THE ARRANGEMENT

Woody had an adopted sister and soon after I met him I met Betty Anne and she was the first girl I was “sweet on” in Harriman. There were usually six of us hanging out at Woody and Betty Anne’s (Woody, his girlfriend, Barry’s girlfriend [more on Barry later], Betty Anne, and me) playing music, conducting light petting sessions, and sneaking cigarettes up in one of their rooms. Woody and Betty Anne had separate rooms upstairs, and as I said in the previous post, the parents had never been known to come up to either room since the kids left elementary school.

We played 45’s and huddled around a floor fan, set in the open window, that sucked the cigarette smoke out. Once, in our exuberance, we bumped the fan and it fell out the window, passing rapidly by the kitchen window below, where their mother stood daydreaming while washing dishes. “Woody? Betty Anne? Yawl alright up there?”

“Yes mother, everything is fine,” Betty Anne said, holding back her giggles.

One of us sneaked down the stairs, out the backdoor, and retrieved the fan. It made the fall, only losing one of the safety screens. We soon had it back in the window and working for us again.

Such a living arrangement was a dream situation for us teenagers, and sleepovers took on a whole new meaning for us in those days!

It all would begin with Woody finding out that Betty Anne was having a friend/s over on Friday night. He would invite me, or Barry, or both depending on the lineup, to spend the night with him and the fantasy planning and scheming began!

Truthfully, nothing in a fantasy ever works out as planned and not much serious ever happened during these times. Woody and I did get to sample a lot of lips and practice our techniques. My job was usually to ensure Betty Anne was occupied while Woody made a move on her girlfriend, but sometimes the girlfriends wanted to sample me as well!

I think in today’s world, such an arrangement would be a very dangerous situation. Probably in today’s world parents would monitor such an arrangement more closely, but in those days there were two things going for young girls.

First, boys respected girls, as a rule, more then than they seem to today. Oh yeah, we took it about as far as we could, but if a girl reacted in a certain negative way or flat out said, “What are you doing?”, or said “Stop” or “No”, we did. After which, we usually felt very ashamed for having taken them for granted and trying to make them out to be something they were not.

Second, girls respected themselves. There was a limit to how far they would let experimenting on “night moves” go and then they called it off. They cared about what we would think, what they would think of themselves, what their parents would think about them, and what the community thought about them later.

Self-respect seems to be blurred today. If an action can be rationalized away, then it is okay and you are allowed to feel good about yourself.

Sex is not really sex, as Bill Clinton explained to America’s youth, unless you actually have sexual intercourse. Oral sex is not really sex! Therefore, it is okay and a girl really has not been violated.

What a great arrangement we have today – sin is really not sin unless, of course, it really is – huh?

NIGHT MOVES

One of our favorite summer night entertainments, while we lived in the Mockingbird Trailer Park, was sneaking up on “parked teenagers!” In the dark, we went down through the picnic area, through a small stand of trees, and onto an Alabama red-clay road that ran behind the trailer park. Along this isolated road you could usually find two to three parked cars on weekends.

Richard and I would sneak slowly from the tree line and up to the rear of the closest car. The “in heat” occupants usually had the windows down, enjoying the cooler breeze of the summer night. We would simply stand just back from the rear window and listen to all the “mushy” smooching, wet lipped smacking, and guttural sounds of lovers lost in their own individual worlds. We could even hear all these weird sounds above the radio playing ‘50s hits softly. We listened, choking back laughter, because there is nothing that sounds more stupid if you are not involved – right.

Occasionally, we would lean out and look into the dimness that was lit only by the green glow of the dashboard lights. What we saw was probably more imagined than reality. However, we learned a lot standing there in the summer nights with our little preadolescent swords – things we used later while working on our own “mysteries without any clues.”

Ever spy on someone?

BUT MOMMA, I’D RATHER PLAY DOCTOR!

A lot of you will find this hard to believe, but I was pretty sexually involved way back in the second and third grades – it’s true! Now, please note I said involved – I did not say knowledgeable or accomplished!

I was blessed to live in a 1950’s neighborhood full of Beavers (not related to the story), Walleys, Wards, and Junes. They visited each other on the weekends and played cards, made ice cream, and watched “Gorgeous George” wrestling on little 9” black & white TV screens. However, they didn’t sit in living rooms and watch TV, they usually turned the TVs around to the screened window and watched from their metal lawn chairs, you know the ones with the scalloped backs, while the kids either sat on top of the hand cranked ice cream maker, ate the salty ice from under the towel that lay on top of the crank, or just ran around chasing fire-flies. But mostly, they laughed and laughed.

During the week the Cleaver families hung over fences and talked and sometimes even yelled at each other about what their kid had done to theirs. I’ve even seen red hair flying from time-to-time, but after a few weeks they were back talking over the fence or inviting each other over for a Rook game. They didn’t seem to hold grudges long then, and I think it was because they were closer and knew each other better and understood and forgave mistakes like brothers and sisters.

I was also blessed that I was the only boy in a neighborhood full of girls. The only boy to fill the role of husband when a wild game of “house” broke out! The girls would set up the table and chairs and plates and other girly things while I filled the role of bread winner by plucking seed pods from locus trees, wild onion shoots, and the little balls from sweet gum trees - anything that resembled food.

I also was a part-time cowboy and often had to fend off Indians when they imaginarily attacked my happy household. I would ride off on long hunts around the yard or even neighborhood and was always welcomed home by my loving play wife.

Things were pretty good, but all the while, unbeknownst to me, my mother watched me play with the girls and sip imaginary coffee and tea and pretended to chomp on bean pods, and worried. She wondered what effect this would have on me later in life, shucks, I even held a doll on occasion when it got out of control!

The real blessing I was enjoying went unseen by Mom. The girls liked to play doctor and liked the kind where the patient was completely naked. They were curious little devils and I didn’t mind – not at all – besides, it felt strangely good to be examined…down there!

At this point you should be humming:

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy (well, this didn’t apply)

Workin' on mysteries without any clues

Workin' on our night moves (thanks Bob)

We were working on mysteries and didn’t have a clue, but it felt good and there was really no actual sex involved – just perfecting our “night moves” for the future. You know, checking out the equipment and getting it ready for action, whatever that meant!

Usually playing doctor was one-on-one, but mind you, there were at least 5 girls that made demands on my “play doctor” calendar. Therefore, I was booked most weeks in basements, old abandoned dog houses (some really large dog houses in that old neighborhood), and yes, an occasional cornfield out where the woods got heavy. I was having a ball (especially the girls – no pun intended)!

However, all good things must come to an end – Mom decided I needed to learn to play with boys (Yuck!). So, she sent me across the field behind the house to the neighboring subdivision to play with a boy my age.

It was quite fun, we played cowboys and Indians, and best of all Army! His dad had built him a wooden Jeep, replete with stirring wheel and windshield in his backyard. We played for hours on that old crate and only on occasion did I miss playing doctor.

It’s a good thing I never brought the subject up too, because my little playmate decided he was GAY later in life and I never told anyone (until now – some 52 years later) that I used to “play with him” – ARMY, that is!

And now, my Mom will know just how close she came to putting my sexuality in jeopardy. But, I think, had anything like that come up I would have had the presence of mind to say “BUT MOMMA, I’D RATHER PLAY DOCTOR!”