Last night I watched the movie “Summer of 42” for probably the tenth time. It is an autobiographical story about the author in his early teens in the summer of 1942 vacationing on Nantucket Island with two of his friends. I highly recommend The movie, to anyone who might be interested in a sweet coming-of-age story with a surprising ending. Since I am old enough to remember the Second World War it might have more meaning to me than others. Also, since I have been obsessed with sex since I experienced my first erection and have undergone so many fantasies with young women such as Dorothy (a young twenty-something who is so purely attractive) I have often put myself in the position the Hermie, the main character of “Summer of 42.”

The movie opens with Hermie and his two friends playing on the beach and looking over a bluff, spying on an attractive young woman (played by Jennifer O’Neal) lying on the sand sunning herself. From that moment Hermie (age 15) begins a fixation on losing his virginity to Dorothy who is staying in an old cottage with her husband before he leaves, to fight in the war.

After her husband leaves Hermie runs into Dorothy who is struggling with two large bags of groceries. Showing he is strong enough to carry the groceries on a long trek to her cottage she invites him to have coffee with her.

Hermie interprets this as sexual interest in him which could not have been further from the truth. Lonely, Dorothy is motivated by a sibling-like attraction. When they run into each other (he with his two friends) she asks Hermie to come by the next day and help her put some heavy boxes in the attic. Once again they have coffee together. Nothing further happens.

Hermie persists and keeps visiting Dorothy where she offers him coffee and iced tea. One night Dorothy attends an island summer function, a square dance where Hermie and his friends are also. She asks Hermie to dance with her, impressing both of his friends that she is interested in him.

The next evening Hermie decides that something is going to happen and dresses for the occasion of his fantasy. He goes to Dorothy’s cottage just after sunset. Lights are on inside the cottage. But when Hermie knocks on the door Dorothy doesn’t answer it. After knocking numerous times he tries the door, walks in, and hears a clicking sound in the small living room. Discovering that a finished record still spinning in the record player is making the clicking sound, he takes the needle off the record.

He sees an empty wine bottle on the table next to an ashtray that holds several snubbed-out cigarettes. Next to the ashtray, he spies a telegram that reads “We are sorry to inform you that Corporal Pete Walker has been killed in action in the South Pacific...” Alone in the shock of such mindboggling news, Hermie cries out, “Dorothy?” After calling the second time Dorothy comes through the bedroom door and approaches him.

Seeing her grief-stricken face awash in tears Hermie becomes laced with guilt for the reason for his visit. Filled with sympathy for her loss tears leak from his own eyes. Dorothy approaches him unsteadily, reaches out, and takes him into her arms, laying her head on his shoulder. Confused, Hermie doesn’t know what to say but Dorothy in the confusion of her suffering understands and just holds him as they rock on their feet.

After a moment Dorothy separates and goes to the phonograph and starts the record, “The Summer Knows,” (theme from the soundtrack). She comes back lethargically and starts dancing with Hermie. The clicking starts again while Dorothy and Hermie dance to no music. As if in a trance Dorothy leads Hermie to the bedroom.

“Summer of 42” was rated R because of the bedroom scene which by today’s standards was incredibly mild, just showing Dorothy and Hermie lying side by side on the bed under the covers after suggested sex, staring blankly at the ceiling. Years later the rating was changed to PG.

Each time I have watched the movie to the point of the couple lying in the bed together I have imagined what went on.

Dorothy lay on the bed after drinking a bottle of wine while trying to sort out the news she had feared. As she became inebriated she put the record of “The Summer Knows” on the phonograph and played it over and over. Exhausted by her nascent grief, the wine, and remembrance of her husband whom she had married only months before, went into their bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

Awaking to a thumping noise at the front door she heard the clicking of the needle against the finished record and realized that the cottage was awash with lights that she had turned on. Hearing another knock she wondered who it could be. The only person she knew that had befriended her after Pete had left to go overseas was Hermie but why in the world would he be here? Thinking she merely imagined someone knocking she fell back into her stupor.

The sound of a squeaking hinge roused her, and she was startled when she thought she heard footsteps in the living room. The sound of the clicking phonograph stopped. Can somebody be in the cottage? Relieved at the sound of Hermie’s voice she wondered but what is he doing here? He called her name again. Getting off the bed she lost her balance, steadying herself when her hand grasped the bedpost, then walked unsteadily through the bedroom door.

Confused and desperately hopeful she started to say “PETE” but realized the well-dressed young man was Hermie. He wore dove gray gabardine slacks, a white shirt under a gray plaid over jacket with his shirt collar flared over the lapels, and saddle shoes. He looks so nice but why is he here? Desperate for the telegram not to be on the table she saw that it was. Wanting to call out Pete’s name said nothing. She felt it was necessary to acknowledge Hermie, asking him why he was there. But hungry for human contact, she approached him and then hugged him.

Uncomfortable and unsure, Hermie wished he wasn’t there. At the same time, he knew Dorothy was in pain. She had no friends close by that he was aware of. Under the circumstances, he thought if she knew his purpose for being there she would hate him. Had she not received the devastating telegram she might have been out of patience with his purpose and sent him away. In his mind, the way Dorothy had been acting toward him since they met gave him tacit permission to woo her, as improbable as it was. In his opinion though, she had been making herself available to him and might have been signaling that he was on his way to losing his virginity. Without her receipt of the telegram, had Dorothy disapproved of his behavior she would have told him and humorously forgiven him. For Dorothy, she had become more of a big sister to Hermie who enjoyed the teenager’s attention.

With tears running down his face Hermie said, “I’m sorry.” He was sorry that she had gotten such terrible news and didn’t know how to handle it. “I’m so sorry Dorothy.”

Needing something more to confirm her validity Dorothy said, “I’m so glad you’re here Hermie.” Breaking their hug she went to the phonograph, looked down at the telegram on the table that wouldn’t stop trumpeting the terse, ugly message, she quelled a sob, and moved the needle to the record. Going back to Hermie she embraced him, accepted his embrace, and danced with him as tears continued to flow from both of them.

Their dance went on for ten minutes as Dorothy tried to squeeze away the pain she felt. Trying to puzzle out what was going on in her mind Hermie was planning an acceptable escape. Regardless, it was dreamy as if they were in a ballroom with a twelve-piece orchestra playing and a sparkling ball rotating from the ceiling.

With the music being played on the record Dorothy saw flashes of her and Pete: meeting, courting, petting, marrying, and losing themselves in sex before he went away. Why did this terrible war have to happen? What am I going to do? She regretted responding so eagerly to all of Hermie’s juvenile advances. But he’s been so cute. With a sigh, she knew she should tell him to go. Instead, being overwhelmed by her need she led him into her bedroom.

All of Hermie’s efforts with Dorothy, his preparations: helping with her groceries, helping put her boxes into the attic, the mid-morning chats over coffee, his uncomfortable foray into the drugstore to buy “rubbers” was coming to pass. Though not in the way he had fantasized he was flummoxed. Will we keep our clothes on, will she hold it? how will I put it in? Is she all right? Am I a creep? What will she think of me when I leave?

Standing midway between the door and the bed Dorothy—her face wet with tears—put her hands tenderly on Hermie’s cheeks and kissed his lips. Having never kissed before Hermie felt isolated in time. Trying to appreciate the heaven of being with his fantasy woman, the soft feeling of lips on lips sent a strange emptiness to his belly then fullness in his groin that he had experienced myriad times. This time his excitement was at the point that was impossible to stop. When Dorothy’s lips opened—opening his as well—and she thrust her tongue into his mouth three rapid discharges below filled his BVDs with sperm and left him struggling to keep his knees from collapsing. Strangely, he felt an ennui that erased his desire for sex and brought the continued feeling of shame for doing something tacitly forbidden.

Dorothy, in the intensity of her grief-stricken libido, having been with only one man—Pete Walker—recalled when they began petting for the first time in the car on their college campus when Pete had put his finger inside her vagina. She remembered how his body jerked and he momentarily lost his vitality as the fabric of his pants she was grasping around his erection became moist with his ejaculate and he went limp. “It’s okay Hermie,” she said, “I understand.” With that, she zipped down his fly, took her hankie from the sleeve of her blouse, and cleaned his penis and testicles while pecking her lips on his tear-wetted face.

Being embarrassed by his jejune premature ejaculation, Hermie was bewildered by the way Dorothy was taking care of it while still kissing and reassuring him. He was wildly confused. Having been hopeful to connect sexually with Dorothy, he was shocked and saddened by the events, yet charmed and mystified when Dorothy cuddled with him, put the record on, then danced with him. Then, leading him into her bedroom she French kissed him (his first ever), and he embarrassingly came in his pants. Now she was cleaning him as if she were a nurse in a hospital.

With a languid smile, Dorothy said, “We’re all right Hermie, I’ll take care of it.” She removed his jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt as she said, “Do mine, Hermie.” When his face merely showed mystification she added, “Unbutton my blouse.” As her fingers worked she kissed his lips with unbelievable delicacy. Pulling his shirt out of his pants she helped him shuck the garment. He did the same and with her, helping strip her blouse as well.

Shockingly aware that she had unbuckled his belt and was undoing the top button of his pants Hermie’s baffled eyes took in the beauty of her naked shoulders and tummy which was interrupted by the dazzling whiteness of Dorothy’s brassiere which held the luscious softness of her breasts. “Take off your pants sweetie,” she said.

Dorothy put her hands behind her back, reached for her bra strap, and unhooked it. Shimmying off the undergarment, she let it drop between them. “And your underpants.”

As Hermie peeled off his sperm-laden tighty-whiteys she skinned her panties over her hips and let them fall to her ankles. Stepping out of them she took the wonderstruck boy’s hands and separated their bodies to the extent of their reach. Gazing through grief-stricken eyes she said, “I love you, Hermie.”

Pulling him into a hug Dorothy nestled her breasts against his chest and whispered, “Is this what you imagined when you ogled me so many times.”

Embarrassed at Dorothy’s use of the word, “ogled” Hermie gulped and tried to think of something to say, coming out with, “Um.”

“It’s all right Hermie. All boys do the same thing. But when you did it there was a kind of respect I didn’t see in your friends’ eyes. Though I was annoyed by the way they looked I understood and appreciated their curiosity. But your looks were different ... and quite special to me.”

Reassured by what Dorothy said, the embarrassment of being naked together with her instilled him with hesitant confidence. Knowing that she wanted him to cuddle with her; to do some unspoken, mysterious things with him, and have the unrelenting hardness of his penis inside the marvelous mysteries of her body, emboldened him.