If You’re Going To San Francisco/The Summer of Love 1967
If I was too interested in love-making too young, if I lost my virginity years before my mother told me I should, then she and her own mother have themselves to blame. Both had healthy and vital libidos. How do I know this? First of all, kids always know if their parents are passionately in love. Without a word about sex spoken, without a gesture, kids know. Second, my mother was deeply in love with my father; this was made obvious by the way in which she flung herself whole-heartedly into being a woman in love with a king. Menus planned around my father’s likes and dislikes, ironing his handkerchiefs just so, making our home shine with cleanliness and order so that when my father came home from work, made him feel as if he was in his own castle.
My grandmother’s husband died in 1944 before I was born and my grandmother never remarried. However, I grew up close to this grandmother and I was a great listener to her stories. She used phrases like “lovin’ to beat the band” and “he could hang his hat on my bedpost anytime.” I didn’t understand exactly what she was talking about, but at the risk of being repetitive, I will say that children always sense what’s going on. Years later, my mother told me that when she was growing up her parents were demonstrative to the point of being embarrassing to her then. I believe I inherited my own strong sexual drive from the women I came from. Whether it’s genetic or some unsaid behavioral blessing doesn’t matter. But all my mother’s lectures about “saving myself for marriage” had no effect on me. I just didn’t think my mother knew what she was talking about.
I was 16 when I first knew Seb. Seb’s real name was Sebastian, an odd name indeed for a young Jewish man; his last name was Gold. I thought that his first name sounded good paired with a neat, one syllable last name. Sebastian Gold. Since my last name was Golden, we sat next to each other in some of our classes. Seb had brown hair, and eyes that reminded me of Hershey bars; a delicious brown. He didn’t use any aftershave or other stuff that was supposed to make him smell good, but his body exuded a 16 year old boy aroma that distracted me from taking notes in World History class. Seb was a nice boy, yes, came from a prominent Jewish family, but he was not too nice; every so often he’d commit a minor offense, like stealing a book from the school library. Once, I noticed among his schoolbooks a copy of Wuthering Heights and it had the school library sticker on it. He kept carrying it around for weeks, then the book disappeared. This was before we knew each other well. At that time, though, I couldn’t resist asking him about the book and he grinned at me.
“I’m a nice Jewish boy but sometimes I’m a baaaad boy. Besides, that’s the sexiest book in the library; it shouldn’t even be there in the first place.”
That was how it started, Seb and me. When he described himself as a bad boy my heart shook a little and I felt a contraction somewhere between my legs. Seb asked me to see a movie with him, I said yes, and we began “going steady,” as it was called then. What that meant was we saw each other all the time, went out on Friday and Saturday nights, talked on the phone on school nights, wrote notes to each other. Fate had placed us together, side by side, in World History, English, and Geometry classes.
Seb wore a tan corduroy jacket that snapped in the front; it was lined with white fleece. The fleece on this jacket was very lightly soiled and I loved to bury my face in it. I developed a fetish about this jacket; for me it was an aphrodisiac. After school during the first winter we knew each other Seb would stand with me while I waited for the bus to take me home, his arms around me, holding me close to him while I breathed in his young male smell. One day in February I stepped back from him as he held me, took my face away from his jacket, and said “I love you.” As I said these words I knew they were true; they had escaped before I could stop them. “I love you, too,” he answered.
I believe that we felt we had jumped over a hurdle that day; we had been kissing—“making out,” as they called it then—and Seb’s hands had wandered over my breasts but that is as far as we went. Once love was declared, we agreed, we would abandon ourselves to what we felt for each other.
That spring, the spring of 1967, was particularly lovely. No more grey piles of Pittsburgh slush—it was a joy just to stand outside and breathe. Seb and I took long walks in Schenley Park, finding secret places in which to hide and explore each other’s bodies. Seb would caress my breasts but through my clothes; I would see his erection under his tight jeans but could only rub it to try to make him happy. Both of our mothers were full time housewives; I had a younger sister and Seb had two brothers; there were always people in our houses. All we had was Seb’s father’s station wagon but there were limits on that situation also. As full of desire as I was for Seb I could not bring myself to strip nude in a car.
School was done in June, 1967. Spoiled as he was by his parents, Seb didn’t have to find a summer job. All he did all day was lay on his bed, reading a book from his parents’ collection of erotica and sex instruction manuals, getting erections, and jerking off. I worked in the afternoons at a Jewish children’s summer day camp.
The first Friday after the end of school, Seb brought me to the private country club where his family went swimming. I had a nice new pink two-piece bathing suit. Instead of having straps to hold up the top, there were fragile pink strings that tied in bows on my shoulders, to hold the top in place to shield my breasts. We had never seen each other in bathing suits. All afternoon we spent in the water, playing. We dove down and grabbed at each other—my long hair swirled out under the water and we experimented to see how long we could kiss before running out of air. I watched Seb’s body. He was strong enough and masculine but his body had a softness that made me want to clutch his upper arms and squeeze. He stared openly at my cloth-covered breasts, his eyes traveling up and down those flimsy pink strings.
At the end of the day we left the pool and I went into the family’s private dressing room to dry myself and get dressed. I had been standing in there for only five minutes when the door cracked open. I knew immediately that Seb was going to enter this small but private chamber where we could at last do----what, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t tell him to go away as he stepped in. The only thought I had was “It’s going to happen…it may as well be now…it’s going to happen someday…” Seb closed the door and locked it.
Then he did what he was longing to do. Boldly he reached out and pulled loose the knot of one of those pink strings, then the other. My breasts were exposed now, Seb helped me get out of the bottom part of the bathing suit, then took off his trunks. We stared, breathing hard, almost gasping for air.
Seb held my breasts.
“You’re perfect, just so perfect,” he moaned. “Your nipples are the most delicate color of pink.” He touched my right nipple with an outstretched index finger and the nipple rose up and hardened. I jumped and he did also, which made us bump our heads together and we laughed.
“I guess I’m very sensitive there,” I said, giggling.
Then I looked at his strong erection.
“You’re beautiful too,” I said. “Your penis—whatever the top of it is called—is pink, just like my nipples.”
“Let me hold you. I want to know how you feel against me.”
We pressed our bodies together, Seb began to rub against me, and with a gasp and a moan, he ejaculated. I was surprised but not overwhelmingly so.
“I’m sorry, oh I’m so sorry,” he said, “It’s just…I don’t know.”
“So that’s how it works,” I said. “This is interesting. Don’t apologize.”
He examined my skin.
“You know,” he said, “your arms are covered with light, gold hair. Almost invisible but I can see it. And your hair down below, between your legs is curly and gold. It doesn’t match your auburn hair.”
He began to stroke the area at the junction of my thighs, tentatively. I groaned.
“Oh that feels so good. Please don’t stop. Just keep doing that.”
For an answer, Seb gently but firmly pushed me up against the rough wooden wall of the dressing room, began kissing me, while continuing to wedge his right hand between my legs and rub. With his left hand he held my breast and stroked my nipples. My legs weakened, my breath came faster and I couldn’t move. Not moving didn’t frighten me, though; it was curious how good it felt. Then something happened, a wave swept over me and I felt like I was losing myself; it was sort of like being in the pool and floating helplessly.
“Don’t let go of me, Seb,” I said, giggling again. “I feel like I’m going to fall, my legs are so weak.”
“Laurel do you think you just had what my parents’ sex instruction manuals talk about? You know, what we read about an orgasm or a climax? And this is the first time we’ve done anything. How did it feel?”
“Can’t talk right now. Let me sit down. I’ll try to describe it.”
I sat down. Seb moved behind me and gently, taking hold of my chin with both hands, pulled my head back and began to kiss me, first with feathery, little kisses, then progressing to kisses that were long and hard, his tongue touching mine. Again, I couldn’t move unless I broke my neck so passively I allowed him to do as he pleased. His hands reached down to my breasts, first stroking them softly, then centering on my nipples. His kisses had excited me very much, but then with additional caresses to my nipples, I felt as if I was going to explode. Abruptly he stopped, stepped around the chair and knelt between my legs. He grinned like the bad boy I knew he was.
“I’m gonna make you have another whatever you call it…just sit there.”
I was gasping and on fire and I put up no resistance. Softly, he reached between my legs and had no trouble finding the hard, round little ball of flesh that the sex books called a clitoris. Slowly but insistently he touched it.
“You’re soaked down here,” he said with a triumphant laugh. I always found Seb’s laughs arousing in a minor sexual way. He could make himself sound so evil; upon hearing it while he caressed me put me over the edge once again.
“Look at you now,” I said, once I caught my breath. “Your penis is standing all alone. Poor baby; he’s begging for attention. Let’s see, what did the sex books say?”
“Shut up for God’s sake and do something with it. Hearing you moaning and wailing made me crazy.”
While sitting still I told him to stand in front of me. It was just the right height for me to do what I wanted. Gently, because I had never seen or touched a man’s penis before, I held it between both hands and rubbed, rolling it between my palms. Seb threw his head back, stepped forward and balanced himself by clutching the arms of the chair. I began kissing the head of his penis.
“Oh my God. Laurel, please oh please put it in your mouth now…”
I served my lover like the good girl I am. I did what I was asked and very soon Seb ejaculated into my mouth. I had never tasted semen, of course. I grabbed a towel and wiped my tongue. Seb was still holding onto the chair.
“Sit down Seb,” I told him. “You look like you’re going to collapse.”
“You just gave me my first blow job, Laurel. I will love you forever.”
“No you won’t. But I think you’ll love me all summer.”