“I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies.”
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens
Archive for July 10th, 2010
Recently I have been finding myself in the phase of life where one finds oneself saying things like “When I was a young girl” or “Back in the old days” and then embarking on a tale designed to wise up the young ears that are supposedly listening to it. Actually, some of my tales are racy and harrowing enough that the young ears hang on them. I’m not sure they learn anything, but they do listen.
This is one of those tales.
Back in the old days (there, see? I said it!) you could not meet people on the internet, because not only did the internet not exist, neither did the personal computer. (Imagine being so old you remember when all phones had cords and the PC was the stuff of science fiction.)
Anyway, back in the old days you had to meet people by being introduced to them by your friends, or by running into them at parties where large quantities of alcohol could reduce your inhibitions enough that you would agree to engage in wild schemes. I was still in college, and since I had no car I truly enjoyed having boyfriends that did have such a commodity. (One of those gentlemen so equipped taught me to drive, but that is another story entirely, which you can find here.)
So as events eventualized, I happened to be at one of those sorts of parties where there were quite a number of young men present, but no alcohol as it was a party being put on by the Youth Group of the religion I adhered to at the time. Contrary to my present manners, I was a rather happy-go-lucky young lady, more than adequately free with my favors, in fact you might even have termed me loose if you were so disposed as to be uncharitable. Anyway, suffice it to say that one of the young men present was quite good looking, and not a bad dancer either. During the course of events I also ascertained that he was a more than adequate kisser, and after a certain amount of that activity we pretty much decided that we wished to pursue the natural course of events in a more private spot.
We explored the possibilities of the home in which the party was being held, and discovered that in the basement there happened to be a very comfortable mattress. We availed ourselves of the facilities for some indeterminate time (quite satisfactorily), and returned to the upstairs party not a little disheveled just in time to discover that we were among the very last guests to leave. My ride had departed for the university some time previously. Our host was laboring under the delusion that we had left the premises hours previously, and was dumbfounded by our appearance from belowstairs. We did not find it convenient to educate him regarding what we had been doing.
Finding ourselves rather unceremoniously deposited upon the street, we discussed what we should do next. Now bear in mind that I had never laid eyes upon the lad I was accompanying before that party, but I felt that I had become rather better acquainted with him over the course of the evening. In fact, I felt that I had gotten to know him just well enough to want to pursue the relationship a little further, especially that evening. In other words, I was hot to have a couple more orgasms should the opportunity arise (so to speak). The gentleman had a car. And he expressed a desire to take me home with him for further activities.
The downside of the situation was that he did not have a lot of money with which to purchase lodging. He was a rather low echelon member of the USArmy which precluded a large salary, and he had a car, which has a tendency to suck cash out of your bank account. The further downside of the situation was that he was not stationed at Ft. Wainwright, which was right on the outskirts of town, but rather at Fort Greeley, which was about 10 miles the other side of Delta Junction, a hamlet that was located some 98 miles from Fairbanks. The downest of the downsides of all these situations was that he was living in the barracks, and even though I was still naive about some things, I knew that girls were not generally allowed in them. However, when I brought this up he assured me that he had good friends that were living in quarters, and so if I accompanied him back to the base there would be a place where we could continue our acquaintance.
Let me just say right now that I do not approve of haring off on such addlepated adventures and will strongly un-recommend doing any such thing as what I then proceeded to do. I will say in my defense that I was at least aware of the fact that once he got back to Fort Greeley, my chances of having him drive me back to Fairbanks were slim to none, and so I did ask him exactly how he intended to get me home if I was so idiotic as to go riding off into the night with him. He blithely informed me that there was a daily bus from the fort back to town that I would be welcome to ride.
Reassured, I agreed that going on a two hour drive in the middle of the night in order to have some more fun and games was a grand idea, and so we set off. Did I mention that it was mid-January, and the temperature was somewhere around -35°F (-37.5°C)? The fact that we were making our negotiations on the street in that temperature added a certain hastiness to them, I am sure. Perhaps my neurons were functioning poorly due to the cold. I certainly cannot blame inebriation as at that time in my life I did not drink. At all.
Anyway, as we were leaving Fairbanks my swain stopped off at a local emporium to acquire certain supplies that he felt had been lacking in the evening’s festivities so far. This was the point at which I should have exited the vehicle and wended my way back to my nice warm dormitory, but I was still focused on the fun I thought I was going to have later. However, misgivings soon arose in my sex-fogged mind as my chauffeur proceeded to indulge in the bourbon which he had purchased at regular intervals as he drove. At least he poured it into a cup and did not drink straight from the bottle.
By the time I was fully aware of exactly what a bad situation I was in, we were approximately 40 miles south of town and when I say it was the middle of nowhere I am not exaggerating. Alaska in the early 1970s was truly a unpopulated wilderness when you got away from town, and bear in mind that I was not equipped for solo walking at -35°. I had just been at a party, for God’s sake. Anyway, the farther away from town we got, the drunker my escort became By the time we reached the outskirts of Delta Junction he was, for lack of a better word, plastered. This did not stop him from making a pit stop at the roadhouse on the outskirts of town, ostensibly to call his buddy in quarters to let him know of our imminent (and until then completely unheralded) arrival. He availed himself of the bar facilities there and topped himself off, whereupon we proceeded to the back gate of the fort and made our way to his friend’s place.
Needless to say, his friend was not all that happy to see us, seeing as how it was approximately 1:30 a.m., but in the time honored tradition of soldiers everywhere was happy to see a buddy about to get lucky, so he let us in and showed us to our accommodations, which were a very thin air mattress on the floor of the living room.
Let me just say at this time that imbibing large quantities of alcohol is not a good way to improve your sexual prowess. The gentleman with whom I had gone off to adventure was basically completely incapable of any activity that remotely resembled sex. And, since he was drunk as a skunk he very unpleasantly proceeded to insult me and inform me that his inability to perform was somehow my fault. I disagreed, having done my womanly best to inspire his limp rag of a penis to stand to attention, using all my considerable expertise to do so. Fortunately, before he could add physical abuse to the verbal he unceremoniosly passed out. I availed myself of the couch and got some sleep.
The next morning we were awakened by loud and officious knocking on the door of the apartment we were in. This was when my education in military rules and regulations was furthered. It seems that there was some requirement for this low-ranked person, who was out on an evening pass, to actually be in his own bed in his own barracks by a certain hour, and not only was he not there but the guy at the gate had actually noticed his inebriation as he came onto post. Fort Greeley was not that big a place, it didn’t take the MPs long to discover where he was actually sleeping, and they were there to take him off to “Special Duty,” where he could spend his Sunday walking around and around with his gear, his weapon,and his hangover. That was the last I ever saw of my erst-while lover, as he was summarily escorted by armed men to a very official looking jeep.
The buddy and his wife were not amused. However, they were kind enough to provide me with some breakfast (corn flakes) and then transport me to where the bus back to town was scheduled to depart. They dropped me off outside the Post Exchange, and right before they took off I ran my eyes about the area, where I did not see anything that remotely resembled a bus, at least not in my lexicon and experience.
“Where is the bus to Fairbanks?” I inquired, rather desperately.
“Right there!” the buddy said. I looked to where he was pointing, and all I could see was an Army 6×6 truck, completely with canvas top, that looked like it was surplus from WWII. It probably was, actually.
“That is the bus??” I asked, incredulous.
“That is the bus,” I was assured. The buddy took pity on me, and exited his vehicle to discuss my situation with the driver of the transport and make sure that I indeed was going to be able to get a ride back to town.
There were several other folks waiting for “The Bus” to leave. We were stamping our feet and swinging our arms in the brisk arctic air. I looked in the back of the truck. It was bare bones. There were benches along the sides to sit on. There was no heater. I assessed the situation, and immediately began utilizing my womanly wiles in an attempt to get to ride in the cab with the driver.
Unfortunately for me, the presence of a Master Sergeant and a Colonel in the passenger list trumped my wiles. I rode in the back. I was ill equipped for the experience. While I had on a proper parka, hat, gloves, scarf and mittens, I did not have on any long underwear, or a third layer under my parka. My footwear was not appropriate either, being Lowa hiking boots, which were fine for walking around in but not much good at keep feet warm at sub-zero temperatures, especially not when you are sitting still with your feet on a metal floor. The driver did take pity on me and find an Army drab wool blanket for me to wrap up in. It was filthy, but at that point I did not care.
I froze all the way back to town. There was a pit stop at the half way point, at a settlement called “Halfway”, oddly enough. The driver of our conveyance manufactured some sort of problem with his vehicle and that problem persisted until he was certain that I was thoroughly warmed up, despite the frowns and exhortations of the Colonel, who apparently had a plane to catch. He also detoured through Fairbanks and dropped me at the bus stop for Walt’s Bus (a “real” bus) which would get me back to campus. Walt allowed me to ride home to the University despite the fact that I did not have the fare at the time. Walt was good that way; he would let you ride for free and as far as I know never got stiffed for a fare he fronted to an impecunious college student.
Miraculously, I did not get frostbite. And I never heard from the Soldier Boy again. If I had, I’m afraid I would probably have hung up on him unceremoniously.
My ardor had been thoroughly cooled.