meatloaf109
1st Lieutenant
It was the summer of '76 and everything in America was painted Red, White, and Blue. I had a couple of blue things on me as well, but no real prospects to alleviate the condition. My mother decided it would be good for my soul, for me to help out with the vacation bible school held at the church. I was less than thrilled, until I got there and found out that Cathy, (TPD) would also be helping out. "Hmm," thought I, "I can impress her with my knowledge of WW2 aircraft, what teen girl wouldn't like that?"
The answer is 99%, and Cathy was firmly in the majority. "O.k.," thought I, (again), "perhaps she is a tank person, I will try again." But by the end of the day, no suitable segue had presented itself, (for those of you that may be unfamiliar with the bible, it is short on tiger tank references.) and I was so seriously distracted by the contents of her blouse, that it was doubtful I could have expounded on the tiger anyways. I need not have despaired, because just before the end of the day, Cathy asked me if I wanted to walk her back to the parsonage. The short answer was "Yes!!!" (The long answer was **** yeah!!!, but we were in the church and they frown on that sort of language.) and, in due course, the moment arrived. To my suprise, she took the path that led, not to the parsonage, but to the lake. (I should point out that, in Minnesota, every path goes by a lake. 11,865 lakes, but I guess that would have looked stupid on the licence plates, so they just went with an even 10,000.)
There was a nice secluded shady spot and she parked her perfect butt on the ground and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. The old adage, "If she smokes, she pokes", quickly flashed through my mind, as she aked me, "Do you smoke?" Now, no self respecting boy in the 70's didn't, so naturally I said, "Sure, but I finished my last pack before coming to V.B.S. this morning." She lit two and handed me one.
I took a big pull at this, my first cigarette, and promply choked and coughed my brains out. "Not my brand," I explaned suavely, after I had wiped away the various fluids that were escaping my face. Then I noticed that she was not inhaling hers, just "mouthing" the smoke. She seemed to accept my explanation and there we sat, not exactly smoking.
My mind was working overtime, (after the spinning had stopped.) I was trying to look interested in the incredibly interesting things that were coming out of those luscious lips, while trying to figure out when to make my move.
Cathy solved that dilema by unbuttoning her blouse and leaning back, saying, "What are you waiting for?", and not knowing the answer myself, I leaned in for my first kiss.
Unfortunately, this being my first experence with many things that day, I did not remember the cigarette in my hand and managed to knock the cherry off the end. (It probably goes without saying this was not the "cherry" I was hoping to knock off)
It fell perfectly, down into the front of her bluejeans and that's when I learned how many swear words a preachers daughter knows!
I still have the smoking habit 36 years later, the b***h.
The answer is 99%, and Cathy was firmly in the majority. "O.k.," thought I, (again), "perhaps she is a tank person, I will try again." But by the end of the day, no suitable segue had presented itself, (for those of you that may be unfamiliar with the bible, it is short on tiger tank references.) and I was so seriously distracted by the contents of her blouse, that it was doubtful I could have expounded on the tiger anyways. I need not have despaired, because just before the end of the day, Cathy asked me if I wanted to walk her back to the parsonage. The short answer was "Yes!!!" (The long answer was **** yeah!!!, but we were in the church and they frown on that sort of language.) and, in due course, the moment arrived. To my suprise, she took the path that led, not to the parsonage, but to the lake. (I should point out that, in Minnesota, every path goes by a lake. 11,865 lakes, but I guess that would have looked stupid on the licence plates, so they just went with an even 10,000.)
There was a nice secluded shady spot and she parked her perfect butt on the ground and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. The old adage, "If she smokes, she pokes", quickly flashed through my mind, as she aked me, "Do you smoke?" Now, no self respecting boy in the 70's didn't, so naturally I said, "Sure, but I finished my last pack before coming to V.B.S. this morning." She lit two and handed me one.
I took a big pull at this, my first cigarette, and promply choked and coughed my brains out. "Not my brand," I explaned suavely, after I had wiped away the various fluids that were escaping my face. Then I noticed that she was not inhaling hers, just "mouthing" the smoke. She seemed to accept my explanation and there we sat, not exactly smoking.
My mind was working overtime, (after the spinning had stopped.) I was trying to look interested in the incredibly interesting things that were coming out of those luscious lips, while trying to figure out when to make my move.
Cathy solved that dilema by unbuttoning her blouse and leaning back, saying, "What are you waiting for?", and not knowing the answer myself, I leaned in for my first kiss.
Unfortunately, this being my first experence with many things that day, I did not remember the cigarette in my hand and managed to knock the cherry off the end. (It probably goes without saying this was not the "cherry" I was hoping to knock off)
It fell perfectly, down into the front of her bluejeans and that's when I learned how many swear words a preachers daughter knows!
I still have the smoking habit 36 years later, the b***h.
