I couldn't unfasten her safety belt. Have you ever heard those lyrics? They're part of a song that Chuck Berry put out in the sixties.
Basically, the song gives the story of a young lad who took his girlfriend for a drive. He tells of how, when they parked and wanted to go for a walk so he could pitch a little wooing, they couldn't undo her seat belt. She was stuck in the car and he had to home, wooing being deferred to another day.
I was that young lad, and I told Chuck the story. Yes, I know that that shows my age, but what the hell. We all grow old. It's better than the alternative.
Mind you, the story the way Chuck told it had little regard for the truth of what happened, which is probably why I didn't get a brass nickel in the way of royalties. I thought I'd finally set the record straight and explain what really happened that night.
Debbie was my girlfriend. She was eighteen, and very lovely. Virginal and modest, and what was considered to be, for those times, a good girl. If you can't remember back that far, let me enlighten you as to what a good girl was. She didn't put out. Not for no-one. Waiting for marriage was what she was doing, and frustrating her boyfriends no end.
It was my opinion that Debbie would have made a terrific baseball player. Every time I pitched her a little woo, she belted it out of the park. Apart from that one failing she was a great girl. Fun to be with, a great dancer, easy to please and, important to every young man, not expensive.
Like all young men, when spring came my thoughts turned to romance. Actually that's not quite right. When spring comes, a young maiden's thoughts turn to romance. Being of the male gender, in spring my thoughts turned to sex, the same as they do in winter, summer and autumn.
The time had come, however, when I had decided to do something about it. I figured that Debbie would probably succumb to my wooing and my manly charms if I just went about it the right way. And part of the right way was making sure my car operated just the way I wanted it to.
I managed to persuade Debbie to come for a drive one Saturday evening. We went cruising along near the beach, just relaxing and enjoying the music on the radio, the nice weather, and the fact that we were young and carefree.
Eventually I pulled up in a car park alongside one of the beaches and suggested that we go take a romantic walk on the sand. Debbie, ever conscious of the fact that she was a good girl, looked around, saw that there were other cars parked there and that there were other couples walking on the beach, and agreed to take a stroll.
Now back then, not many cars had safety belts, but mine did. They weren't friction fed, lap-sash belts like you get now, though. They were simple lap belts. You just buckled up and pulled tight. Yank the lever when you want it to open.
I pulled the lever on mine and it broke apart as designed. Debbie pulled the lever on hers and nothing happened. It was still fastened, and fastened quite firmly as a matter of fact. She had this habit of pulling the belt a bit tight. She says it's because the car tends to sway somewhat when I drive, but hey, cars are meant to be driven fast.
Debbie was a bit put out when the belt wouldn't unfasten. She yanked and pulled and fiddled, but nothing. So I yanked and pulled and fiddled and managed to feel a number of curves while doing so, but nothing. That belt wasn't budging.
"Sorry, Deb," I said, "but it looks as though you're stuck. Why don't you work on it while I sort of drift towards home. If we have to, I'll get a spanner when we get home and take the whole thing off."
So I hit the road again, and meandered on, Debbie not really watching where I was going as she was trying to get the belt loose. Eventually I spotted a nice lonely car park on an isolated beach and pulled in to it.
Looking at the belt I made a suggestion.
"Still no luck, uh? I've had an idea. If you pull that lever beneath the seat it slides the seat back a bit, that may loosen it."
Debbie reached down and found the lever and pulled and the seat slid back a little way, but no joy with the belt. I still had more in mind fortunately.
"Hmm. That didn't work. Try the lever on the side. It tilts the back of the seat. Maybe the seat is pinching it."
Again, Debbie reaches down and yanks the little lever and this time the back of the seat just flopped straight back, yanking Debbie back with it so she was lying flat on her back, seatbelt still holding her prisoner very firmly.
Might I point out at this stage that those old cars had bench seats in front. When Debbie pulled those two levers she turned the entire front seat into a flat surface that just naturally met up with the rear seat.
"Geez, sorry, Deb," I apologise. "Hold on until I come around and help you."
I hopped out and zipped around to the passenger side and opened the rear door. I grinned down at Debbie who was glaring up at me and muttering about idiots and their idiotic ideas.
She was even less pleased when I suddenly whipped this crepe bandage around her wrists and tethered them to the grab rail above the door. Then I slammed the door and zipped back to the driver's side and piled in.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" yelled Debbie.
"Deb!" I exclaimed. "You should say things like that. It's not at all the thing."
That seemed to make Deb even madder, partly because she knew she wasn't supposed to swear.
"Michael, will you please tell me what you are doing? I want you to come and untie my wrists immediately."
Without bothering to answer her I lifted her skirt and petticoats and tucked them tucked them tidily around her waist. Underneath she had her bloomers, suspenders and stockings. Debbie started bouncing her bottom up and down and yelling at me, squealing in fury as I took her bloomers and pulled them down.
No such thing as little bikini panties those days. Undies were serious business. On the other hand, once the girl's pants were removed you would generally find her pussy was nicely framed by her suspenders and stockings. It's really quite erotic. You should try to persuade your girlfriend to wear them sometimes.
I ran my hand through Debbie's muff, squeezing slightly. The way she squalled and squealed you'd think she'd never had a man grope her before. (Actually, now that I think of it, she probably hadn't. One of the problems with being a good girl.)
