September 8, 2017:
I was booted from the Boy Scouts for smoking pot and for feeling up a Girl Scout named Joyce behind the baseball diamond at a camp shared by both groups.
She had very black hair and very pretty breasts and soft lips from which I wanted far, far more.
I felt that my expulsion was hypocritical. "Be Prepared" was the motto: trust me I was allkindsa prepared. For far, far more than just a blunt and a feel behind home base.
She was not expelled. The Den Dad gave her a paternal lecture about what happens to girls who have sex, and chivalrously declined to turn her in. It wasn't until years later that I found that hypocritical, too.
We'd talk on the phone from time to time. Once there were drivers' licenses we'd meet up more rarely, usually at night by the Bay, where we'd make out in her car or mine. A couple of times I fingered her leaning against the outside wall of the public restrooms, and a couple of times she gave me handjobs, either in the car or on a bench in the dark. We never fucked and she never blew me and looking back I'm really not sure why not. I guess, maybe we'd stayed mentally behind that baseball diamond. Or maybe it was just what we felt was fun at the time.
We drifted away in college. We both fell in love and there seemed little point to teenysex in cars or on benches.
Today we're connected on social media. After all this time. We share pictures of her kids, and of my guitars.
That's nice. Why not?