and upper class media/techno-moguls.
Oh well, that does take a lot of class, eh?
4.
Steam Heat: Hot and Heavy
Puberty, but Innocent
Where is it? What happened to Richard and Jesse, was that what I said my name was? I remember playing doctor with that thirteen year old girl. Maybe I was sixteen. We were visiting some family friends. I talked her into touching me down there, it gradually was getting hard. It was my idea to take our pants down and she was obviously intrigued and excited once she saw it grow and get hard. I could hear her breathing quicken.
This may have been her first such experience, as I remember her putting her whole hand around it. We both were getting swept away. She started to rub it and the sensations started to melt me, beyond time, in this strange bedroom in Encino, San Fernando Valley. She squeezed it several times, ever so gently, and she was very intrigued. I felt weak in the knees.
This was pure innocence, sexual neophytes acting out. I had a willing accomplice. Was she a predecessor of the original Valley Girls?
Boy, was I warm and hot and sweating. I also reached up her dress and helped suggest that she take her panties down. She was young and fertile. She had only a few pubic hairs, curly, black, and I looked closely and touched her down there. I massaged her, and she started to moan. My whole body felt the electrical intensity. I touched and kneaded her small, developing breasts. We didn’t have time to be more naive, to explore, in that bedroom of that Encino, California, suburban American house. We heard her uncle coming. We quickly got dressed; both our faces still flushed red and excited to the max.
We were both interrupted by her uncle looking for something in his bedroom, and we were both possibly disappointed, and relieved, and transformed by this rite of some such passage: the threshold, the newly found youth-and-innocence first taste. Our cheeks were flushed. Our “playing doctor” time was over.
Are these true confessions?
5.
CALIFORNIA
BEACHBOYS DAZE
FRIES AND A TAN,
OH MAN . . .
The beach was always a way to look at the girls in bikinis and lay out all summer and get a California tan, play a little American football, throwing it into the water, and body surf, and hide the new “hard on” enlarging between swim trunks, towel, and sand as the foxes strutted by . . . The long hot summer searching for the waves, the pipeline of our dreams, Dick Dale in Huntington Beach playing with the Deltones to all the perspective gremlins and beach boys and sandy beach bums. “Rescue Remedy” wasn’t even in vogue then.
Hearing Peter, Paul, and Mary singing Dylan’s “Blowing in the Wind” at the Hollywood Bowl. They said, “This song is by a young songwriter I think you will hear a lot from . . .” Was this 1962? Were we growing up on TV, eating those Swanson’s TV dinners? I got my pick of Salisbury steak or chicken when Mom and Dad went out. We ate our TV dinners on little TV trays right in front of the television, watching Ozzie and Harriet with little Ricky Nelson, his guitar and friends. Whatever happened to that boy with the baseball bat in his hand, pretending to look for blacks, going naively to the first Watts Riots. Later in Operation Bootstrap in South Central L.A., we saw and heard the white honky attitudes so prevalent in our great, free land, and somehow developed some compassion and reality, as the KKK rode again and four students later died—were shot—in Ohio.
6.
RUB
A DUB
DUB . . .
Little Jessie, I remember when I was called that, a preteen, and “spin the bottle” and “seven minutes in heaven” were in vogue. If we were really lucky, we could “pet” or “neck,” and maybe even caress each other all over.
In late teens, much later, I rubbed it between Gina’s legs. We didn’t make love, but we rubbed each other and she masturbated me till I came. I also rubbed her clitoris till she had an orgasm, usually. Sometimes we had it at the same time. She had red hair and red pubic hair and freckles on her face. She had cute little freckles on her lovely breasts, also. She was slim with these around 34 to 36 sized breasts and she was pretty. We couldn’t get enough. One night I was playing with her breasts and sucking the almost purple nipples. Anyway, we zipped each others’ zippers down, and I finger fucked her, and she expertly got me off in no time.
Once we were there at night, overlooking the lights of the city below. Was this the date where Betty Katz, with the big boobs, would let me feel her up, touch and fondle her breasts, and I would get hard? Would I really get a good feel, and flick and twirl her nipples and even maybe get to suck on them? I couldn’t believe it when she let me, with no apparent opposition. She was eager and melted with my touch, while rubbing herself gently between her legs under her plaid skirt.
Another woman I got fixed-up with was “doing it,”I heard. So there I was with this woman who never got enough, in the back of my first Volkswagen beetle, with the back seat down and us curled up, stuffed and squeezed in there . . . She most willingly gave me a good blow job, the first one I ever had.
Now Jesse is recalling these sexploits, and the young lovers of yesteryear. What era are we talking about? These were not rapes or gang bangs or cocaine madness or being fossilized by plaster-caster groupies running after me shrieking with glee, thinking I was Eliott Gould or Albert Einstein, asking for my autograph in Westwood where I grew up. There were only the Fox and Bruin theatres, and no cinema movie house city as there is now, with at least thirty movie houses. It became a hangout, got the wanton city crowd looking for kicks on Sunset Blvd., Ventura Blvd., Whittier Blvd., Manhattan Beach, the Lighthouse, or Shelly’s Mann Hole in Hollywood – the first jazz sounds, Beat poetry and jazz in Venice Beach, the Troubadour, the Ashgrove on Melrose, which now has been reopened to trendy cityscape: the place to browse for deco, or fifties belts, or whatever.
7.
PSEUDO-HIPSTERS
OR WHAT . . .
Cedars of Lebanon Hospital, where I was born, is now owned by Scientologists, and the Hari Krishna people used to have a place in Culver City where we went to get free dinners. O.J. Simpson used to play volleyball on the beach in Venice, right in front of where we lived. We had a place right on the beach, before the bike path made it chic and then became somewhat grungy. Gypsy Boots used to work out in front of the house, and the bikers used to have fights around at the corner bar. Running on the sand, the waves lapping at the feet in the early seventies. It was hip, you know what I mean? There were the jazz and Beat poetry hangouts down there, also. This Swiss chemist, Albert Hoffman, changed the frontiers of consciousness, altering our conscious states forever. Of course, psilocybin mushrooms have about the same chemical makeup as acid, I hear. It’s really been going on for thousands of years.
We used to throw oranges and eggs, and whatever, at cars, when we were first young teenage pseudo-punks. We even made dummies that looked like real people and had them run-over, or fall off of ladders, with the recorded sounds of real people screaming in alarm when cars screeched to a halt. One mother thought we were carrying away her son in the market. This was innocent fun, wasn’t
