I don't suppose I was any different than thousands of other guys in the mid-sixties except for the fact that I was still somewhat 'socially retarded' when I got my discharge from the Army and went back home to Evansville to begin my adult life. The unusual part was that most of my peer group was either away at college or still in the service, save the few who were working construction on housing plats for the upwardly mobile WWII generation.
So the people I ran around with, socially, were a mix of early twenties and late teens, including some still in high school. The major difference was that having been around the nearer parts of the world ... meaning western Europe and pretty much of the US, I was more worldly wise than most.
So I could recognize a significant change in how young adults socialized and the leeway given by parents of those late teens. The guys in our group were almost all of drinking age which was then 18 for low-alcohol beer — a misnomer, because 'high power' beer was then only a % point above what we called '3.2', the legal limit for 18 to 21. The girls, on the other hand, ranged mostly from 16 to 18, and with a few exceptions were still in high school
Now this caused me some problems because I was 21 and the age of consent in our particular state, though laxly enforced, pretty much dictated that I should not date anyone under 18. Fortunately I was cursed with a baby-face and I actually looked about 16. So, unless a girl's parents knew my family, I didn't have problems picking up a 17 year old for a date and meeting her parents. I simply hoped the subject of my age or what year of school I was in didn't come up and it almost never did.
Now the typical reader thinks he knows where this is going, right? Having spent a full tour in the service I was well aware of 'age-ism'. In all those years I only got laid by dint of a 'birthday surprise' from the guys in my company, they having taken a collection to get me an hour with a 13 year old baby hooker above a seedy San Juan bar. A wholly unsatisfactory experience. If you ever hear of a guy 'getting his pecker stuck' in a whore's cunt, believe me it can happen. It did to me. After taking a full fifteen minutes getting all the way in her, my cock was in a fleshy Chinese finger trap.
"Come, you sumbeech!!!' was the closest she got to a term of endearment. Since I couldn't even stroke, the culmination was simple deflation instead of ejaculation. The rest of my 'sex action' in various bars was fending off gay chicken-hawks.
But I became aware that people put too much emphasis on outward looks. On the fringes of my social group were those girls who the hot chicks hung around with, partially to make themselves look good and often to help them out socially. Not every good looking girl was as shallow as they are portrayed, quite a few are good-hearted.
These girls ranged from overweight to plain or homely and I went out of my way to talk to them and include them in plans we made for the impromptu beer parties we held, mainly in summer at some outdoor location.
But I had no designs on them romantic or sexual, despite some hints they threw out. A guy's gotta maintain an image, you know. And I had no plans to be a perennial 'wingman'.
That is until I was messing around with a power cable to a piece of equipment on the farm. It was a cobbled up long power supply to a grain conveyor. We were trying to unload a load of hay into a second story mow and the motor wouldn't run. I got into the connection box and was wiggling the wire connection when my fingers came into contact with a hidden bare wire and I got 110 volts up one arm and out the other with which I was bracing myself on the steel of the conveyor.
Now, you really have to try hard to electrocute yourself using 110 volts. The fact that the wiring was nominal 220 volt service means nothing ... it's two 110 volt wires with respect to ground.
But, as is well known, it's the secondary effect that gets you. The normal reflex, combined with the current induced muscle twitch caused me to fly back away from the source, and I hit the back of my head on something, knocking me out. The next thing I knew I was on a rolling bed in the ER. Understand this was the sixties and there weren't scanners to look inside my skull to determine damage, and the doctor on call diagnosed concussion and kept me 24 hours for observation. Other than a really severe headache and a little numbness in my hands, I felt fine ... or as good as you can feel lying in a hospital ward.
The best part though was there were some cute nurses. All shapes sizes and ages but all cute and friendly. I recall thinking I was going to have to start hanging out in that area of town to meet some of them.
The next day I was released, with only a dull headache and a big knot on my skull; but otherwise none the worse for wear. The doc only said I should take it easy and not exert myself and no drinking or taking aspirin for a few days.
I could follow the orders on the exertion and aspirin easily enough but no drinking?!!!
Fat chance of that! We had a party set up for that night on the farmyard of one of our properties and it was to be the blowout of the summer. So I self-interpreted the order to be 'only one or two beers'.
Came the night of and, I against the wishes of my mom, went out as usual. I told her I wouldn't drink, meaning to me wouldn't get drunk and she reluctantly assented. I WAS 21 after all. There was a good crowd of about 50 or 60 and we were really buzzing along just fine. I did limit myself to one beer an hour and was having a lot of fun flirting with all the girls, whether they came with their boyfriends or not and even with the unattached girl's 'best friends', which I described above. I was pleased that I had a buzz on only one or two beers because the beer goggle effect was setting in early and even the plainer girls seemed cute and cuddly and said witty things to me. Normally I considered that just flirting but I found I was also getting a reaction in my pants.
Still, I ignored that because as the unattached host I had to make sure no one got out of line and did anything stupid like smoking in the barns. All the 'kids' understood they had no right to privacy at our parties because someone had to be on patrol. Previously there'd been more than one incident of having to kick people out for cause. Such as fighting or, like I said, smoking in a dangerous place.
Sometime in the middle of the party, I noticed an old 55 Pontiac drive into the yard and in it were two high school girls I only knew by sight. I walked over to greet them and the driver, Monica, asked if it was okay for them to stay.
"Sure, if you have the door charge."
"Oh? I didn't know there was admission. How much?" Her friend, Sarah, looked worried.
"BYOB ... or two bucks each." I laughed.
They both looked relieved.
"We brought a six-pack, okay?" She showed a carton of Miller.
"Well, actually that's a five-pack." I held out my hand, palm to the side and fingers slightly curled.
They looked at each other and laughed. I took the cold can and walked away to put it in the ice tub. I hate Miller's now. I hated it then.
About a half hour later, I noticed the two girls sitting by the fire by themselves.
I plopped down beside them.
"Y-yes." Said Sarah
"No." said Monica.
I looked at them. Sarah blushed, Monica laughed and smiled. She had a really cute unique smile.
"So ... how did you find out about this?"
The two looked at each other.
"We were at the Shoney's and there were two cute guys. We followed them."
"Oh ... I thought you came in by yourselves."
"We stopped when we saw it was a party. Then we went back to town and bought a six pack to bring."
Aha ... at least they had the necessary social graces. A big plus over a lot of the younger girls.
"So ... who was it you were following?"
"We don't know their names, but they're about 19 and they're cute."
That didn't help much. Several pairs of guys had come in late. And how the hell do I know who is 'cute'.
"What kind of car were they driving?"
"ummm ... red."
I chuckled to myself.
"Well that sounds like Terry and Sam. Want me to introduce you?"
"Err ... no. They're with those girls over there." That was Sarah, finally speaking up. She pointed across the fire. Just then Sam got up and he and Marylou walked toward the barn, hand in hand. Terry was making out with Sally, he had his hand on the swell of her tit.
"Oh ... sorry about that. I should have offered earlier."
"Doesn't matter. They been with them since we got here." Monica had somewhat of a disappointed look.
"There's other guys."
"Not two that we think are cute."
"Well ... I have to make my rounds. If you two want to walk with me, that would be great."
I figured I would introduce them to a few guys ... maybe someone would get lucky.
They looked at each other. Damn I hate that ... why does everything have to be mutual consent.
We walked toward the barn in a roundabout way. I wanted to make sure I knew as much as possible where everyone was, and that, wherever they were, that they wanted to be there ... yeah, date rape was fairly common even then.
When we got to the barn door I announced myself.
"Just Pete ... remember no smoking and no matches or lighters in the barn." All the regulars already knew this but I couldn't keep track and wanted to make sure that there was no doubt.
We heard a loud giggle from some girl in the darkness.
"How about just friction?"
.... There is more of this story ...