Keithin’ It Together (1982)

The only light in the wooded area comes from Keith’s headlights as we inch forward to find the ideal spot for him to have his long-haired, teenage-mustached way with me. Our parents’ houses are out of the question. But his hatchback? Hoo, yeah, now we’re talkin’ sexy.
But Keith isn’t. Talkin’ sexy, that is. No, instead he’s telling me about some guy who was found hanging from a tree out here. I’m convinced he’s the murderer. I figure I’d better “do it” with him so I won’t be his next victim. But why do I think that will save me?

*  *  *
Keith and his mustache are making out with me like mad in the back of the hatchback, on the edge of the darkest forest that’s ever been privy to a man murdered by hanging. My eyes are closed, though, so any dead-guy feet swinging mere inches from the back window won’t find an audience in me.
A policeman parks a few feet away, waves his nosy flashlight through the windows, and asks Keith to step outside. Keith, displaying gentlemanliness way beyond his 18 years, makes sure to not only pull on his pants first but to zip up as well.

*  *  *
I don’t know how much the policeman saw on his first round of flashlighting. I scramble to hide underneath whatever’s in the back of the car, so he won’t be able to leer at more if he decides to re-invade the space. Perverted thrill-seeker, I seethe. He’ll probably force me out of the car, wrapped up like this.
Very little sound, other than Keith’s and the cop’s muffled voices, penetrate my cocoon.
“Just shout out if you’re okay!” the policeman says.
“I’m okay!” I shout, imagining that he thought maybe I’d been chopped into small pieces for relatively easy disposal.

0 thoughts on “Keithin’ It Together (1982)

  1. true dat. also? these invis-a-straps or whatever they are called, tend to disintigrate over time like a piece of gum that’s been chewed too long.

  2. I must say, I strongly prefer the invisible bra straps than the Invisible Banana-Hammock for retired italian dockworkers, brought to you by Sergio…
    Just sayin’…

  3. D’s, I told you it wasn’t invisible, it merely disappeared into my voluminous rolls of fat from my gut that hung to my knees, the thigh fat forming a tight sweaty seal front to back, the love handles making a fat-based kilt and the ass cheeks that were each vying or the meal that was the thonged backing.
    100+ pounds and a size 36 inch waist later, that won’t be an issue. When I’m done, it might be something worth seeing again.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.