Oi 02: Down at the Drive In

KOI 02 Down at the Drive In

Mulroney's weird girlfriend, Mulroney, much beer, and me

South St Louis. Fall, 1968

KOI segue: The numbers game started up almost as soon as our talk after the drive-in double-date with Abner and Connie. Becca had an almost unwholesome curiosity about what I was into before I met her. In contrast, she was strangely shy when describing her own past affairs. From her accounts, I measured myself two ahead of her at the time we met. I suspected, though, that she was holding out on me.

All that belongs in another volume.

But there was one bit, earlier in my solo career, which might help to explain why I took to multi-part arrangements with relative ease. It's another drive-in movie story. And it introduced me to a certain kind of couple that Becca and I would see a lot of in later life.

Mulroney was a senior in Mr Wicker's biology club, when I was but a lowly high school freshman. Mulroney was a consummate outsider. He impressed us frosh with his Big Daddy Roth attire, all furry vests over plaid, with big shitkicker boots and pegged pants and an attitude toward haircuts that pushed the envelope of our mid- Sixties school dress code. He belonged to no clique; there was no clique that would have him. But despite his loner status, Mulroney was a cheery, outgoing guy.

As far as we knew, Mulroney had no truck with girlfriends. So it was a little surprising at the biology club's spring campout, when he confessed to losing his virginity the month before.

"We were just sitting around her place," said Mulroney, "and her parents were out of town.... She said there was nothing else to do, so I let her do me.

"Then later she said she was still bored, and she let me do her.

"We're bored a lot together, these days."

After Danny graduated, I lost track of him for a while. He found a draft dodge, zipped through the first data processing program ever offered at the junior college, and by the time I caught up with him again in the early fall of my senior year of high school, he was a classy Computer Operator, living in a comfy shotgun cottage just west of Bellerive Park in South St Louis, and working on his latest brace of cars in his spare time. He was excited about his most recent acquisition, a '63 Cadillac.

"Always dreamed of owning a Cadillac," he explained. "The ultimate gross-out car."

But his pride and joy was his old, landlocked Ford woodie. He had bought it back in high school and was still nursing it along. The bus-like station wagon figures in this story.

In the Senior Fall of '68, I'd just broken up with my Second True Love. It felt worse than the first time. Mulroney was sympathetic.

"My girlfriend has this girlfriend..." he started out.

There was some scumbling in a bookcase laden with old textbooks and automotive manuals, and Mulroney pulled out a '68 yearbook from ----- High, the school just east of mine.

"This is Linda's book," said Mulroney. "This is Leila."

The girl in the gallery of juniors looked okay. Okay, I said. What the hell. Thanks.

"Here's Linda." Mulroney's grease-stained forefinger traced down the row of photos to a longish-faced blonde with a sweet, tough smile.

Linda looked okay, too. A little trashier than I was used to. The straight straw-blond hair was an obvious dye job. Linda's brows were dark, arched below a thin forehead from which the hair was pulled straight back by a band. Her eyes were bright, mischievous in a General Track sort of way. A longish face, small-mouthed, small-chinned, a little flat in the cheeks but nice nose.

"Hey, okay," I smiled.

"You like?" asked Mulroney. He seemed really gratified by my reaction.

I never even got to talk to Linda's girlfriend. Mulroney called me later that day, telling me that a drive-in date had been arranged for the following Saturday. He was telling the truth, too.

But the bad news was delivered only after Mulroney and Linda growled up my parents' driveway in his woodie. Linda's friend had suddenly come down with the flu, or something.

"Ah. Well," I floundered at the car's open door. The twilight breeze was warm, and it smelled of dying leaves.

"Oh, crawl in here," rasped Linda's South Side voice over the noise of Mulroney's engine. "I really want to

watch

this movie."

The interior of the wagon was huge, and redolent with Mulroney's flawless sense of automotive kitsch. A dashboard of carpet and chrome. The classic fuzzy dice off the rearview mirror. Behind the broad, cracked-vinyl front seat, any other seats had been removed and a quarter-acre of luggage space lay flat, padded with some Sixties prototype for shag rug. A beer cooler was tucked into the near right corner of the wagon's back room. Even the cooler was carpeted. There were a couple of cushions scattered around the back.

"Wow. What luxury!" It was a mobile bachelor pad.

Mulroney smiled a loner's little smile, and flipped his cigarette butt out the window into the autumn night as we drove toward Ronnie's Drive In.

We stopped at Steak'n'Shake on the way. Mulroney, the working guy, sprung for my burgers on the condition that I share in the beer with Linda and him. I still hadn't gotten used to the taste of the stuff, but I popped a bottle to be polite and tried not to study Mulroney's girlfriend too closely in the easy atmosphere of the wagon's wide front seat.

Linda Kinshalow was not untypical for the period. Her hair was colored a soft golden yellow, pulled back with that white band; it fell straight until it flipped "naturally" just past her shoulders. She was skinny in a short linen skirt and polyester sleeveless blouse, and next to big Mulroney she looked small in the glare of parkinglot lights. Linda had already kicked off her sneakers. There was a flower-citron scent throughout the car... smelling as much of perspiration as perfume. But Linda's sleek, goldenolive skin was dry. The dark hairlets on her slender forearms reinforced the dyed-blond-hair effect. No, I didn't wonder about the color of her bush. Her legs had that nice, thin-legged sexiness. Trim tan thighs extruded almost squarish from the skirt, but the modulation at the well-carved little knees to long-seeming calves was not jarring, given the petite size of the whole package. Fine bare feet, the toenails painted with the same pearl-pink varnish as her fingernails.

The second beer hit me nice. I really hadn't much experience with drinking. Mulroney and Linda were at least a bottle ahead of me by the time we left the burger lot. We really liked everyone in the car, by then.

As we coasted into the drive-in theatre, Linda leaned against Mulroney and tucked her feet under my left thigh. Mulroney parked in a relatively secluded section, well behind the concession stand.

"My feet are cold, all right?" Linda drawled from beneath Mulroney's sheltering arm.

"Think nothing of it," I replied, suavely.

Mulroney flashed that smug smile in my direction. Linda's toes dug into my leg.

"Hey, that tickles!"

Linda pushed harder, and I lifted my leg to slap at her instep. Linda jumped with me, jouncing against Mulroney as I thumped against the wagon's door. Both her feet wound up between, under my legs, and my left hand wrapped around one thin long pedal. I let it go. Linda's feet remained where they were.

"You tickle

there

," said Linda, " ' means you like girls."

"I guess." I reached back to the cooler and popped a third bottle of Budweiser with the churchkey Mulroney had dangling from his radio knob. Linda's right heel adjusted itself firm to my prostate as I found a more comfortable position in my seat. I saw no reason to complain. "Do you like

all

girls," went Linda, "or do you 'fall in love'?"

"Don't ask," I moaned. A vision of my Second True Love appeared before me, superimposed on the Coming Attraction trailer just beginning to flash on the screen in front of us.

"I told you," Mulroney mumbled to Linda, "Leila's blown her big chance, tonight."

Mulroney fiddled with the volume knob on the drive in's car speaker.

"Hand us a couple more beers, will you?" he asked me.

Linda took a real interest in the first movie up. It was a third-run release of

Bullett

. Her dark eyes remained glued to the screen as she and Mulroney absentmindedly undid one another's shirts and groped torsos for the first hour of the film. I'd seen the picture before, but with the fourth beer I was experiencing a new exhilaration from the Cinematic Experience. Linda's feet were out from under me and in my lap. I liked the way she let me massage them; it was all very friendly-like. But eventually I felt the need to relieve the growing pressure in my bladder.

"Me gotta go," I said. I turned from the screen, and I was surprised at the slight spinning sensation in my head as I looked toward the pair.

Linda and Mulroney readjusted themselves at the sound of my voice. Linda's feet slid down my leg to the floorboard. Linda said something to me and smiled. I didn't catch what she said, the car speaker's noise muffling her words.

Mulroney shuffled beneath his seat, and came up with a handy trucker's urinal.

"Hah," I said.

"Oh, c'mon," smiled Linda.

"Hah," I said, and wobbled out of the car toward the concession stand.

After finishing up, I returned to the woodie posthaste, worried about missing the climactic car chase that had begun just as I ducked into the drive in's loo. Mulroney and Linda had taken advantage of my absence to get suddenly more animated toward one another. I slapped at the top of the wagon to announce my arrival.

Their reaction was sort of strange. Linda dropped what she was sucking and almost scowled at me over her shoulder, while Mulroney just flashed me a grin. His gleaming schlong was only half-full, but seemed big enough to me in the flickering light of the movie screen. I suddenly felt real bad to be there -- in the way -- but I tried to shake it off.

"You're missing the climactic car chase," I told them.

Linda was sitting up straight in her seat, brushing her hair back with her hands. Mulroney left his schlong where it was. I shuffled into the front seat next to them.

"Hand us a couple more beers," said Mulroney.

"Wait," complained Linda. "I gotta pee."

Her announcement had scarcely registered with me before Linda was wriggling off her little panties. The silklike fabric shown nicely against the movement of her legs as nimble fingers rolled it down, over her feet.

"Where's that funnel-thing?" Linda asked Mulroney. She looked at me then, and with a jokey sort of contempt, she flicked her panties at my face. I caught them, trying to get with the joke. I felt a clammy smear of something against my fingers.

Okay.

Mulroney slipped his thing back into his open fly, for comfort, and reached under his seat again. He brought out his urinal bottle, and a hose and funnel contraption that popped right over its wide-mouthed opening. The bottle was one-quarter full already. Presumably Mulroney had used it in my absence.

"It's too cold to go stand in line to pee," explained Linda. It had cooled down nicely outside, but it wasn't all that bad.

Grasping the funnel tube to the bottle that Mulroney continued to hold, Linda climbed all the way onto the front seat. She hunched there, splay-kneed, letting the hem of her mini roll to above the tuck of her blouse. Mulroney remembered to drop the bottle to the floorboard; let the tubing angle downwards, for pete's sake.

"You watch, Rich, maybe you'll learn something."

Okay. Linda's short bush did appear to be black. A sort of furzy ash-black, actually. I tried not to watch too intently. Linda made no noise as the fluid skittered down the pipe and tinkled into Mulroney's bottle. It was only then that I noticed that the car speaker box had been turned off.

"Ummh," Linda sighed as she finished up. She settled back more comfortably on her haunches, knees still splayed, linen skirt still rolled up to her split. She tipped the finished funnel to Mulroney, as if it were an empty martini glass. Her dark eyes were fixed back on the silent screen, but they no longer registered interest in the movie. Her face was a childish blank, slack-jawed, dreamy.

Mulroney took the funnel from her, and started to pack up the latrine kit. There was only the slightest whiff of urine in the open-windowed wagon. Urine and clean perspiration and a little citronflower perfume.

I remembered the earlier request and dutifully slipped two cold beers over toward the pair. Linda had slumped lightly to lean against Mulroney. He took the beers from me, both bottles in one hand. Linda slid a now almost fully naked leg across the seat into my hip. Her left foot popped from under her butt to dangle, toes curling, alongside Mulroney's ankle. I let Mulroney have the beers. Glassy-eyed Linda grabbed my forearm then, and pressed my hand to her bedewed mound.

I looked at Mulroney with alarm.

"Go ahead," he mouthed at me, smiling a little. Then he turned his eyes to the movie screen. He pushed a beer bottle into his crotch, popped the other one.

The dampness of Linda's furze acted like an electrolyte, galvanizing my long-restrained excitement. But the situation was too weird for me. I sort of froze, even as my sex began to fill my bunched-up crotch. Linda's slim hard fingers over mine had to show me what she wanted my hand to do. She pressed my ring-and-middle past the thin, cool folds into a warm, rather mucousy slot. I felt a neat little pulse around my fingers. Linda's hand left mine and then both her arms were around Mulroney. He chugged most of his beer, then tipped the bottle toward Linda's thin mouth and let her have the rest. Linda sucked eagerly at the last drops of beer, like a baby animal. The empty bottle was thrown in back with the others, and Linda and Mulroney embraced heavily.

Still clinging to her boyfriend, Linda rolled her half-naked ass in my direction. I had to lean over to keep my hand in. Linda tucked her right foot behind me, between me and the seatback. She brought her other leg from the floor to scissor me, her left foot back in my lap. I steadied myself by palming my unengaged hand firmly up her thin thigh. Its muscle flexed, as Linda rolled her foot into my bulge. I stretched out over her. My dizzy head fell along my engaged arm to press my face into the balled linen of Linda's skirt. Tentatively, I tasted her tight buttock. Linda was very smooth. I sensed Mulroney's hand nearby, unbuttoning the clasp that cinched the skirt over the girl's flat belly. The fabric popped loose. Mulroney removed his hand to comb the band out of Linda's hair. Linda squirmed inside the loosened skirt. She kicked a hard heel into my balls.

"So pull off m' skirt!" she bawled at me.

I quit jigging her but found myself at an odd angle to the whole agglomeration. I was taking too long to figure all this out. Linda twisted herself out of her odd posture and crisply assumed a conventional seat between Mulroney and me. I slowly pushed myself back to my corner of the bench.

Linda uttered a good-humored growl of frustration as she slipped off her skirt. Her blouse was open; her bra dangled over her narrow chest.

"She can't be stopped when she gets like this," said Mulroney expansively. "We're just going to have to let her run her course."

Linda had completely stripped now, between the two more-or-less clothed guys. Her hair was all over her darkened face. Her little tits pouted above a long, thin abdomen. Her seated body was twisted my way.

"Okay?" she asked me.

"Sometimes, I'm too slow for her," Mulroney went on.

"Sometimes, the ol' pervert likes to watch me do it with other guys," cooed Linda.

"C'mon, it's been weeks since last time," argued Mulroney.

"Wha?" I thought.

"Huh, Rich?" Linda urged.

"You love it, lil' cunt," Mulroney told her, lovingly.

"C'mon, it'll be fun." Linda was crouched up on the seat again, kneeling into my hip, tits to my face. Unbuttoning my shirt, she pulled back from me, looked at me like I was a shy four-year-old.

"Let's go over in back." Then she started to unbuckle my pants.

Okay. It would really be a drag if I refused. I temporarily quit trying to figure this out.

Linda porpoised over the seatback while I undid the rest of my pants, shoes, whatever, leaving my socks and unbuttoned shirt on in recognition of our semipublic situation. The skinny girl intentionally caught herself halfway over the seat, flashing a remarkably flat ass at the movie screen. Mulroney lifted her rear over the hump with a slow palm, a finger tucked inside her crack somewhere. Linda giggled as she landed amid a dozen or so Budweiser empties.

"Smells like a tavern back here," she drawled.

"Go on," Mulroney said to me. "I'll watch out."

"He'll watch out, all right," Linda snorted.

Mulroney popped the other beer and pretended to turn back to the silent screen.

"Just don't get under that blanket back there unless I tell you," he said with some satisfaction. As I slipped over the top to the engagement with Linda, I caught him sniffing at the finger he'd used to encourage his girlfriend.

Her head to the back of the wagon, Linda was stretched conventionally across the blanket she'd spread over the thick shag carpet. There was more than enough room for us both to lay out. The milky suburban night glowed through the wagon's rear windows. In the coolness of the evening, the windows were beginning to fog.

The situation was all too confusing for me to try for variety -- what little variety I'd had opportunity to test out by that time of life. Linda seemed to understand. She lay still while I settled in alongside her. I rolled a mostly erect cock against her sharp hip bone, and ground it to a full stand, keeping one leg between hers. Linda returned the grind without impatience, thin cunt to my own inner hip, letting us build slowly. Her slender arms twined around my back, and I kneaded her sharp shoulders as I pressed close to her, trying to feel her breasts against me. I felt hard little niplets; little else.

Linda's lip gloss was of the bubblegum-flavored variety. It contrasted nicely with her warm, bitter mouth. Her tongue was almost catlike, her mouth like velvet. Linda's open mouth slipped from mine with a slurp of almost-dry tongue. Her beery-sweet breath was at my ear, now, and her hands to the back of my neck. The hands seemed to call up a thrill of sexual energy there. An energy I'd never felt like that, before. Without moving from the base of my skull, the energy hardened my cock instantaneously.

"Now you're ready to do me, hon," Linda sighed into my ear, with a crackle of dry spit.

A little dizzily, I realized that this must be the most experienced girl I'd ever had before. Not to mention the skinniest. I galumphed over onto her. Linda spread her legs wider, and I squirmed inside.

Incredibly, Linda's tube was barely lubed. My hard cockhead seemed to be pulled by semidry lips into a warm, narrow, beckoning grotto, muddied just enough to admit the following shaft along a passageway that was more encapsulating than I'd ever imagined possible.

"Oh, hon, feels good inside! So big!"

And what was all this talk? Sex before had all been almost silent, mingled with a few anxious questions, whines, rushed expressions of pleasure or release that usually sounded too surprised to be savored.

"Yeah, now, sliiide it..."

I slid, deeply inside her and then back, Linda's vag holding me firmly, confidently. Snicker snack. I dug my body into her lean flesh, her smooth flesh pulled tight to its bones.

Limber Linda lifted her legs smoothly up mine, to rest heels on my butt. I raised myself over her on straightened arms. Her chin was tucked to her neck. She sucked her tight belly in as she angled her ass to punch back at me. Her face was a drunkenly mischievous sneer, now. Now her little mouth opened. Her teeth gleamed. A puff, as we both jerked into one another. Ungh. A kick down into my butt, a new grip around my arms. One sharp cut of lemon scent, then nothing but musk.