Tuesday, June 8, 2010


I feel nostalgic about summertime.
No, it’s not a disease.
I can’t go to the corner drugstore- even if there was such a thing today, to buy a tube of crème to rid myself of “nostalgia”.
It’s a feeling.
A harkening back to what we call the “good old days”.
I remember one summer in particular- last century.
It was July 1967.
Centennial year.
That was the summer that I was infatuated with a guy named Rick. He was trim, blonde, tan and looked fab-u-luss in a tiny speedo swim suit. He also had a brother- his name escapes me, who was built like a brick shite house. I think he was a mechanic. He had huge biceps and chest. He also looked terrific in a bathing suit. One day that July, Rick, what’s his name the brother and myself- along with a handful of girls, went swimming at Elizabeth Rutherford’s house on the lake. The three boys changed in a little cabana on the Lake Simcoe shore. I vividly remember Rick’s brother quickly stripping right down to his bare-nakedness. He was brown as a native and climbed into the rafters of the cabana and swung naked from one rafter to the next.
Hello Tarzan!
I practically fainted! (Below: Me-left. Rick-right)
I had already seen Rick completely naked a couple of times but never his brother devoid of clothes- although his tight, summer shorts left little to the imagination- in a big way! Rick and I had slept together more than a few times that summer in a cozy little bedroom in a tiny little cottage on someone’s property near a lake.
There was nothing dirty going on.
We had underwear or swimsuits on.
I remember him cozying up to me though when the summer night turned coolish.
He was delicious. Wiry blonde hair- everywhere.
I think I was in “puppy love”.
I got such a charge ~ ahem~ being around him but I don’t think I ever saw him again after that summer.

A couple of summers later I had another “love bug crush”. His name was Charlie- again a terribly trim young man- my age- but dark-haired and not as hirsute as Rick. He was in my class in high school.
We were best friends.
I stayed overnight with him at his house many times that summer of 69. It was a big house right in Orillia. His family seemed to be away a lot because we were alone in the house most of the time.
Even though there were several bedrooms, we always slept in this big queen-sized bed. God, I remember some of the nights that summer were extremely hot and humid.
Again- nothing dirty going on.
Well, not really.
You see, Charlie wore skimpy little undies to bed, which at times were more off than on!
I don’t remember wearing anything.
God, I was such a slut.

Anyway, one of those hot, hot nights- it was like being in a Tennessee Williams play, a bat came into the room. I don’t hate bats but having this one swoop back and forth caused us to dive and hide under the white sheets.
You’re right!
There’s nothing wrong with that.
It was quite fun and how should I say this- stimulating?
After a while though, it was time for that blasted bat to leave.

Charlie jumped off the bed, ran out of the room with his Marks and Sparks rolled down below his butt cheeks. It was a marvellously moving sight!

He returned a few seconds later with his fists tightly wrapped around the thick, smooth, wooden handle of what appeared to be a new corn broom.
What the hell was he going to do with that?
Whatever it was, I was up for it!

Suddenly, he jumped back on the bed. Marks and Sparks undies hanging half down his pelvis as he waved the broom back and forth in the sultry night air. He was attempting to swat the bat out one of the open windows. At one point his legs straddled me. There was a naked foot securely planted under each of my armpits. It was a glorious sight- at least from where I was laying and from my “helpless” vantage point.

He continued to swing the broom back and forth- maybe a hundred times. Every muscle in his athletic body was taut with excitement. His sweat glistened in the moonlight that muggy summer night.
Now, it might have just been the glow of the streetlamp outside the bedroom window but saying “moonlight” just makes it more romantic.
He missed hitting the bat on every single swing.
Eventually, we started laughing and his “hot” body fell on top of mine.

I can’t remember much after that….
Well, maybe I can but I choose not to at this point in time. There are websites a plenty for that sort of thing!

Ahhhh. Warm, nostalgic summers. Does it get any better?
Another time, I’ll tell you about a lifeguard friend of mine who filled out a nylon swimsuit like no other. Is it getting warm in here- or is it just me?