Summer of Loves - 1967
By Ms. Pamela Lightener
An 18 year-old girl's body is a playground for a wide variety of sensual pleasures. Most of us can imagine some of them. Some of us can imagine all of them. And there are even some who have experienced them all. Those are the most fortunate ones.
For college freshman Becky Coventry, the enveloping embrace of a warm shower on a lazy Sunday morning was a sensual reason to linger. She had already thoroughly soaped herself from her shoulders down, neglecting nothing, as her mother had taught her years before. Her mother hadn't mentioned the enjoyable side effects of such activity, assuming that a girl of a certain age would discover those for herself, and of course Becky at some point had.
A shower cap protecting her clean hair and easy-care hairstyle, she turned and let the gentle spray rinse off the suds while it tickled her body. This wasn't one of those times of intense explorations of teenage fantasy and desire, but simply a girl feeling nice and fresh and looking forward to her day.
This was a lull between the 1967 Spring and Summer quarters at her small private college, set literally on the central California coast, and she had taken advantage of the school's offer of an extended orientation and period of settling in. Becky had now been on campus for a week and a half, and was enjoying being a single in a two-bedroom dormitory apartment. Summer was the least attended of the college's quarters and she hoped to not have a roommate since she had never lived with anyone but her parents as an only child in their family home in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
She shut off the water, pushed the shower curtain aside, and stepped out of the bathtub onto the soft bathmat. Patting herself dry, she evaluated her body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
One of those girls who always thought she should lose five pounds, Becky was a critical of her decidedly curvy and feminine form. She would never grow taller than 5-2, and weighing 125 pounds, she was probably right about the extra five. Maybe eight. But her weight was distributed nicely and her curves were pleasant to the eye. Her bush was something her mother had never actually talked to her about, but she trimmed it just a little every once in awhile. She liked how it made her feel like a woman instead of a little girl. On her head, her abundant hair was the same pleasant shade of light brown.
She pulled off the shower cap and shook head reflexively into the simple style that never got really messy. She pulled her shoulders back and she liked the way her breasts balanced out her hips. She had the tan lines many girls had in 1967, revealing the coverage of a modest 2-piece bathing suit. Staring at her own boobs, she felt silly and laughed, showing off a pretty face with a cute nose and a few freckles.
Her AM clock radio picked up a Santa Barbara Top 40 station, with The Turtles singing "Happy Together," a cheerful pop hit that also reminded her that she was single. But things were good here and she was just 18, so she wasn't bummed out.
You're not going to win any pageants, Becks, so enough with the posing. Time for lunch.
She enjoyed walking naked in the apartment, something she could hardly ever do at home. It felt a little naughty and strangely embarrassing even though she was alone. She wasn't certain why she liked that feeling, but didn't think too much about it. She walked out into the living room area, and turned toward the kitchenette, where a large window presented a scene she never tired of: The calm, blue Pacific Ocean extending all the way out to Hawaii or Japan or wherever the next land was.
On the third floor of the dorm, no one could see in unless they were on a boat she couldn't see with the giant Mount Palomar telescope on the deck. Confident the instrument had not been removed and employed to peep at her, she thrilled to the feeling of almost being nude outside, something she had sometimes imagined. The Mediterranean climate was perfect at the shore, and she felt no chill, and that was cool.
She passed by the unoccupied bedroom, with the bed made and undisturbed, again hoping it remained that way.
Teenage girls are always hungry, so she slipped on white briefs and a white bra, with capri pants and a festive peasant blouse. White socks and tennis shoes completed her California look, and she left for the Commons cafeteria.
On the way she recalled the loving generosity of her parents, who rewarded her good grades and responsible behavior by offering to pay for her tuition and expenses at the college of her choice. She had graduated high school in three and a half years by attending summer school and performing extra credit assignments. Many colleges accepted her applications, and this one was her first choice. After graduation she worked from January through May at her family's successful plumbing supply distribution business, and had earned substantial spending money. She was excited at the transition from girl to woman.
Walking to lunch, she was always impressed by how attractive so many of the students were here. They looked as if they could be in the movies or on TV. Sometimes thought of herself as mousy, but the girls here were relaxed and friendly -- not stuck up. She had made the right choice.
Arriving before noon, Becky grabbed a tray and got in line, first taking a carton of milk and a Jello salad. Scoping out what they had today, she smelled them before she saw them. They weren't a source of pleasure for everyone but they were to this freshman. They reminded her of home, where they were offered in her high school cafeteria. Wrapped, moist, and ready, literally as many as she wanted:
XLNT brand beef tamales in the familiar white wrapper
. She breathed them in. They seemed so exotic in Cheyenne, and she was thrilled they had them on the menu today.
She took one and put it on her plate, and then stopped to think. She was on her own, and her mother wasn't there to tell her not to eat too much. So she took a second one, but then stopped again. Just because Mom wasn't here was no excuse for running wild. She put it back, but then didn't move on. The struggle was real.
"Go ahead, take two," said a voice to her left. "Life should be enjoyed to the extent we can, and it's not like you're going to eat ten, are you?"
She laughed and turned to see a handsome Afro-American man smiling pleasantly at her, shrugging his shoulders as if to say,
No big deal
.
"I think I will, thank you very much," was her response. He was about six feet tall and obviously quite fit in a blue-green polo shirt and beige slacks. He had close-cropped hair and black horned-rim glasses, giving him a studious look. He was obviously older than she, and easily exuded confidence. They both paid and he invited her to share a table near a window with another spectacular view of the sea. The college was built to take advantage of as much of that scenery as possible, since tuition fees were commensurate with the pricey real estate.
