Bummer Love-In

"So, um, when you and Sherry get naked, are you two, you know..."

"Harold!" she giggled, "is that all men can think about?"

"Men my age? Yeah, I guess it is."

"Well, you can rest assured that Sherry and I aren't lovers."

"That's cool," I stammered. "Women being sexual with other women is cool, women not being sexual with other women is cool too."

'Harold," she commanded, "look at me." (Didn't she know I couldn't look at her because her right nipple was showing, as was her slit?) "Sherry and I, we hang out, we give each other naked massages, but there's nothing sexual going on. There's a difference between sensual and sexual. A kiss can be sensual but not sexual. A caress, a cuddle, these things can happen without sexual undertones. I mean, if what you said is true, that nothing sexual happened between us when we were lying naked together, that proves my point."

"So, my hard-on nudging your pussy doesn't count as sexual?


"Sensual," she said, as if stating a commonly known fact. "Sticking your dick inside my pussy and ejaculating, now that would have been sexual."

"Would your hand on my hard-on be sensual or sexual?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. Let's try it and find out."

She gave me a horrified look.

"Joke! Joke!"

"Oh," she said, in a surprised sort of way, "right. A joke."

Fortunately for me, the all night gas station loomed before us.

"Apple juice? Muffin?"

"Sure," she smiled, my little lapse in judgement apparently forgotten. As I strode in, I noticed a cop car parked in the shadows across the street. I had the sudden urge to run back to the VW and beg Natasha to please, please not get out of the car, but that would have aroused suspicion, so I just hoped for the best.

Making it back to the VW without incident, I handed her the bottle of apple juice.

"Perfect," she sighed as she tipped her head back and took a long drink. The sight if her nipple was making me incredibly heartsick, but what could I do? Ask her to unbutton her shirt so I didn't have to strain my neck to see it?

As we pulled out onto David, I noticed headlights following a discreet distance behind us. Sensing impending doom, I kept it at a steady twenty-five miles per hour.

"Oh crap," I moaned as the red flashing lights lit up my rear view mirror.

"Oh crap is right," Natasha sighed, looking over her shoulder. Gripping my arm, she leaned into me. "Think we can outrun them?"

"No," I said, looking for a place to pull over.

"Joke," she said, settling back into her seat.

"Do we need to get our story straight?" I asked, hanging a right onto the side street, since the main street was solid with parked cars.

"What story? I was drugged, everything I had with me was stolen, and you rescued me. They should give you a medal."

As I cut the motor, I realized we were parked in a church driveway. Was this an omen? Was I supposed to pray to God that our cop would not turn out to be Jeffy? Natasha and I waited in silence while the officers approached us.

"Well well well," Jeffy sneered, poking his head inside the driver's door window, "you again. And who's your lady friend?"

"That's Natasha," I moaned, feeling utterly helpless.

"I'll need to see some ID. You got ID little lady?"

"I'm sorry," Natasha intoned, in her velvety voice, "everything I had, including my ID, was stolen, but I can give you my name and address..."

"Out of the car. Both of you."

I jerked the door open and creaked out of the VW, my legs feeling like lead, my heart pounding. Jeffy grabbed my arm and lead me over to the sidewalk, where he sat me down on the retaining wall.

"Nice," he growled, staring at Natasha.

She just stood there next to Jerome, her hands at her sides, the flannel shirt barely hiding her crotch. She flashed me the deer-in-the-headlights look, but what could I do?

"Um, officer Jeff?" I stammered, hoping to somehow head off the inevitable. "I can explain..."

"Shut up," he snapped, poking me in the chest with his night stick. "Jerome, keep an eye on our hero here while I interrogate the lady."

Jerome came over next to me and then we both watched while Jeffy approached Natasha like a cat stalking a mouse.

"Got any weapons, little lady?"

"Of course not," she moaned, almost vibrating in fear.

"Hands on your head. Now!"

"Shit," she moaned, as she slowly raised her hands.

"I thought so," Jeffy said, poking his nightstick between the opening in Natasha's shirt. "We got us a case of indecent exposure." With a flick of his wrist, he popped the one remaining button loose, and we all watched as the shirt draped open.

"God damn you've got some nice tits," he said, poking at the shirt until her breasts were totally exposed. "Cuff her Jerome. We're taking the little lady downtown."

"But officer," Natasha pleaded, "I can assure you..."

"Shut up!" he barked, "unless you want me to add resisting arrest to the charges."

Jerome stepped behind her and gently guided her arms down so he could cuff her. As he did so, Jeffy flicked the shirt off her shoulders, and it slithered down to her elbows, revealing her splendid body like a Greek statue.

"Fuckin' A," he sighed, staring at her. "You are one fine bitch." He started walking around her slowly, like a guy inspecting a horse at an auction. "Jerome. Lift up her shirt and show us her ass."

"Officer, please?" Natasha moaned, her lower lip quivering. "You can call my dad. He lives in Pebble Beach."

"I've heard that before," he growled, gazing at her valentine ass. "You can call him yourself when we get to the station." I watched in horror as he took his nightstick and nudged her left tit. Satisfied that it was indeed real, he was just about to check the other one when we heard the clamor of voices behind us.

"Oh my God!" a woman bellowed, as a small crowd of people filed out of the church. "Don't look! There's a naked woman out on the sidewalk!"

"A naked woman?" came a man's voice. "Where?"

In thirty seconds, the crowd had grown to about twenty, all standing on the steps ogling Natasha in all her naked glory.

"What in God's name is going on here?" a gray haired gentleman asked.

"Just a little arrest" Jeffy said casually. "Nothing to see. Move along now."

"Mr. Edwards?" Natasha called out.

"Natasha?" the gray-haired guy answered., "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," Natasha said sadly, hanging her head. The old guy bounded down the steps.

"What are you charging this lady with?" he asked, fixing Jeffy in a military stare.

"Indecent exposure."

"You found her walking down the street like this?"

"No, she was in this guy's VW."

"Naked, like she is now?"

"Not exactly," Jeff answered, his confidence suddenly gone.

"Do you have any idea who this woman is?" the gray-haired guy asked.

"Um..."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Um..."


"Release her this instant. And report back to the station. You're suspended as of now."

"Suspended?" Jeffy bristled. "And who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the police commissioner, and you're in deep shit my friend."

While Jerome uncuffed Natasha, Jeffy gave me the evil eye. "I'll get you for this," he hissed, pointing at me with his night stick.

The gray-haired guy handed me a business card. "If this guy gives you any more trouble, you call me."

I took his card, my hands still trembling, and stumbled over to help Natasha climb back into the van. Under the eyes of the watchful congregation, she flashed her beaver one more time as she climbed in, and then we were off.

"What an ass," Natasha sighed, not even bothering to pull her shirt closed. "Good thing Mr. Edwards showed up."

"You know him?" I asked, still catching my breath.

"Friend of the family. His daughter and I were on swim team together."

"So you've been around here for a while?"

"Off and on. I'm in L.A. most of the time, but when I read about the Love-In, I decided it would be a good time for a visit."

Cruising down David, I had a hundred questions, but not the nerve to ask them. I was just glad Natasha had managed to escape without getting molested. Or worse. Calling cops "pigs" was just coming into vogue, and old Jeffy certainly did reinforce that stereotype. It was times like this that made moving out to the country seem more attractive.

Remembering Natasha's directions, I turned onto Lighthouse, which prompted her to guide me to a stately Victorian mansion.

"You can pull in the drive," she said, the streetlight turning her jutting breasts shiny silver. I cruised up to the back door and cut the lights.

"Thanks," she said, offering me her hand.

"Sorry about getting stopped," I said, suddenly heartbroken that our little adventure was over.

"No problem," she grinned, sliding over to give me a peck on the cheek. "It was fun. Sort of."

As her lips brushed my cheek, I caught my breath. The smell of her hair, the feel of her naked breast nudging my arm, it was almost too much to bear.

"Shit," she grunted, her hand slithering down into my lap. "I don't usually do this, but..." She undid my buckle, and then her hand was inside my shorts, cradling my rapidly expanding cock. "I'd invite you in, but it's not my place."

Then her head descending into my lap, and suddenly, my cock was in her mouth. I jammed my feet against the floorboards and tried to buck my hips.

"Take it easy," she cooed. "Let me do it."

As if in slow motion, she raked her lips up and down my shaft, slithering her hand onto the head whenever it popped out of her mouth. I was ready to cum in about thirty seconds, which she seemed to sense.

"You want to make it last," she asked, gazing up at me as if I was the only man in the world, "or do you want to go for it?"

"Go for it" I gasped, my whole body vibrating in anticipation of the completion of my first-ever blowjob.

"Whatever" she mumbled, her head descending once more. She was just about to take me in her mouth again when car headlights lit up my rearview mirror. I looked up and saw what appeared to be a police car behind us.

"Uh oh," she gulped, sitting up, her hand still clamped to my pulsating cock. "I hope it's not that asshole cop."

The passenger door opened, and I realized it wasn't a cop car, it was a Yellow Taxi. As Natasha turned her head to look behind us, her hand jerked at my dick and the first glob of cum shot out, splatting on the ceiling.

"It's Sherry!" she bubbled, diving for the passenger door. As she bound out, I grabbed my dick to finish myself off, squirting cum all over my T-shirt. As I milked myself dry, I heard the girls yapping.

"You wouldn't believe what happened..."

"No shit? The police commissioner...?

Then they were standing at my window. "Harold, was it?" Natasha asked, almost in an annoyed tone. "This is Sherry, the woman I told you about?"

I just sat there with my dick in my hand, jizz still oozing out of the tip.

"Oh damn!" Natasha exclaimed, "I forgot..."

"Natasha!" Sherry moaned, noticing the same thing Natasha was noticing, "what were you thinking?"

"He rescued me," she said apologetically. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Call your agent?" Sherry answered. "Does this fool even know who you are?"

"Um... I don't know," she said, giving me a curious look. "Do you go to the movies much?"

I racked my brain, trying to place her, but in all honesty, I didn't have the money to go to the movies.

"It's better this way," Sherry said, tugging on Natasha's sleeve.

"You're probably right," Natasha sighed.

There was an awkward silence, during which I tucked my leaky dick back into my jeans. Finally, I turned the key and the old VW sprung to life. With a halfhearted wave, Natasha and Sherry headed for the house, and I eased down the driveway, wondering who in the hell had given me my first blowjob. I knew I should have been excited about almost having sex with a movie star, but the whole thing left me feeling cold and used.

Heading back up David, feeling quite sorry for myself, I almost missed it - the shadowy figure by the side of the road. As I passed, I realized it was Cherokee, slogging up the hill, her fake Indian bag slung over her shoulder.

I stopped the van, my heart pounding, my hands sweating. Should I be mad? Should I forgive her? I waited for her to appear by my door. But would she even stop, or would she just keep walking? Feeling utterly numb, I buttoned up my shirt to hide the mess in my lap. Just as I finished, the passenger door opened.

"Can we go to the motel now?" Cherokee asked, as she flung her bag onto the seat.

"I guess so," I answered, feeling powerless to say no. I watched as she climbed in, noticing her hair all tangled, and a small split on her lower lip. "Did they hurt you?"

"Can we just pretend in didn't happen?" she asked, her voice trembling, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"We can try," I said, taking her hand in mine. She looked over at me. 
"Harold?"

"Yeah?" I answered, my head spinning, my heart racing.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Cherokee."

I didn't mean to say it, but the words tumbled out anyway. Then I realized maybe I really did love her. If I could take her back after what she'd done - that had to mean something. Seeing her tears glistening in the moonlight, hearing her stifled sobs, it made me realize what I had to offer her - stability; someone to count on, someone to be there no matter what. At that moment, it occurred to me, maybe that's what growing up is all about.

"Um.. Harold," she sighed, her voice quivering, "I'm tired of Cherokee. Can I be Alice from now on?"

"Of course you can," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. It was at that moment the Summer of Love took on a whole new meaning, and it had nothing to do with hippies.