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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Archive name: grareful.txt (Fm, rom)
Authors name: Robin Goodfellow
Story title : Grateful Dead
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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The Grateful Dead, Watkins Glen, a runaway hippie boy
and a Canadian girl...
by Robin Goodfellow (InTheHayLoftsOfMyMind@yahoo.com)
***
This is a mood piece, very much a moment in time. Before
you read it, I recommend you find a copy of the song
SUNLIGHT by Jesse Colin Young and the Youngbloods, and
play it.
The live versions either by the Youngbloods (RIDE THE
WIND, 1971) or any of the live versions by Jesse Colin
Young are preferred, but the studio version is almost as
remarkable.
Candle light would be good, add a glass of wine with a
rich heart (good port, burgundy, even sherry... no
kidding... try it!)
Read on....
A hippie boy child runaway unexpectedly finds the young
woman who teaches him to be a man. An unapologetically
romantic reminiscence, told by the boy who was there.
WARNING... Life is an adventure to be lived with love and
laughter, passion and joy. If you don't share this view,
then this moment in time that I've plucked from my
favorite memories and present to all loving people is not
for you. In 1973, I was a boy who thought I was a man. I
had just turned 14, was very tall for my age, slender
build, nearly hairless. I thought I was fairly handsome,
long, straight brown hair down to my nips, wire rim
aviator glasses. Girls loved me and I loved them.
Rene, my remarkably randy girlfriend, and I had just
broken up. 9th grade had just ended, and my summer was
before me. Rob, my best friend in Junior High who had
moved down south, was back up north, working at an arcade
at the Jersey shore. He called me up out of the clear
blue sky and wanted to know if I wanted to go to Watkins
Glen racetrack in upstate New York to see the Grateful
Dead, the Allman Brothers (on their first huge tour), and
The Band.
We were the kids who missed Woodstock, and we'd be dipped
in shit if we'd miss this one. The buzz was that it was
going to be huge, even though it was only going to be one
day. I was working for my very wealthy neighbors on their
horse farm doing odd work and selling a little herb on
the side, which is not the sort of job that ties you
down, and I whooped a colossal YES!
Like a stoner Harriet Tubman, he appeared and I
disappeared. I did give my mom a big hug the night before
I left, and I called her when we got to her mother's
place in Elmira to let her know all was well.
We took a bus from Elmira to Watkins Glen, and the driver
took all the back roads to avoid the gridlocked main
roads. We got there early enough to set up within a hard
stone's throw of the stage. We set up our tent, and
staked out our little piece of the universe. By that
night, 650,000 people managed to fit in there, not in our
tent, but crushed all around us.
We dropped major blotter trips and I lay in the sun all
day. All day. I was too stoned and too inexperienced to
realize that I was burning the skin on my chest and
stomach to an absolute lobster red. That night, the
temperature dropped and it rained, and out tent leaked
unmercifully and I was burning and freezing and tripping
and OOOOHHHHHHHH, the day had been great but the night
was doomed.
The next morning, we trooped out with all the hung over
but happy throng. I actually ran into people I knew! Our
plan was to travel across Canada, so we hitched a lift to
Niagra, New York. Since I didn't have any ID, we split
Rob's and flipped for who would cross on which bridge. We
arranged to meet in front of a huge hotel that we could
see from the American side... simple, right?
Rob never showed up. I waited, I put up signs, I walked
back and forth, I read everything, I waited more. I
slowly became what I really was... a 14 year old kid,
broke, hungry, tired, hung over, in a foreign country,
alone, quietly upset, more than a little frightened but
afraid to show it.
About 10 PM or so, I walked a ways into the small city,
and the a little ways further. My little 30-year-old Boy
Scout backpack had been designed by sadists, it seemed,
and it bit into my back between my shoulder blades.
Finally, I just sat down next to a mailbox or phone booth
on a pretty, darkish little urban neighborhood street,
pulled my knees up to my chin, and passed out. I don't
think that I actually cried, but scrunched up there I
must have appeared very much the kid I was.
I have no idea how long I was asleep, but I was gently
shaken awake by an angelic voice... "Are you alright?
Don't you have anywhere to sleep?" I opened my eyes and
was looking at white shoes and white stockings... shades
of the asylum! Above a college girl's type cheerful coat
was a beautiful girl's face, peering into my eyes,
concerned, inquiring. I was so tired and discombobulated
that I could barely answer... "Just came from Watkins
Glen. My friend never met me on this side" "Well, come
along home with me. You can stay on the sofa for the
night. It'll be OK, and it's less that a block up the
street"
She was so beautiful... big eyes... slender, according to
the way her belt held her middle and her hair was pulled
back tightly into a chignon. She helped me up and made
small talk about the festival while she held my arm for
the short walk. Did I look like I was going to fall over?
Probably.
Her apartment was one flight up, and once inside, she lit
easily a dozen candles and turned off the overhead light.
Remember, this was 73, and candles were much more the
common and natural way of doing things then. I still like
them now. She was a nurse, and had gotten off her shift
and was drinking a little wine with friends... would I
like some? Yes, I would. Warm, with spices? Yes, Please.
She put a few pieces of cold chicken on a plate and gave
it to me and then turned to the stove to mull some wine,
even though it was July.
She knew all about the show, and had desperately wanted
to go, but couldn't get off work. I told her all about
the experience, and the trips, and then all about the
sunburn. "Like nothing I've ever felt before."
She insisted I take a warm shower before the wine (I had
wolfed down the chicken), and she would lay out a fresh
cotton t-shirt and brief that had belonged to her ex. The
shower felt SO wonderful, and the whole front of me was
still in SUCH agony that it was clear when I rejoined
Charlotte (yes, her real name) that I was very much in
distress. "Do you want me to take a look at that? I am,
after all, a nurse." "No, that's OK, but thanks."
We drank the wine out of big, glazed mugs, and it went
right to my head. We talked and talked, and laughed... I,
in someone else's t-shirt and underwear, and Charlotte,
in a hippie nightshirt sort of thing. When she leaned
forward, I could see her beautiful breasts, and she knew
I could. I blushed and she grinned, and grinned, and
grinned.
"How old ARE you?" she asked, accent on the 'are' that
gave it a little bit of an accusatory tone, but delivered
with a naughty joy in her voice. "I'm 18", I blurted, my
standard response, "And how old are YOU?" I asked,
probably more tit for tat than I meant to sound. "I'm 26,
but I can't tell if I suddenly feel much older or much
younger right now." I can remember those words and her
face so completely at this very moment...
As she said that her eyes absolutely danced and she
leaned forward and pulled her hair loose. "Would you like
to kiss me? I would like it if you would, if you would
like to that is, and then you could..." She was grinning
from ear to ear, and leaned further over, and took my
hand, and kissed me gently but firmly, and put my hand
gently but firmly on her breast. I don't remember what I
said at that point, if in fact I said anything at all. My
eyes were probably as big as saucers. I considered myself
such a seasoned man about town with girls my own age in
the woods or up in my tree house or my bedroom, and now I
was surfing the biggest wave in the universe.
She led me by the hand to her bedroom and spun me and
pushed me over onto the bed. She climbed on top and began
to kiss me and I froze... the pain of my sunburn was so
intense that I just stopped, stiff as a board. "What is
it, Jack. Are you OK?" I felt terrible... the pain was
extreme and I'd broken the spell... and killed the
moment. "I'm sorry... my skin... my chest and tummy..." I
gritted the words through clenched teeth.
"OH, my poor baby!" she said with such genuine
compassion, and she popped up onto her knees in an
instant and then stood up at the edge of the bed. "I'm SO
sorry! Lets take a look at this, alright?" She gently
pulled the t-shirt up and gasped. A one-foot wide strip
of flesh from my chest to my belly was absolutely
crimson. She switched into nurse mode, albeit a
beautiful, tipsy and nearly naked nurse mode and bounced
off to the bathroom. She returned with a tube of some
sort of ointment, and deftly squozed (squozed?) a hearty
amount of it, running the length of the trouble. I lay,
exhausted, lit, and in pain, with my arms over my head
with the t shirt still around my arms, while she gently,
very gently, started to rub the gooey substance into my
flesh.
As she headed south, she paused and pulled my borrowed
briefs off in one swift motion. I was staring up at the
ceiling, and she said, sweetly "This part is certainly
manly!" I am not hung like a horse, but no one has ever
complained. My willie has been described in various fun
ways by girls over the years, but that will always be the
sweetest hello.
She climbed back aboard and rubbed her peach slowly up
and down my boyhood/manhood. I wriggled out of the t-
shirt and caressed her beautiful breasts. I remember
holding them and rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, and
pinching and twisting them as if it was something I'd
never done before. She slid me inside of her without
using her hands, and she held onto my arms above my head
and kissed me and worked her hips like nothing I'd
experienced ever before. Its not that it was fast or
furious or strong like a bull, its just each stroke was
very deliberate, very intense.
I could feel her building up and up, her breath more and
more intense, her kisses more powerful. My arms were
around her, my hands squeezing her butt, clawing gently
at the skin between her shoulder blades. She broke off
kissing me and I kissed and licked her neck. She made a
roaring exhale through her teeth and I let go inside her,
her body an ocean of waves and shudders.
I was a man, and I was in love. We were drenched in sweat
and sunburn cream and cum and then we started to laugh,
and laugh, and laugh.
There was a film recently about a kid rock journalist,
and Goldie Hawn's daughter asks him how old he really is.
It was that exchange in the film that inspired me to
finally write this loving story down. "How old are you?"
she asked again, grinning, holding me tight. "14" I
responded, the number bursting through my lips in an
enormous yet stifled laugh.
She shrieked with laughter, burying her face in the
pillow so as not to wake the neighbors. She propped
herself up on her elbows and came in tight, nose to nose.
Eyes wide, grinning from ear to ear, she said...
"Aw fuckin' right!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 17