("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: grareful.txt (Fm, rom) Authors name: Robin Goodfellow Story title : Grateful Dead -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- The Grateful Dead, Watkins Glen, a runaway hippie boy and a Canadian girl... by Robin Goodfellow (InTheHayLoftsOfMyMind@yahoo.com) *** This is a mood piece, very much a moment in time. Before you read it, I recommend you find a copy of the song SUNLIGHT by Jesse Colin Young and the Youngbloods, and play it. The live versions either by the Youngbloods (RIDE THE WIND, 1971) or any of the live versions by Jesse Colin Young are preferred, but the studio version is almost as remarkable. Candle light would be good, add a glass of wine with a rich heart (good port, burgundy, even sherry... no kidding... try it!) Read on.... A hippie boy child runaway unexpectedly finds the young woman who teaches him to be a man. An unapologetically romantic reminiscence, told by the boy who was there. WARNING... Life is an adventure to be lived with love and laughter, passion and joy. If you don't share this view, then this moment in time that I've plucked from my favorite memories and present to all loving people is not for you. In 1973, I was a boy who thought I was a man. I had just turned 14, was very tall for my age, slender build, nearly hairless. I thought I was fairly handsome, long, straight brown hair down to my nips, wire rim aviator glasses. Girls loved me and I loved them. Rene, my remarkably randy girlfriend, and I had just broken up. 9th grade had just ended, and my summer was before me. Rob, my best friend in Junior High who had moved down south, was back up north, working at an arcade at the Jersey shore. He called me up out of the clear blue sky and wanted to know if I wanted to go to Watkins Glen racetrack in upstate New York to see the Grateful Dead, the Allman Brothers (on their first huge tour), and The Band. We were the kids who missed Woodstock, and we'd be dipped in shit if we'd miss this one. The buzz was that it was going to be huge, even though it was only going to be one day. I was working for my very wealthy neighbors on their horse farm doing odd work and selling a little herb on the side, which is not the sort of job that ties you down, and I whooped a colossal YES! Like a stoner Harriet Tubman, he appeared and I disappeared. I did give my mom a big hug the night before I left, and I called her when we got to her mother's place in Elmira to let her know all was well. We took a bus from Elmira to Watkins Glen, and the driver took all the back roads to avoid the gridlocked main roads. We got there early enough to set up within a hard stone's throw of the stage. We set up our tent, and staked out our little piece of the universe. By that night, 650,000 people managed to fit in there, not in our tent, but crushed all around us. We dropped major blotter trips and I lay in the sun all day. All day. I was too stoned and too inexperienced to realize that I was burning the skin on my chest and stomach to an absolute lobster red. That night, the temperature dropped and it rained, and out tent leaked unmercifully and I was burning and freezing and tripping and OOOOHHHHHHHH, the day had been great but the night was doomed. The next morning, we trooped out with all the hung over but happy throng. I actually ran into people I knew! Our plan was to travel across Canada, so we hitched a lift to Niagra, New York. Since I didn't have any ID, we split Rob's and flipped for who would cross on which bridge. We arranged to meet in front of a huge hotel that we could see from the American side... simple, right? Rob never showed up. I waited, I put up signs, I walked back and forth, I read everything, I waited more. I slowly became what I really was... a 14 year old kid, broke, hungry, tired, hung over, in a foreign country, alone, quietly upset, more than a little frightened but afraid to show it. About 10 PM or so, I walked a ways into the small city, and the a little ways further. My little 30-year-old Boy Scout backpack had been designed by sadists, it seemed, and it bit into my back between my shoulder blades. Finally, I just sat down next to a mailbox or phone booth on a pretty, darkish little urban neighborhood street, pulled my knees up to my chin, and passed out. I don't think that I actually cried, but scrunched up there I must have appeared very much the kid I was. I have no idea how long I was asleep, but I was gently shaken awake by an angelic voice... "Are you alright? Don't you have anywhere to sleep?" I opened my eyes and was looking at white shoes and white stockings... shades of the asylum! Above a college girl's type cheerful coat was a beautiful girl's face, peering into my eyes, concerned, inquiring. I was so tired and discombobulated that I could barely answer... "Just came from Watkins Glen. My friend never met me on this side" "Well, come along home with me. You can stay on the sofa for the night. It'll be OK, and it's less that a block up the street" She was so beautiful... big eyes... slender, according to the way her belt held her middle and her hair was pulled back tightly into a chignon. She helped me up and made small talk about the festival while she held my arm for the short walk. Did I look like I was going to fall over? Probably. Her apartment was one flight up, and once inside, she lit easily a dozen candles and turned off the overhead light. Remember, this was 73, and candles were much more the common and natural way of doing things then. I still like them now. She was a nurse, and had gotten off her shift and was drinking a little wine with friends... would I like some? Yes, I would. Warm, with spices? Yes, Please. She put a few pieces of cold chicken on a plate and gave it to me and then turned to the stove to mull some wine, even though it was July. She knew all about the show, and had desperately wanted to go, but couldn't get off work. I told her all about the experience, and the trips, and then all about the sunburn. "Like nothing I've ever felt before." She insisted I take a warm shower before the wine (I had wolfed down the chicken), and she would lay out a fresh cotton t-shirt and brief that had belonged to her ex. The shower felt SO wonderful, and the whole front of me was still in SUCH agony that it was clear when I rejoined Charlotte (yes, her real name) that I was very much in distress. "Do you want me to take a look at that? I am, after all, a nurse." "No, that's OK, but thanks." We drank the wine out of big, glazed mugs, and it went right to my head. We talked and talked, and laughed... I, in someone else's t-shirt and underwear, and Charlotte, in a hippie nightshirt sort of thing. When she leaned forward, I could see her beautiful breasts, and she knew I could. I blushed and she grinned, and grinned, and grinned. "How old ARE you?" she asked, accent on the 'are' that gave it a little bit of an accusatory tone, but delivered with a naughty joy in her voice. "I'm 18", I blurted, my standard response, "And how old are YOU?" I asked, probably more tit for tat than I meant to sound. "I'm 26, but I can't tell if I suddenly feel much older or much younger right now." I can remember those words and her face so completely at this very moment... As she said that her eyes absolutely danced and she leaned forward and pulled her hair loose. "Would you like to kiss me? I would like it if you would, if you would like to that is, and then you could..." She was grinning from ear to ear, and leaned further over, and took my hand, and kissed me gently but firmly, and put my hand gently but firmly on her breast. I don't remember what I said at that point, if in fact I said anything at all. My eyes were probably as big as saucers. I considered myself such a seasoned man about town with girls my own age in the woods or up in my tree house or my bedroom, and now I was surfing the biggest wave in the universe. She led me by the hand to her bedroom and spun me and pushed me over onto the bed. She climbed on top and began to kiss me and I froze... the pain of my sunburn was so intense that I just stopped, stiff as a board. "What is it, Jack. Are you OK?" I felt terrible... the pain was extreme and I'd broken the spell... and killed the moment. "I'm sorry... my skin... my chest and tummy..." I gritted the words through clenched teeth. "OH, my poor baby!" she said with such genuine compassion, and she popped up onto her knees in an instant and then stood up at the edge of the bed. "I'm SO sorry! Lets take a look at this, alright?" She gently pulled the t-shirt up and gasped. A one-foot wide strip of flesh from my chest to my belly was absolutely crimson. She switched into nurse mode, albeit a beautiful, tipsy and nearly naked nurse mode and bounced off to the bathroom. She returned with a tube of some sort of ointment, and deftly squozed (squozed?) a hearty amount of it, running the length of the trouble. I lay, exhausted, lit, and in pain, with my arms over my head with the t shirt still around my arms, while she gently, very gently, started to rub the gooey substance into my flesh. As she headed south, she paused and pulled my borrowed briefs off in one swift motion. I was staring up at the ceiling, and she said, sweetly "This part is certainly manly!" I am not hung like a horse, but no one has ever complained. My willie has been described in various fun ways by girls over the years, but that will always be the sweetest hello. She climbed back aboard and rubbed her peach slowly up and down my boyhood/manhood. I wriggled out of the t- shirt and caressed her beautiful breasts. I remember holding them and rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, and pinching and twisting them as if it was something I'd never done before. She slid me inside of her without using her hands, and she held onto my arms above my head and kissed me and worked her hips like nothing I'd experienced ever before. Its not that it was fast or furious or strong like a bull, its just each stroke was very deliberate, very intense. I could feel her building up and up, her breath more and more intense, her kisses more powerful. My arms were around her, my hands squeezing her butt, clawing gently at the skin between her shoulder blades. She broke off kissing me and I kissed and licked her neck. She made a roaring exhale through her teeth and I let go inside her, her body an ocean of waves and shudders. I was a man, and I was in love. We were drenched in sweat and sunburn cream and cum and then we started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. There was a film recently about a kid rock journalist, and Goldie Hawn's daughter asks him how old he really is. It was that exchange in the film that inspired me to finally write this loving story down. "How old are you?" she asked again, grinning, holding me tight. "14" I responded, the number bursting through my lips in an enormous yet stifled laugh. She shrieked with laughter, burying her face in the pillow so as not to wake the neighbors. She propped herself up on her elbows and came in tight, nose to nose. Eyes wide, grinning from ear to ear, she said... "Aw fuckin' right!" ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 17