BIG DARK EYES

     I'd just gotten my driver's license and was working with my
friend James as a waiter in that retirement place.  One of the
waitresses there, Lisa, a sophomore from a rival high school, was
always talking to James about me.  She had jet-black hair and dark
wild eyes.
     She asked him, "Well, if I asked him out, what would he
expect?"
     "Sex," said James.
     That night, she asked me to go out.  I told her I'd pick her
up Friday night.  Pulled up in the very cool Plymouth Fury, that
shade of green that is found nowhere in nature.  She was in jeans
and a sweatshirt.  Fine.
     Somehow, James and I both had given her the impression that I
was much more experienced than I was.  So, despite the fact that I
was the one with the still-intact maidenhead, she was the nervous,
jumpy one.  This relaxed me greatly.
     "Wanna see a movie?"
     "Sure."
     "Lincoln Drive-In?"  The Lincoln Drive-in showed triple-x
movies all night.  It was right there, across from the Trevose
Hilton, on Route 1.  When businessman booked rooms at the Hilton,
they always asked for a room on the East side, for the clear view
of the movies.  Once, my dad was receiving an award there and my
brother and I discovered that on each floor, just as you leave the
elevators, the management of the hotel had set up two comfy chairs
and a big bowl of popcorn.  We were not so bold to just sit there
and watch for very long so we moved from floor to floor like clever
spies, filling our pockets with popcorn and riding the elevators
whenever the action slowed.  That was the first time either of us'd
seen anything like that and I was anxious to get home and put these
images to some use.
     "Lincoln Drive-in?" I repeated.  
     "Sure."
     I sat up straight and tried to look eighteen.  I didn't, but
my money was real.  It was early but already crowded.  We spotted
kids sneaking out of trunks, couples already moving in cars, people
openly smoking grass.  We parked in a fairly unpopulated area of
the lot, hung the speaker on the window and started to watch.  Our
mouths were open; neither said a word.  At some point I ended up in
the passenger seat, she behind the wheel.  At the first
intermission I said, "It's kinda cold over here.  Join me?"     
She slipped under my arm, leaned back into me.  
     The next line I still take shit for.
     "Um, Lisa.  My lips are still cold." 
     Yeah, yeah, I know.  So we made out for a bit before my hand
wandered under her sweatshirt.  Her skin was warm and smooth and
she didn't resist.  I unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and moved
my hand inside.  She gasped as I fumbled around, and I realized
that in her eyes I could do no wrong.  An image flashed in my head
of her telling her friends, later, "No, Rich *knows*.  The guy is
supposed to yank on it really hard.  Oh yeah.  Everyone knows
*that*."  
     Soon, her pants and shoes and panties were off and I was
fondling her on my lap as we watched a couple of girls pretending
up on the screen.
     I reached across her stomach and opened the glove.  "Uh, I
have a rubber."
     "You, you wanna do it?"
     "No.  No, no, no.  I was just saying...."
     She laughed and took the condom from me and put it back into
the glove.
     "It's ok."
     Ok?  Clearly this was some code I was only beginning to catch
on to.  Ok?  Fine then.  She straddled me there and started moving,
her breasts doing a Moe--Curly Howard thing against my face.  I
remember that a pubic hair or a thread from my jeans or something
must have gotten caught inside, because I know something really
hurt a lot, and I winced as much as she gasped.  Lisa appeared to
have more energy than most track teams her age, because she kept
going through the entire third movie and the first one again. 
Finally, I reached down, pulled out the offending thread and was
able to concentrate and climax.  When she got up, it all rushed out
of her and she collapsed on the seat next to me and said,  "Sex is
soooo relaxing."
     I was thinking more along the lines of smelly and painful, but
if you say so...
     "That was aMAzing."  Who's to argue?  We smoked a joint and
she got dressed and I took her home.
     As I pulled onto the long, dark, newly-metaphorical country
road to her house she turned on the radio.  She pressed her lips
against my shoulder, put her hand between my legs and, as the
commercial ended and we heard the first few chord changes to that
Bob Seeger song, I knew then that Goddess was my dj and I would
have to become a writer.  That I already was.