he is going to take her out for the dining and dancing and loving experience of her life. Sure enough, Friday came and the young man left work early so he could meet her at the house and they both could get squeaky clean in anticipation of the big event(s) to come.
True to his word, he took her to the nicest restaurant in town and after a wonderful dinner they left for the night club with the brightest lights, the biggest, wildest dance floor and the city’s most famous band in residence.
After all that fine food and after drinking and dancing until they were about to drop it was time for action. Our boy takes her home to their castle of delightful pleasures.
He’s got his game plan in motion. Soon they are both as bare as the day they were born and he has her spreadeagled on the big king sized bed. He takes four of his finest silk neckties and ties each of her arms and legs to a separate bed post.
He kneels over her lovingly and just as he gets closer to whisper a loving message in her tender ear he grabs his stomach and wails, “Ohhhh, I don’t feel so good..,” and he promptly passes out.
It took her three hours to get loose from the ties and to get him rolled off her and onto the floor.
It took him six months to get back into her good graces. That was about the same time she told him he didn’t have to sleep on the sofa any longer.
Winter love at the beach – An old friend told this one on himself. He’s no longer here to defend himself so you’ll have to take my word for whatever claim to stupidity I make on his behalf.
It’s winter at the beach but it is a mild winter and the beach is beautiful. The moonlight is beautiful and the banana sized doobie my friend has rolled for himself and his wonderful wife is beautiful. I know we used to call them doobies. I don’t know what the kids call a jumbo sized marijuana cigarette these days, other than a doobie or a joint.
My buddy was normally not a marijuana smoker but it was a short vacation time at the beach in the winter so he got some weed and made plans to smoke it with his wife. He had heard great stories about the increased pleasure producing results of making mad passionate love while under the influence of marijuana.
He got her out of the cabin full of friends they were visiting by saying they wanted to take a romantic little moonlight stroll down the beach all by themselves. They each mixed a big drink-for-the-walk cup of their favorite beverage and they headed outside.
As soon as they were outside, he realized he was too stoned to be walking down the beach but an alternative plan quickly sprung to mind when he saw none of the nearby beach houses were occupied. In fact the one right next door was not only empty but it had a great upper deck about three floors up which they could use to their heart’s delight.
About twelve or fifteen feet up to the second floor he realized he probably should not attempt to get any higher so he rested on the benches built into the deck railings. He began to think this would be an ideal place to attempt serious circus sex so he convinced her to sit beside him and snuggle up close. Remember she was stoned to the gills too.
It was then he noticed the door bell had a light. Marijuana has a great reputation for turning the smoker into a quivering mass of paranoia and it was only a minute or two before he began to believe the light was blinking and winking at him. He felt sure there was somebody at home and they could see he and his wife sitting on their deck.
He took her hand, they picked up their drinks and headed for the stairway down to the beach.
He never made it past the first step. He fell headfirst down the stairway and when I say he fell I mean the boy went all the way in a series of moves that would leave an Olympic gymnastics star green with envy. He shot down and over each and every step and, in the process, he slid over two short landings between the steps on his back before resuming the somersaulting downward spiral that finally ended at the last step on the bottom.
He told me the only beauty to the entire escapade was his ability to make all those twists, turns, bumps, grinds and slides without spilling one drop of his drink. I remember he said, “You know, I always favored strong drink and I think it would have killed me to spill that liquor.”
The downside to the story is he just about ruined his back with that fall and it took him six months to recuperate. During that time, he had to sleep on the sofa. She said she was afraid he might hurt his back if he slept in the bed.
Summer love on the beach – My favorite story was short and sweet and it probably occurs all the time. Think about this story each time the mood hits you to engage in primeval frolicking on the beach in the dark and don’t you dare think about doing it during the daylight hours. You will get put in jail.
This particular time the amorous and adventurous couple rush straight down the beach on a warm summer night. There are enough dark scudding clouds to keep the bright moon at bay. The world is their oyster. They are having the fun to end all fun.
She is, if I can try to put this as delicately as possible, in the woman superior (aren’t they always?) position. It goes without saying, he is pinned to the sand on his back.
It takes only a split second to turn sheer delight into unmitigated fear and horror to find their little oyster shell lit up like the fairway at the carnival when they turn on one of those million candlepower lights.
Only this search beam is coming from out on the water. Horny old shrimp boaters have spotted them from the water and they have allowed their boat to silently drift so close to the couple the boat has almost grounded near the beach. I suspect shrimpers indulge in this unsportsmanlike behavior frequently.
As the story goes, the young man begins to yell, “Get up, get up, get up, get off me, get off me, get off me, run, run, run.” This is exactly what he begins to do as soon as he can gain his footing. He leaves her in the spotlight, so to speak. It takes him two hours to get back to the beach house. It takes him six months to wheedle his way back into her good graces. They had been back home about six months before she told him he didn’t have to sleep on the couch any more.
So remember all you young and handsome Lotharios, it only takes a few quick minutes of fun to put you in the doghouse for half a year. It’s probably best to let “the best laid plans of mice and men” go unfulfilled and just go ahead and “Do what comes naturally,” back there in the bedroom where you are supposed to naturally do those things.