(This author does not compose stroke stories. This author does recount true-life events in a fictional format.)
Monterey California, 1969. August had turned the perpetually green California hills to a rusty brown. Chugging up the P.G cutoff in my wheezing VW bus, I had just enough money in my pocket for a half a tank of gas and a bottle of wine – staples for a college-age kid living in that awkward place between home and an upstairs apartment I was hoping to rent in the Fall.
Cherokee and I had talked about getting a place together some day, but we talked about a lot of things – homesteading out in the wilderness, growing our own food. Listening to Cherokee talk was like listening to Joan Baez sing. There was such purity and earnestness in her voice, how could I not fall in love with her? But at twenty, what do we know about love?
I would soon find out.
Standing out on the lawn of her folk’s split-level ranch, Cherokee was sporting a new beaded headband and those tight bellbottom jeans she’d sewed on her mom’s Singer sewing machine. Sure it was a holdover from her high school hippie days, inserting a swatch of bright material into the seam at the bottom of her pants-leg to fashion a gaudy bellbottom, but they looked great on her. The pants gave her the allusion of curvaceousness belying her barely filled-out nineteen year-old late-bloomer status.
“Hi babe” I grinned, jerking the door handle of my pea-green pussy wagon. She flounced in, the musky aura of patchouli oil enveloping me in its heavy scent. Every time I smelled patchouli, it took me back to the first time I felt Cherokee’s clammy tits. We were parked on a dirt stretch beside Highway One just north of Big Sur. The sun was going down. Her inky black hair tickled my face as I nibbled on her neck. When my hand slithered up inside the front of her T-shirt and found her soft breast, she let out a whimper that almost made me cum in my pants.
Now, six months later, we were still stuck in pre-sex mode, at least until she was “ready” as she called it, to take the next step in our blossoming relationship. As she leaned in for a peck on the cheek, I had no clue as to how we were progressing in our march towards consummation. I reached for her, but she slithered away like a cat, settling back into her side of the bench seat.
“Bobby?” she asked earnestly, afraid to look me in the eye, “remember when we talked about birth control a couple of months ago?”
“I guess so,” I said, knowing full well every detail of that particular conversation. She had been pondering the possibility of taking birth control pills. It was in the context of the “no kids for me” discussion, one of the few things we were in total agreement on.
“Well,” she said, pausing dramatically, “I’ve been through one cycle with the pill, and I think I’m ready for… you know…?”
My heart jumped into my throat. Ready for sex? After 10 months of dry humping and going home with an aching dick? Praise Timothy Leary!
“Now?” I asked, my mind racing. But where would we park? The beach would be crowded on a Saturday, likewise the parking lots at Cannery Row. I imagined a quick drive south of Carmel, taking the old coast road, which is pretty much surrounded by nothing but wilderness, save for the odd ranch or the redwood cabins down along Bixby Creek.
“Not now,” she giggled, her eyes catching the light like a Renaissance painting from her art appreciation class. “After the Love-In.”
We were heading over to New Monterey for the first Love-In to hit the Peninsula. It was to take place in a wooded park with a vast grassy lawn for the concert goers to spread out their blankets. There would be hippie bands playing all day, and vendors selling tie-dye T-shirts and Filmore posters, and there would be a great coming together of positive vibes.
“That’s why I brought my bag,” she continued, holding up her colorful American Indian souvenir overnight bag she’d picked up on a trip to Arizona. “I told my mom I was staying at Marlene’s tonight, so you and I could… you know.”
“Cool,” I said, wondering where we were supposed to go to do ‘you know.’ As if she could read my mind, she whispered:
“I’ve got money for a motel.”
The money thing had always been a sticking point in our relationship. She came from money, all I could do was dream of money. But she assured me, over and over, that it was my heart she wanted, not my financial potential, and I bought it.
“We could always get the motel now,” I offered, “and then go to the Love-In a little later.”
She slapped me playfully. “You pervert. And make me miss the Black Arm Band? You know how I adore that band. Their songs are so literate, so profound…”
Silly me. How could I have forgotten about her infatuation with music? It was all she talked about. In fact, many times I wondered what kind of a future we could possibly have with each other if all she wanted to do was ruminate on the meaning of the latest Bob Dylan song, while all I wanted to do was clean the spark plugs on my cherished VW.
“I forgot about the Black Arm Band,” I said, when in reality I didn’t have a clue who they were. I was just starting to learn that feigning interest in Cherokee’s passing fancies was a good way to get closer to her. I was also learning that getting closer to Cherokee had other benefits, peeking down the front of her peasant blouse being one of them. Sure, I’d held her tits in my hands, but I’d still never actually seen them. Talk about repressed? It sucks being a twenty year-old virgin, dating an old-fashioned girl who won’t fuck until she’s damn well ready.
“About the Love-In,” she said, reaching over and laying her hand on my thigh. “What if someone slips LSD into our Seven Up?”
I had to smile to myself at Cherokee’s innocence. How she could embrace the hippie lifestyle while remaining drug free was a mystery to me, but I wasn’t about to complain. Being with her was better than any grass I’d ever tried, and I had no problem giving up psychedelics if the reward was sex. Cherokee was a goddess to me, her long swimmer’s legs, her skinny waist, her ass like a runner’s, firm and peachy, her tits like apples with little points on them. I knew I was lucky to be her boyfriend, even if she did make me wait this long for the payoff.
“Nobody’s going to put LSD in our Seven Up unless we let them, right?”
“I guess so,” she mumbled, scrunching up her nose in that adorable way. It was a moment I’ll never forget, because I almost said it – those three little words women are dying to hear. But I thought I should save those three little words until after we’d made love, just to make the occasion more meaningful.
The site for the Love-In was already jam packed with cars. We parked in the dusty overflow lot, the music weaving through the pine trees like audible sunbeams. Cherokee took my hand, and my heart swelled with pride. My first true love, my destiny, my little hippie girl with her apple tits bobbing under her white peasant blouse. I was the luckiest guy at the Love-In, or so it seemed.
Before we even reached the crowd, the smell of pot was everywhere. Hippies and hippie wannabes wandered about, some blowing bubbles, some holding sticks of incense, some obviously already tripping on peyote or mescaline or perhaps the dreaded purple acid that had just hit the Peninsula. The saucer eyes of the afflicted were a dead giveaway, as were their plodding steps as they tiptoed through the throng, lost in their own little world of hobbits and fairy dust.
“Oh my God” Cherokee gasped, as a bearded stoner trailed his finger across her bare shoulders. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“I’ll protect you,” I said, pulling her closer, which afforded me a fleeting glimpse of her little pink nipple.
“I don’t know,” she whined, looking around at the decadent scene. “Maybe this isn’t…”
“Hey Bro!” a booming voice blared from behind us. I turned, and Jake descended upon us like a flash flood, obliterating everything in its path. Jake was from Carmel Valley, part redneck, part guru – a strange combination for the late sixties. Two years ago he was a high school varsity football star until the guy he was tackling suffered permanent spinal damage and ended up in a wheel chair. Jake quit the team, and from that moment on, he rose to legendary status as a conscientious objector to the war, as well as a grower of some of the best sinsemilla on the west coast.
“Jake, you know Cherokee, right?”
Jake gave us a skeptical stare. Then the proverbial light went on and he grinned. “Alice!” he said, snapping his fingers, “Alice Whitten!”
Cherokee blushed, scuffing her tan moccasin in the dirt. I always thought it was kind of silly for her to be going by her made up hippie name, but it wasn’t something we talked about. I figured eventually she’d grow out of it.
“So it’s Cherokee now?” he grinned, reaching out to shake her hand. “Good choice. It has a nice ring to it.”
She looked up at him, my phony little Indian princess, and smiled weakly. “I remember you from football.”
“Yeah, those were the days, eh?”
I tried not to notice him checking out her cleavage, but it was impossible to ignore. He was good at it though, pointing to this person or that in the crowd, and when she’d glance in their direction he’d catch an eye full. And all I did was stand there. What could I do? There was only one way to deal with Jake, and that was to stay on his good side. Those who didn’t usually regretted it.
“Come on,” Jake commanded, clapping his heavy arm across my shoulders, “let’s go backstage.”
“Backstage?” Cherokee blurted, her eyes wide. “Cool!”
We sauntered through the throng like royalty, the little people making way as we marched towards the stage, except I felt like I was marching to the gallows. Jake was between Cherokee and I, with the perfect angle to peek down her blouse, and I was powerless to stop him. As we rounded the front of the stage, a security guy who obviously knew Jake opened the gate for us.
“Thanks, dude,” Jake said, slapping the guy on the back. The guy looked over his shoulder at us like a dog that’s been kicked one too many times, and I wondered what kind of history he had with Jake. Actually, I stopped wondering about it, since that seemed like the best way to keep from getting totally intimidated by the fucked up situation I’d gotten myself into.
At least a dozen groupies greeted us, or rather greeted Jake, who, no doubt, had traded some of his excellent weed for who knows what from these little sluts over the last couple of years. The girls were dressed in various stages of almost illegal, with one wearing blue jean overalls with nothing on underneath, and several with cutoffs ripped clear up the sides, revealing no tan line, or panties, for that matter. Cherokee looked positively puritanical in comparison, but at the same time, she had an air of class about her these other girls could only dream of.
Cherokee just stood there, watching the singer of the Black Arm Band as if he was God dispensing the secrets of the universe. I knew if I didn’t make my move soon, it would be too late. I grabbed her hand, ready to whisk her away, when suddenly the music was over and the lead singer was jogging off stage, his purple scarf trailing behind him.
“Dude!” the singer blurted, grabbing Jake’s hand.
“Dude” Jake replied, clapping him on the back. “Check it out.” He glanced at Cherokee, who jerked to attention, as is she was trying to pass inspection.
“Nice!” the singer said, taking a step toward my quivering girlfriend. “I’m Jerod.” He reached for her and when their hands touched, I could actually see Cherokee’s knees buckle.
“Cherokee,” she stammered, as he pulled her to his chest. Then they were embracing, his hand trailing down her back and onto the top of her ass. Jake’s face crinkled into an evil grin as he leaned in and whispered in Jerod’s ear. Then the two of them were looking at me.
“So she’s with you, eh?” Jerod asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice.
I nodded, trying to think of something clever to say, but I was drawing a blank.
Jerod cast his eyes on the overall-clad groupie girl. “Amanda, you’re with skinny dude. What’s your name again, skinny dude?”
“Harold,” I stammered, as the overall-clad girl hooked her arm around mine.
“Hi Harold,” she said, staring up at me, “I’m Amanda.” She inched closer, her freckled tit on the verge of popping out the side of her overalls. “You gonna party with us?”
I nodded, speechless, as Jake and Jerod headed around the back of the stage, with Cherokee between them. I followed, distracted by the jiggle of Amanda’s tan tits, but determined to remain true to the love of my life. To say I was heartsick might have been a little over the top, but I was confused. How could this be happening? How could…
“Is she your girlfriend?” Amanda asked, her hand snaking up under the back of my T-shirt.
“Sort of,” I said, suddenly aware of her delicate fingers on my skin.
“Jerod’s my boyfriend, but we have an open relationship. Do you and your girlfriend have an open relationship?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, sneaking a peak at her stiff nipple, which had finally escaped from its denim prison.
“We are all one,” she said in a confident tone, nonchalantly tucking her renegade tit back where it belonged. “Love is everything. Love will save the world. Are you ready to save the world?”
“I guess so,” I said, painfully aware of the fact that love was indeed beginning to grow inside the front of my jeans, in spite of the fact that my girlfriend was in the process of being hijacked by a dope dealer and a hippie lead singer.
“Cool,” Amanda mumbled, squishing her jiggling tit up against my arm.
We rounded the front of a hand-painted purple and blue school bus and followed Jake, Jerod and Cherokee up the steps. The three of them were already deep in conversation about songwriting and lyrics and such, the kinds of things she couldn’t talk to me about. Would it kill me to read a Bob Dylan lyric with her and comment on it? I made a mental note to do just that.
The inside of the bus was decked out in typical hippie fashion; beads hanging everywhere, candles, incense sticks, a God’s-Eye filling one window, the other windows draped with paisley-print curtains. Behind the driver’s seat there was a beat up old leather couch where Amanda flopped down, dragging me with her. We watched in silence as Jerod, Jake, and Cherokee disappeared behind a tapestry curtain divider that separated the rear half of the bus from the front.
“Jerod’s a genius,” Amanda said into midair, twirling a lock of her dishwater blonde hair. “His songs are the pure essence of life, and when we make love, it’s like his musical genius is flowing into me, turning me into an instrument vibrating with the tone of life. Have you ever felt that when making love?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“He’s really good with his hands,” she said, casually taking my hand and holding it in her lap. “You have musician’s hands. Do you play an instrument?”
“I play the record player,” I said, marveling at how gentle her touch was. As she stroked and fondled my fingers, I could feel my cock swelling. With renewed interest I noticed her understated beauty; her freckled nose, her cherub cheeks, her ample tits aching to escape from her overalls. She would indeed look great dressed like a woman, instead of a farmer from the Midwest.
“You know what I like about wearing these overalls?” she asked, snaking my hand out of her lap.
“The ventilation?” I stammered, as she guided my hand into the open slit on the side.
“Easy access,” she grinned, as she shoved my hand down inside the front of her overalls, past her soft tummy and into the forest between her legs. My fingers fluttered through her fluffy bush and onto her tender folds. “Right there,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She thrust her head back, let out a quiet gasp, and her left tit popped out again.
To say I was nervous would have been an understatement. My first foray into the world of women’s intimate parts was not going as planned, but at least it was going. I was so engrossed in my new task, I barely even noticed the smell of hashish wafting from the other side of the curtain. Then I heard it, Cherokee’s muffled whimper. I froze. She whimpered again, louder.
“Don’t stop,” Amanda hissed, jamming my hand tighter against her mound.
“Yes!” Cherokee cried, from behind the curtain. “Yes! Oh God, that feels so good.”
I was a mass of conflicting emotions; jealousy, arousal, confusion. That’s when Amanda frantically unhooked the straps of her overalls and shoved them clear down to her knees. I stared in disbelief as her naked body filled my vision. Her fluffy tuft of a bush, her tits splayed out towards the sides, the musky aroma wafting up from between her legs, it was so overwhelming, I forgot all about Cherokee, at least for those few brief minutes.
“I need you inside me,” she commanded, pulling one leg out of her overalls so she could spread her legs wide. Staring at her hairy slit, it wasn’t at all how I imagined a women would look like down there. It wasn’t a smooth pair of puffy bumps like the pictures on that set of playing cards from Las Vegas, it was a mass of flaps and folds, reminding me more of a turkey neck than a place to stick my dick.
“Come on,” she moaned, her index finger massaging the very top of her slimy opening, “I’m so close.”
I whipped my jeans down and kneeled between her legs. While prying her slit open with one hand, she guided my cock inside with the other, and then clamped her legs around my waist. The feel of finally being inside a woman was oddly reminiscent of a bowl of tapioca putting, but thicker. Of course, it was also wonderful, and cosmic, and intensely personal, as if I was sharing with her the very essence of my being. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to hold her in my arms for all eternity. But most of all, I wanted to squirt.
Perhaps sensing my urgent need, she clamped her legs tighter around my waist, making it impossible for me to thrust more than a paltry inch or two. “Oh yeah,” she moaned, as her finger went faster. Gaining confidence in my sexual prowess, I grabbed her tits, marveling at their heft and pliability. She was definitely packing more than Cherokee was, but in all honesty, I preferred the familiar feel of Cherokee’s innocent breasts. Pinching Cherokee’s tits elicited a much stronger response. All I got out of Amanda was labored panting and clenched teeth.
Then it hit, the first orgasm I ever gave a women. Well, technically, I suppose Amanda was giving herself the orgasm and all I was doing was helping, but that didn’t stop me from celebrating the moment with a few quick thrusts between her legs. What amazed me was the way her pussy lips could clamp down on my dick and then let go, and I wondered if all women could do that, or if this was something specific to Amanda’s physique.
I knew women didn’t like a guy to cum too quick, so I held back, watching her flop and vibrate on the couch. It was like she was being electrocuted, but in a good way. The way her mouth hung open, hinting at a smile, the way she glared at me, grinding her mound against my pelvis, the way her woman smell enveloped me in a warm mist, it was all very sensual and arousing, and the more she went at it, the closer I got to losing it.
Finally, her vise grip cunt relaxed and she settled down into a slow series of undulations “Are you going to cum now, baby?” she asked, gazing at me dreamily.
Before I had time to answer, we heard a booming voice coming from outside the bus.
“Police Department. I need to talk to the owner or operator of this vehicle.”
“Shit,” Amanda blurted, shoving my dick out of her slick pussy and sitting bolt upright. The feel of my dick popping out of her snapper cunt drove me right over the edge, and as she hopped up off the couch, a gob of semen erupted from my cock and splatted onto the floor. Oblivious to the volcanic nature of my sex organ, she headed for the front of the bus, leaving me to my own devices. Desperate to finish shooting, I grabbed my dick and frantically pumped out the last couple of spurts, while simultaneously fishing my jeans up from around my ankles.
From the corner of my eye I saw Amanda fling the door open wide. “What can I do for you officer?” she asked politely, standing there totally naked.
“Well I’ll be…” the officer stammered. “Jerome, check it out. We got us a real live naked hippie chick.”
“Hot dog!” a voice crooned from outside the bus. “I guess we can dispense with the strip search.”
“Turn around, young lady” the cop demanded. Amanda complied, dutifully showing her smooth ass to the lecherous pair of law enforcement personnel.
“Nice. Did we interrupt anything important?” the cop asked, craning his neck into the dimly lit bus. By this time, I had my jeans back on, although there was nothing I could do about the wet spot growing inside my shorts.
“No sir,” Amanda said politely. “Nothing important. Do you need to see license and registration?”
“Well,” the cop said, pausing for affect, “that depends.”
“That depends on what, Sir?”
“That depends on what’s going on in here. One the one hand, I could probably search this bus and find all kinds of contraband substances. But then I’d have to do all that paperwork, you know, the arrest reports, logging the evidence, stuff like that. On the other hand, if you were to cooperate with me, we could just forget this whole thing and Jerome and I could be on our way in no time.
“I’d be perfectly happy to cooperate in any way,” Amanda said, puffing up her chest.
“I knew we could work something out,” the cop guffawed, unhooking his gun-belt. “You,” he snapped, giving me the evil eye, “out! Now!”
I shuffled past the portly officer and stumbled out into the blinding sun, almost knocking Jerome down. “Sorry,” I said, grabbing his shoulder.
“No problem kid,” he said with a buck-toothed grin. “I get a little clumsy after shooting my load too.” He gave me a friendly elbow in the ribs, and I shuffled over next to a tree, wondering about the fate of my sweet Cherokee.
I watched as Jerome disappeared inside the bus, and then the door closed. I sighed, sick to my stomach with worry. What would the cops do in there? Sure, they’d fuck Amanda. That was the whole point of her opening the door naked, to pay them off, so to speak. But would they want to fuck Cherokee too? I was about to head for the back of the bus so I could listen in when I saw movement behind the trees. A moment later, three guys appeared, who I recognized as members of Jerod’s band.
“Dude!” the guitar player said. “What the fuck? Is Jerod getting busted? We were burning one in the woods, and we saw the cops show up.”
“I think Amanda’s taking care of them.”
“Cool. Won’t be the first time. Lucky for us she likes to fuck, eh?”
“I guess,” I said, suddenly realizing that I was definitely in over my head with this crowd.
“Who’s the new chick?” the guitar player asked, flicking the burned out roach into the weeds. “The one that looks like the fake Indian princess? I’ll bet she’s a nasty bitch. You can see it in her face. In fact, I’ll bet her face is dripping with cum right about now.”
“Yeah,” the bass player added, “I’d fuck her in a heartbeat. I love those skinny chicks, the way they writhe around when they get all turned on? I live for that shit.”
“The skinny chick’s with me,” I said, hanging my head.
“Bummer dude!” the guitar player laughed. “You are so screwed. She may have been with you when you got here, but my money says she’s leaving with us. We’re headed out to LA tomorrow to ink our record deal, and Jerod is looking for some local talent to sweeten the pot. Those LA record execs love fresh meat from the sticks – so innocent, so naïve.”
Now they were all looking at me, waiting for my reaction. But what could I do? They could have been fucking with me, or they could have been serious. I had no way of knowing. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, accidentally discovering the wet spot seeping through my jeans.
The guitar player offered a suggestion. “You don’t look well dude. You wanna go back behind the trees and burn one?”
Just then the door opened, and Jerome came stumbling out of the bus, buckling up his gun-belt.
“Who-ee,” he sighed, “I never done nothin’ like that before. We had her on all fours, with me in her mouth and Jeffy doing her doggy style. He’s still in there goin’ at it.” He looked around, expecting a pat on the back I suppose. We just ignored him, although I was relieved that Cherokee wasn’t involved with servicing Jeffy. That would have been too much to bear.
Just then Jerome’s radio crackled. “Ten four,” he barked, into the mouthpiece. “No problems back here. Jeffy’s visiting the latrine. We’ll be heading your way shortly. Over and out.”
Resigned to my fate as hopeless onlooker, I took a step back and settled down at the base of a tree.
“Dude,” the guitar player said, squatting down next to me, “these bitches come and go like the rain. You’ll find another one. Shit, just walk through the crowd. There’s got to be dozens of chicks out there who’d go for a cat like you.”
His words of consolation rang hollow, but deep in my heart I knew he was right.
“Dude,” the bass player interrupted, “you should give Amanda your number. Jerod’s planning on ditching her tonight when we gas up the bus out on Highway 101, and she’ll be looking for a ride back to town. She’d much rather go home with you than have to blow some trucker.
“Or strip for cash in the back room,” the bass player added.
“She’s a stripper?” I asked, feeling suddenly queasy.
“One of her many talents,” the drummer added, smiling contentedly.
“And a thief,” the guitar player chimed in. “Have you checked your wallet?”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said, staring solemnly at my tennis shoes. The band guys resumed their discussion about which town had the best groupies, and I sat there like an ass, waiting to wake up from the nightmare that had taken over my life.
Finally, Jeffy the cop emerged from the bus, grinning like a pig in shit, his face covered in sweat, his shirt untucked,.
“See?” he said, clapping Jerome on the back, “I told you these hippie chicks would be a pushover. Everyone in the department is complaining about the hippie infestation? I saw bring ’em on. The more the merrier.” Glancing at us, he squinted his eyes. “You boys never saw nothin’, understand? If word gets back to the department about this, there’ll be an APB out on you suckers, and once you get picked up, you’ll be lucky to make it back to the jail house alive. You dig?”
‘Yes sir,” the guitar player nodded.
We watched the patrolmen stroll away, and then the band dudes headed for the bus.
“I’m going first,” the guitar player announced.
“Shit,” the bass player sighed, “you always get to go first.”
“There ain’t no first with this chick,” the guitar player reminded him. “We’re not even getting sloppy seconds. More like sloppy thirds.” Then he shot me a friendly glance. “You coming, dude?”
“I think I’ll just wait here.”
“Good idea. You probably don’t want to see what’s going on in there anyway.”
They disappeared, and I checked my wallet. Thank god my money was still there. Then I thought about the encouraging words from the guitar player, and it dawned on me that he was right. I did have a VW bus, and enough money for gas and a bottle of Boone’s Farm. My future was brighter than the big yellow sun painted on the front of Jerod’s groupie-fucking bus. Too bad I couldn’t convince myself of it at the time.
A few minutes later, the groupie-bus door opened, and Jake poked his head out. “Hey Bobby. Cherokee’s asking for you.”
“Really?” I jumped to my feet, tears welling up. Had my sweetheart finally come to her senses? Was it time for me to take her to the motel and consummate our love?
“She wants to know if you’ll go back to the car and grab her bag.”
Before I had a chance to answer, the door slammed shut. Stunned, I trudged off towards the overflow parking lot, avoiding the crowd by taking the forest trail. I suppose I should have enjoyed the view when I came across the hippie couple fucking behind some bushes, and the two naked women braiding each other’s hair in an acid daze, but I was in no mood for that. I just wanted my sweet innocent Cherokee back. Her laugh, her sparkling eyes, her soft hand curled in mine, this had been my whole life for the last ten months, and it was just too overwhelming to throw it all away in one messed up afternoon.
I reached the VW bus and jerked the handle of the side doors. The locks had broken long ago, but no one bothered to try to steal anything from me, since all I ever had in there was a foam mattress covered with a Goodwill bedspread, and maybe an empty bottle of Boone’s Farm wine. I grabbed Cherokee’s fake American Indian bag and headed back to Jerod’s bus.
When I reached the school bus, the door was ajar, and I could hear laughter coming from inside. I crept up the steps, peered in, and saw Jake and the band guys, minus the bass player, crowded in a circle, as if they were shooting dice or something. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized Amanda was in the middle of the circle, still naked, squatting over an empty wine bottle. She lowered herself onto it until the neck disappeared into her pussy, and then she picked it up, to the cheers of the crowd. Was this Cherokee’s fate, picking up wine bottles with her pussy to entertain musicians and dope dealers?
I laid Cherokee’s bag on the driver’s seat and turned to go.
“Bobby!” came Amanda’s surprised voice, followed by the sound of the wine bottle clunking to the floor.
I turned and stared at her nakedness, feeling suddenly cold and disgusted.
“You brought Cherokee’s bag?” she asked.
I pointed to the driver’s seat.
“Cool,” she said, looking a little lost for words.
“Hey dude,” the guitar player smiled, “good luck. And don’t forget what I told you – like rain, right?”
“Right,” I said, stumbling back out into the fading light.
The sun was going down, Moby Grape was playing their last song, and I was slogging back to my VW, pondering my fate. I had not only lost my soul-mate to a bunch of sleazy musicians, I had also given up my virginity to a hippie stripper who’s greatest talent was picking up wine bottles with her cunt. I didn’t see the humor in it at the time. All I saw was Cherokee, naked in the back of the bus, fucking every member of the Black Arm Band, a vision that I was certain would haunt me for the rest of my days.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I stumbled up to the drivers door of my VW. That’s when I realized the side door was hanging wide open. I crept around the front of my microbus, peeked in, and there, curled up on the mattress, was a naked woman. Not just a naked woman, but a naked goddess of a woman. The curve of her waist, the bulge of her heavy breasts, she could have walked straight out of a Renaissance painting, except back in Michael Angelo’s day, you didn’t see women with an all-over tan.
It took a moment to register, and then it dawned on me. The newspaper called them acid casualties – the unsuspecting or unlucky who take too much LSD and end up in a psychotic state, sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently. Was that what I had occupying my VW bus? A loony tune?
I sat on the floor and waited, hoping maybe she’d snap out of her trance and introduce herself. While I waited, I couldn’t help but take in her earthy beauty; her golden brown skin, her blonde, braided hair, her breasts, ample and full, with big puffy brown nipples. This wasn’t some teeny-bopper, this was a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, a woman old enough to know better than to take bad acid and end up naked in a stranger’s VW bus.
The sound of her breathing was comforting, especially for a guy who had just gotten dumped. I studied her nakedness, especially her slit, which was similar to Amanda’s but yet different. I guess if Amanda’s could have been categorized as belonging to a food group, it would have been romaine lettuce – frilly and detailed. The naked woman’s pussy looked more like it was from the eggplant family – smooth and shiny with a slight purplish tinge.
As I sat there in silence, I was struck by her fragrance, which seemed to be a blend of sandalwood and something dark and rich, like butterscotch. Just as I was getting my nerve up to crawl a little closer, she opened her eyes and looked around, slowly, as if the interior of the bus was a movie screen, with different scenes showing on every wall. After a few moments, she focused on me. “Are we safe?” she asked, a curious grin lighting up her face.
“Yes, we’re safe,” I stammered, hoping she didn’t catch me staring at her precious pussy.
She pondered my comment for a moment, and then reached her arms out towards me. “Hold me?” she said, with an air of innocence that broke my heart. Surely, at this very minute, some guy was frantically looking for her? Or perhaps she was in an “open” relationship, and her guy was screwing some clueless wonder like Amanda?
It didn’t matter, really, because all we have is The Now, or at least that’s all I had at that moment, on that day of the Love-In in New Monterey. I climbed onto the mattress and started to cuddle up behind her.
“Bare skin,” she whispered. “No clothes. Bare skin.”
I peeled off my shirt, jerked down my pants and sticky shorts, and eased up behind her. Without a word, she took my hand and clamped it gently onto her heavy breast. At the same time, her legs opened, making room for my rapidly expanding cock to nestle up against her glossy cunt.
“That’s perfect,” she whispered, scrunching her springy butt up against my groin. This shoved my dick clear up into her bush, which was a good thing, because that meant I couldn’t accidentally slide it inside her and fuck her while she was incapacitated. I suppose that’s what other guys would have done, but I just didn’t have it in me. I’d already been screwed by a stripper who’s boyfriend ordered her to fuck me, I didn’t want the second piece of ass in my life to be another accident. I wanted it to mean something.
It was so peaceful, lying there with my mystery woman, I couldn’t help myself from dozing off. It was like the world had stopped turning, giving me respite from my ordeal with Cherokee, and perhaps giving me a second chance at extricating myself from the misery of my screwed up life.
I awoke to the sound of her voice, low and velvety like a movie star.
“Uh oh.” She looked around. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my van,” I said, letting my hand recede from her breast.
“Oh My God!” she shrieked. sitting bolt upright. She snatched a corner of the bedspread to cover her classic tits. The horror on her face meant one of two things; either she’d come out of her acid induced psychosis and suddenly realized she was naked with a stranger, or she was still in it. Way in it.
“Sorry,” I gasped, throwing my T-shirt into my lap. “It’s not what you think. Nothing happened. You were laying here naked when I came back to my van after the love-in. You asked me if it was safe, and if I could hold you, and then you said ‘bare skin, no clothes’.”
“Jesus,” she moaned, dropping the corner of the bedspread. I tried not to stare at her gorgeous tits, but it was a struggle. Her nipples were the color of milk chocolate, smooth and glossy looking. The funny thing was, her tits didn’t look nearly as heavy as they felt when we were cuddled up and she clamped my hand there.
I tore my eyes away from the visual banquet in front of me and looked out the window. “Do you remember the Love-in?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, adding a guttural laugh. “I met a guy, found out we were both Virgos, he asked if I wanted to trip with him, and now here we are. I wonder what happened to him?”
“We could try to find him,” I offered, feeling guilty about the whole thing.
“No way,” she chuckled. “I’m lucky I escaped, although I am curious about my clothes.”
“You seem quite comfortable without clothes. Your all-over tan is impressive.”
“Oh that,” she sighed, looking down at her naked body. “I’ve got a place in L.A. Ever hear of Laurel Canyon?” She trailed off, a faraway look in her eyes. While she daydreamed, I pulled my jeans and shorts back up and was about to pull on my shirt when she interrupted. “Got anything I can wear?”
Cherokee’s flannel shirt was still in the front seat. Actually, it used to be my flannel shirt till she adopted it. During the course of the last few months, the buttons had started falling off, but it didn’t matter, since she only used it as a jacket and never buttoned it anyway. I grabbed it out of the front seat. “Here you go.”
“Perfect,” she grinned, puffing out her chest as she pulled it on. Finding the one button in the middle, she looked down at her sexy cleavage and laughed. “Wanna go to an all-night restaurant and cause a disturbance?”
“Sure,” I said, not knowing whether or not she was serious. She was obviously an adventurous woman, and I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t keep up with her.
“Actually,” she reflected, looking down at her blonde puff of a bush peeking out between the bottom flaps of the shirt, “I’d probably need a second piece to complete this outfit.”
“You think?” “Wise guy,” she giggled, pulling the shirt flaps closed.
“Come on,” I said, tearing my eyes away from my Playboy bunny and creaking the side doors open, “let’s see if anybody left any clothes laying around the parking lot.”
I climbed out and she followed, the view of her mischievous cleavage impossible to ignore. Remembering the gentleman crap my dad tried to teach me, I took her hand to help her out.
She shot me a dazzling smile. “Some people think that’s corny, but I love it when a guy does that. I swear, even though I totally embrace women’s liberation, I hate to see the old ways vanish.”
We made a circle around the VW and discovered that not only were we the only car in sight, but no one had left a shred of clothing for her to cover her valentine ass with.
“Let’s not sweat it,” she said, looking down her front. “This shirt’s long enough that if I don’t bend over, no one will know there’s nothing on underneath.”
“That probably wouldn’t fly in restaurant though,” I said, fishing the car keys out of my pocket.
“Probably not,” she chuckled, walking around to the passenger side.
“Do you want to cruise the parking lots, just in case your car’s still here?”
“That would be cool,” she said, climbing into Cherokee’s spot.
“What are we looking for?”
“It’s a red Jaguar XKE. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Cool,” I sighed, imagining how the sleek curves of an XKE complemented the sleek curves of her body. Joan Baez also had a red XKE, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were friends. Then it dawned on me I didn’t even know my mystery woman’s name.
“I’m Harold,” I said, extending my hand. She took it firmly.
“Natasha,” she smiled, her right nipple peeking at me from inside her shirt. I tore my eyes away and started my VW, visions of her jiggling breasts dancing in the headlights as we scanned the grounds for her car.
“Damn him,” she said to herself, gnawing on a finger nail. “Would you mind dropping me off where I’m staying? It’s just down off of Lighthouse near Cannery Row.”
“No problem,” I said, suddenly heartsick at the thought of saying goodbye to my half-naked earth goddess. Hoping to prolong our little impromptu date, I came up with an alternative plan.
“Are you thirsty? We could stop at the all night gas station on Forest and grab some juice or something.”
“I’d love that,” she beamed, “but I don’t seem to have any money on me.”
“Shut up,” she giggled, flipping the flap of my shirt back into her lap.
“I’ve got money” I said, as we left the park and headed up David. “So Natasha, what’s Laurel Canyon like? Is that where you got your all-over tan?”
“Laurel Canyon is like the garden of eden. It’s a very open and loving community. My neighbor Sherry and I spend a lot of time on the back deck, sunbathing nude and taking a dip in the pool.”
“So, um, when you and Sherry get naked, are you two, you know…”
“Harold!” she giggled, “is that all men can think about?”
“Men my age? Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Well, you can rest assured that Sherry and I aren’t lovers.”
“That’s cool,” I stammered. “Women being sexual with other women is cool, women not being sexual with other women is cool too.”
‘Harold,” she commanded, “look at me.” (Didn’t she know I couldn’t look at her because her right nipple was showing, as was her slit?) “Sherry and I, we hang out, we give each other naked massages, but there’s nothing sexual going on. There’s a difference between sensual and sexual. A kiss can be sensual but not sexual. A caress, a cuddle, these things can happen without sexual undertones. I mean, if what you said is true, that nothing sexual happened between us when we were lying naked together, that proves my point.”
“So, my hard-on nudging your pussy doesn’t count as sexual?
“Sensual,” she said, as if stating a commonly known fact. “Sticking your dick inside my pussy and ejaculating, now that would have been sexual.”
“Would your hand on my hard-on be sensual or sexual?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Let’s try it and find out.”
She gave me a horrified look.
“Oh,” she said, in a surprised sort of way, “right. A joke.”
Fortunately for me, the all night gas station loomed before us.
“Apple juice? Muffin?”
“Sure,” she smiled, my little lapse in judgement apparently forgotten. As I strode in, I noticed a cop car parked in the shadows across the street. I had the sudden urge to run back to the VW and beg Natasha to please, please not get out of the car, but that would have aroused suspicion, so I just hoped for the best.
Making it back to the VW without incident, I handed her the bottle of apple juice.
“Perfect,” she sighed as she tipped her head back and took a long drink. The sight if her nipple was making me incredibly heartsick, but what could I do? Ask her to unbutton her shirt so I didn’t have to strain my neck to see it?
As we pulled out onto David, I noticed headlights following a discreet distance behind us. Sensing impending doom, I kept it at a steady twenty-five miles per hour.
“Oh crap,” I moaned as the red flashing lights lit up my rear view mirror.
“Oh crap is right,” Natasha sighed, looking over her shoulder. Gripping my arm, she leaned into me. “Think we can outrun them?”
“No,” I said, looking for a place to pull over.
“Joke,” she said, settling back into her seat.
“Do we need to get our story straight?” I asked, hanging a right onto the side street, since the main street was solid with parked cars.
“What story? I was drugged, everything I had with me was stolen, and you rescued me. They should give you a medal.”
As I cut the motor, I realized we were parked in a church driveway. Was this an omen? Was I supposed to pray to God that our cop would not turn out to be Jeffy? Natasha and I waited in silence while the officers approached us.
“Well well well,” Jeffy sneered, poking his head inside the driver’s door window, “you again. And who’s your lady friend?”
“That’s Natasha,” I moaned, feeling utterly helpless.
“I’ll need to see some ID. You got ID little lady?”
“I’m sorry,” Natasha intoned, in her velvety voice, “everything I had, including my ID, was stolen, but I can give you my name and address…”
“Out of the car. Both of you.”
I jerked the door open and creaked out of the VW, my legs feeling like lead, my heart pounding. Jeffy grabbed my arm and lead me over to the sidewalk, where he sat me down on the retaining wall.
“Nice,” he growled, staring at Natasha.
She just stood there next to Jerome, her hands at her sides, the flannel shirt barely hiding her crotch. She flashed me the deer-in-the-headlights look, but what could I do?
“Um, officer Jeff?” I stammered, hoping to somehow head off the inevitable. “I can explain…”
“Shut up,” he snapped, poking me in the chest with his night stick. “Jerome, keep an eye on our hero here while I interrogate the lady.”
Jerome came over next to me and then we both watched while Jeffy approached Natasha like a cat stalking a mouse.
“Got any weapons, little lady?”
“Of course not,” she moaned, almost vibrating in fear.
“Hands on your head. Now!”
“Shit,” she moaned, as she slowly raised her hands.
“I thought so,” Jeffy said, poking his nightstick between the opening in Natasha’s shirt. “We got us a case of indecent exposure.” With a flick of his wrist, he popped the one remaining button loose, and we all watched as the shirt draped open.
“God damn you’ve got some nice tits,” he said, poking at the shirt until her breasts were totally exposed. “Cuff her Jerome. We’re taking the little lady downtown.”
“But officer,” Natasha pleaded, “I can assure you…”
“Shut up!” he barked, “unless you want me to add resisting arrest to the charges.”
Jerome stepped behind her and gently guided her arms down so he could cuff her. As he did so, Jeffy flicked the shirt off her shoulders, and it slithered down to her elbows, revealing her splendid body like a Greek statue.
“Fuckin’ A,” he sighed, staring at her. “You are one fine bitch.” He started walking around her slowly, like a guy inspecting a horse at an auction. “Jerome. Lift up her shirt and show us her ass.”
“Officer, please?” Natasha moaned, her lower lip quivering. “You can call my dad. He lives in Pebble Beach.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he growled, gazing at her valentine ass. “You can call him yourself when we get to the station.” I watched in horror as he took his nightstick and nudged her left tit. Satisfied that it was indeed real, he was just about to check the other one when we heard the clamor of voices behind us.
“Oh my God!” a woman bellowed, as a small crowd of people filed out of the church. “Don’t look! There’s a naked woman out on the sidewalk!”
“A naked woman?” came a man’s voice. “Where?”
In thirty seconds, the crowd had grown to about twenty, all standing on the steps ogling Natasha in all her naked glory.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” a gray haired gentleman asked.
“Just a little arrest” Jeffy said casually. “Nothing to see. Move along now.”
“Mr. Edwards?” Natasha called out.
“Natasha?” the gray-haired guy answered., “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Natasha said sadly, hanging her head. The old guy bounded down the steps.
“What are you charging this lady with?” he asked, fixing Jeffy in a military stare.
“You found her walking down the street like this?”
“No, she was in this guy’s VW.”
“Naked, like she is now?”
“Not exactly,” Jeff answered, his confidence suddenly gone.
“Do you have any idea who this woman is?” the gray-haired guy asked.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Release her this instant. And report back to the station. You’re suspended as of now.”
“Suspended?” Jeffy bristled. “And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the police commissioner, and you’re in deep shit my friend.”
While Jerome uncuffed Natasha, Jeffy gave me the evil eye. “I’ll get you for this,” he hissed, pointing at me with his night stick.
The gray-haired guy handed me a business card. “If this guy gives you any more trouble, you call me.”
I took his card, my hands still trembling, and stumbled over to help Natasha climb back into the van. Under the eyes of the watchful congregation, she flashed her beaver one more time as she climbed in, and then we were off.
“What an ass,” Natasha sighed, not even bothering to pull her shirt closed. “Good thing Mr. Edwards showed up.”
“You know him?” I asked, still catching my breath.
“Friend of the family. His daughter and I were on swim team together.”
“So you’ve been around here for a while?”
“Off and on. I’m in L.A. most of the time, but when I read about the Love-In, I decided it would be a good time for a visit.”
Cruising down David, I had a hundred questions, but not the nerve to ask them. I was just glad Natasha had managed to escape without getting molested. Or worse. Calling cops “pigs” was just coming into vogue, and old Jeffy certainly did reinforce that stereotype. It was times like this that made moving out to the country seem more attractive.
Remembering Natasha’s directions, I turned onto Lighthouse, which prompted her to guide me to a stately Victorian mansion.
“You can pull in the drive,” she said, the streetlight turning her jutting breasts shiny silver. I cruised up to the back door and cut the lights.
“Thanks,” she said, offering me her hand.
“Sorry about getting stopped,” I said, suddenly heartbroken that our little adventure was over.
“No problem,” she grinned, sliding over to give me a peck on the cheek. “It was fun. Sort of.”
As her lips brushed my cheek, I caught my breath. The smell of her hair, the feel of her naked breast nudging my arm, it was almost too much to bear.
“Shit,” she grunted, her hand slithering down into my lap. “I don’t usually do this, but…” She undid my buckle, and then her hand was inside my shorts, cradling my rapidly expanding cock. “I’d invite you in, but it’s not my place.”
Then her head descending into my lap, and suddenly, my cock was in her mouth. I jammed my feet against the floorboards and tried to buck my hips.
“Take it easy,” she cooed. “Let me do it.”
As if in slow motion, she raked her lips up and down my shaft, slithering her hand onto the head whenever it popped out of her mouth. I was ready to cum in about thirty seconds, which she seemed to sense.
“You want to make it last,” she asked, gazing up at me as if I was the only man in the world, “or do you want to go for it?”
“Go for it” I gasped, my whole body vibrating in anticipation of the completion of my first-ever blowjob.
“Whatever” she mumbled, her head descending once more. She was just about to take me in her mouth again when car headlights lit up my rearview mirror. I looked up and saw what appeared to be a police car behind us.
“Uh oh,” she gulped, sitting up, her hand still clamped to my pulsating cock. “I hope it’s not that asshole cop.”
The passenger door opened, and I realized it wasn’t a cop car, it was a Yellow Taxi. As Natasha turned her head to look behind us, her hand jerked at my dick and the first glob of cum shot out, splatting on the ceiling.
“It’s Sherry!” she bubbled, diving for the passenger door. As she bound out, I grabbed my dick to finish myself off, squirting cum all over my T-shirt. As I milked myself dry, I heard the girls yapping.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened…”
“No shit? The police commissioner…?
Then they were standing at my window. “Harold, was it?” Natasha asked, almost in an annoyed tone. “This is Sherry, the woman I told you about?”
I just sat there with my dick in my hand, jizz still oozing out of the tip.
“Oh damn!” Natasha exclaimed, “I forgot…”
“Natasha!” Sherry moaned, noticing the same thing Natasha was noticing, “what were you thinking?”
“He rescued me,” she said apologetically. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Call your agent?” Sherry answered. “Does this fool even know who you are?”
“Um… I don’t know,” she said, giving me a curious look. “Do you go to the movies much?”
I racked my brain, trying to place her, but in all honesty, I didn’t have the money to go to the movies.
“It’s better this way,” Sherry said, tugging on Natasha’s sleeve.
“You’re probably right,” Natasha sighed.
There was an awkward silence, during which I tucked my leaky dick back into my jeans. Finally, I turned the key and the old VW sprung to life. With a halfhearted wave, Natasha and Sherry headed for the house, and I eased down the driveway, wondering who in the hell had given me my first blowjob. I knew I should have been excited about almost having sex with a movie star, but the whole thing left me feeling cold and used.
Heading back up David, feeling quite sorry for myself, I almost missed it – the shadowy figure by the side of the road. As I passed, I realized it was Cherokee, slogging up the hill, her fake Indian bag slung over her shoulder.
I stopped the van, my heart pounding, my hands sweating. Should I be mad? Should I forgive her? I waited for her to appear by my door. But would she even stop, or would she just keep walking? Feeling utterly numb, I buttoned up my shirt to hide the mess in my lap. Just as I finished, the passenger door opened.
“Can we go to the motel now?” Cherokee asked, as she flung her bag onto the seat.
“I guess so,” I answered, feeling powerless to say no. I watched as she climbed in, noticing her hair all tangled, and a small split on her lower lip. “Did they hurt you?”
“Can we just pretend in didn’t happen?” she asked, her voice trembling, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“We can try,” I said, taking her hand in mine. She looked over at me. ”Harold?”
“Yeah?” I answered, my head spinning, my heart racing.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Cherokee.”
I didn’t mean to say it, but the words tumbled out anyway. Then I realized maybe I really did love her. If I could take her back after what she’d done – that had to mean something. Seeing her tears glistening in the moonlight, hearing her stifled sobs, it made me realize what I had to offer her – stability; someone to count on, someone to be there no matter what. At that moment, it occurred to me, maybe that’s what growing up is all about.
“Um.. Harold,” she sighed, her voice quivering, “I’m tired of Cherokee. Can I be Alice from now on?”
“Of course you can,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. It was at that moment the Summer of Love took on a whole new meaning, and it had nothing to do with hippies.