I used to bang this redhead with long, straight hair the color of this piece I made from scrap wood, stain, and some stickers:

She was a hippie, and hippy, with a firm teardrop-shaped ass and softball-pitcher thighs. She used some kind of hippie mouthwash and her breath always smelled like some exotic plant or something. She was very pale and covered with faint, almost invisible, freckles. Her small, upturned breasts were tipped with hard little pink nipples. She didn’t drink or do drugs so I’m not sure why she was into me because I did as much as I could of both back then, but she was always down to fuck and so was I so maybe that was it. She could only orgasm if she was on top and using a vibrator on her clitoris.

I was getting compost to top off the Tarter beds:

and found this shit:

I went out once with this chick named Alice, an 18-year-old gymnast with long brown hair, small breasts, and an ass you could set a teacup on. We went to the Granada, which used to be the only movie theatre that served alcohol and they allowed smoking in the balcony. There were June bugs flying all over the place under the marquee lights as we stood in line. This one big old fucker was divebombing right at Alice’s face and I snatched it out of the air and dashed it to the ground. She looked at me like I was her hero, and I was pretty sure that I was getting laid. I got a bucket of beer after promising the waitress I wouldn’t give any to my underage date then gave her a couple anyway to wash down the shots of the pint of whisky she had in her purse.

            We’d taken her Camaro to the theatre because it was a brutally hot evening, and my Mustang didn’t have A/C. She asked me to drive home since she’d been drinking and I had more experience with drinking and driving. It was after midnight and had finally gotten cool enough to put the top down. We were stopped at a red light not far from the theatre when a black Suburban pulled up next to us and a black Explorer screeched to a stop behind us. All the doors on both vehicles popped open and guys jumped out, reaching into their jackets and pants. I saw the pistol the Suburban driver pulled out from under the seat not six feet away from me. I felt very exposed with the top and windows down.

            “Fuck this,” I said, and gunned it even though the light was red. We shot through the intersection, narrowly missing a fuel truck, and got away from whatever shit was going on behind us. I looked over at Alice and she was smiling at me, and her long brown hair was whipping around her face and I knew I was getting laid.

            We went back to my place and had a couple more beers and made out then made our way to the bed. “You have to get naked then take my clothes off without any help,” she said. Not only did she not help, she actively resisted me. She lied there with her arms straight by her side, her hands in fists, and her muscular legs locked out straight and tightly together. I was horny and determined, though, and firmly but gently removed each item of clothing until I could see all that tanned skin – no bikini lines! All the beer and whisky had caught up with my penis, though, and we both looked at the limp disappointment for a moment.

            “Too bad!” she said gleefully and bounced off the bed and got dressed and left.

We never went out again but I started banging her roommate so it worked out.

Gary the coke dealer lived in the apartment above me once, which was handy. He was a good-looking guy with a nice tan and short hair and had an endless procession of women in and out of that apartment. He claimed to be a Navy officer attached to the CIA, but I never saw any proof. 

He came by once while Scooter and his old lady were visiting and let us know there was free coke up at his place. Scooter and his wife declined but I went upstairs, planning to do a couple of bumps then come back down to my guests.

Gary’s apartment was an efficiency, like mine, but the room was dominated by a California King bed outfitted with a black satin comforter and a mountain of black satin pillows. There wasn’t much room for anything but the bed but what he had was well organized, like this cinder-block battery caddy I put together today.

            I spent the next few hours snorting free coke and drinking free beer and when I finally got back to my apartment, Scooter and his wife were gone. 

One Saturday afternoon about 30 years ago, I drank about half of a bottle of Cuervo (a bad idea) and decided that a nice big pastrami sandwich would be PERFECT for dinner, so I drove (a bad idea) to Schlotzsky’s and got myself a nice big pastrami sandwich which I washed down with the rest of the tequila (a bad idea) before puking up most of a bottle of Cuervo and a nice big pastrami sandwich. 

I learned my lesson and haven’t had Schlotzsky’s since.