The Backseat of a ’58 De Soto

The Backseat of a ’58 De Soto

By:  Garland Davis

A shipmate put a post on FaceBook this morning that reminded me of an incident that happened when I was a young newly minted Second Class Petty Officer.  This is his story:

“Bos’n gonna Bark a true memory. So, this is no shit. Met a way pretty girl in San Diego. Picked her up at her home. Did the HI MOM N DADDY thing. Got in the vehicle and started out. Her Mom must have given lots of advice knowing her daughter was going out with a Sailor. About half a block from her house she gave me a serious look. I said, ‘what?’ She said, ‘if you think you are gonna get any tonight, it’s not gonna happen.’ I turned right at the next block, not saying a word. Turned right again she asks, ‘what are you doing??’ I said, ‘taking you home.’ She says, ‘why?’ I said, ‘well if I’m not gonna get any why waste time.’ She says, ‘what’s my Mom gonna say?’ I said, ‘tell her I tried to get some but since you aren’t gonna put out I took you home. She will be so proud of you.’ Slams the door, pissed, she got out of my vehicle. A month later she calls me on the ship. Sailor Boy still smiling! Bos’n.”

My story:

I was on leave in North Carolina in early 1964.  My mother told me that an elderly aunt in the next county wanted me to come visit her.  She was living in a nursing home.  She asked that I wear my uniform.  So, I broke out the dress blues and took my mother’s car, a ‘58 De Soto, (hated that big bus of a car then, but would give my left nut to have it now) and drove over to see her.  She had been a school teacher and was an intelligent and engaging lady, I spent a pleasant two hours talking with her.

After leaving the nursing home, I stopped at a restaurant I had once worked at.  I had a sandwich and was sitting at the counter drinking coffee and talking with the owner, telling him stories of Westpac and liberty in the Asian ports.  I could tell by the look on his face that he thought I was bullshitting him.

It was around eight or nine when three girls came in and went to a booth.  They were probably my age, nineteen or twenty.  I recognized one of them.  I raised my hand to her and said, “Hi, Sandy.”

The waitress took their order, and the owner went to the griddle to prepare their food. I walked behind the counter and refilled my coffee cup and resumed my seat.  The girl I had spoken to suddenly sat down on the stool beside me and asked, “Do I know you?”

I told her my name, and said, “We were both in Mrs. Langley’s Latin class for two years.”

She said, “I remember you now.  You graduated early.  I sometimes wondered what happened to you.”

I spread my arms and indicated my uniform, “Not hard to figure now.”

The restaurant owner asked her if she would like to eat at the counter.  She nodded yes and stayed with me.  We had talked for about a half hour when one of her friends came over and said, “Sandy we have to go.”

Sandy replied to her, “Go ahead.” And then asked me, “You can give a ride, can’t you?”

“Of course, I answered.”

We left the restaurant.  When we reached the car, I queried, “You don’t really want to go home do you?”

She said, “Not really. Let’s go someplace and talk.”

I told her, “I think I’ll stop someplace and get something to drink.”

She excitedly asked, “Liquor?”

“No, I am not old enough to buy hard stuff, only beer, and wine. But, if you would like some liquor, I know where I can get a bottle.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t like the taste of beer or liquor, but I had a drink of some strawberry wine once that I liked.

Being a connoisseur of cheap wines, I was off in a flash to find some Strawberry Hill.  I found a store that sold beer and wine and grabbed three or four bottles of the strawberry nectar and some Dixie cups.  Away we went to a park by the river. We had a few drinks of the wine and were going at it hot and heavy.  She was willing but very inexperienced.  This was going to be a teaching experience.  After the first time in the back seat of that old De Soto, I told her that I was going to take us to a hotel and get a room.   She agreed.  As we were leaving the riverside park, a sheriff’s deputy was pulling in to harass the people parked there.  Sandy waved at him.  We both laughed as she tried to climb into my lap.

We didn’t sleep that night in the hotel. We spent it exploring each other’s bodies and new sensations.  I taught her the meaning of a couple of Latin words that Mrs. Langley hadn’t bothered to bring to our attention.

When I took Sandy home at eight the next morning, her mother came onto the porch as the car pulled into the drive.  As I stepped from the car, Sandy came around to my side and to kiss me goodbye. We made a date for the evening, she was a sophomore at Wake Forest and had a nine o’clock class. Otherwise, we would probably have stayed at the hotel.

I laughed on the way home at the look of horror on her mother’s face when she saw the blue uniform.

For the next two weeks of my leave, I spent the days Sandy was in school with my mom. Sandy and I spent the nights and weekends fucking each other’s brains out.  But all good things must come to an end.  I had orders to Japan and had to catch a flight to Atlanta and on to San Francisco and then from Travis to Yokota AFB in Japan.

Sandy came to the airport to see me off. She kissed me, looked me in the eyes and said, “I’ll never see you again, will I?”

“Probably not,” I answered.

She smiled, waved and walked away.  I often wonder, who was using who.  If she is still living, she will be in her seventies now. Does she still think upon that two-week interlude as I do?  One of the great experiences of becoming an adult.

For years, afterward, every time I thought of that old ‘58 De Soto, my dick got hard.

 

Standard

One thought on “The Backseat of a ’58 De Soto

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s