Wouldn't it be Nice ...

Readers might remember The Beach Boys upbeat song about teenage love, “Wouldn’t it be Nice,” especially lines like “You know it's gonna make it that much better/When we can say goodnight and stay together.” That song was released in the summer of 1966, which is when this story happened. And the song epitomizes the story. I spent that summer on a student volunteer program in a developing country, organized by a religious group. The idea was to do volunteer work in the day (building a playground) and live with a family and learn the language. The students met at the airport and I was immediately drawn to Roz, a very lively and attractive girl with reddish-brown hair. On the overnight flight to our destination she and I made sure to sit together and started holding hands beneath a blanket and were making out while everyone else was sleeping. By the time the plane landed, Roz and I were going to be an item – which was also clear to everyone else in the group. Once we were assigned to families, the question was how Roz and I could have a physical relationship. We started going for walks after dinner and we discovered that, not far from the neighborhood we lived in, there was a townhouse complex under construction. So we could go to vacant and dark apartments where we could make out without interruption. We did that often. Roz had small firm breasts with perky nipples that I loved to fondle and kiss. (In the era of conical bras, big tits were considered the ideal, but I concluded that Roz’s were far nicer.) Soon she was inviting me to put a finger in her pussy, something I had never done with anyone else. She seemed to really enjoy that, but I can’t remember if she actually came. Unfortunately, she didn’t explore my cock, and as a result I left our make-out sessions with major blue-balls, so I had to masturbate in the shower back at my temporary home. In thinking back on these episodes, it is obvious how sexually ignorant and unwittingly repressed she and I were. I don’t think I had ever heard the words clit or G-spot so didn’t know to look for them. And I’m not sure that she knew either. (For what it's worth, I looked up both clit and G-spot in Google N-grams, which shows how frequently they appear in books over the decades. Clit doesn’t appear with much frequency until the 70s, G-spot not until the 80s). Though our religious group was liberal rather than fundamentalist, I think we were both victims of the sexual repression of the early to mid 60s. So I regret that we missed a chance for sexual exploration at an early age. If I were writing this as fiction, not autobiography, I would imagine how I accidentally touched her clit and she asked to touch it more, faster, and harder, and then how she would demand I bear down on her G-spot, and then how she would delight herself and amaze me with a creamy squirty orgasm. And then she would go down on me, swallow my abundant cum, and we would snowball kiss with it. Were we from a younger generation, we would have done such things and more. Among our group of volunteers, we were considered the wild ones. I remember one of the guys asking if I was “getting box,” and how amazed he was when I said I was. On one occasion, the group was going to a beach. Somehow Roz and I were late for the bus, so we went to the beach ourselves. When we came back, we were admonished. On the last day of the program, we stayed in a hotel. Roz and I wanted to spend the night together – not to fuck, which we hadn’t done before – but, as in the song, to cuddle. We were discovered by one of the adult chaperones – big trouble. After the program, I was admonished again. I had a position of responsibility in the religious youth organization, so I had to write a letter of abject apology, which I did with the help of a friend (and which, of course, I didn’t share with my parents). You see what I mean about the climate of repression, even among liberals. It turns out that a year later Roz and I went to different universities in the same city. But by then we realized that our interests were very different and each of us wanted to fish in a much bigger ocean than the small pond that our summer program represented. Our world now in many ways is a far worse place than the world of the Sixties. But one way it is better now is that teenagers and young adults know more about sex and enjoy it from an earlier age.