We met at a bar on Silver Lake (Hwy 21) where a local band was playing -- don't remember who they were or what they played, or if they were any good, but I remember you. Honey-blonde hair, lean physique, a seriously cute ass that would not quit, a wry smile and a purposeful twinkle in your eye, and ... black fingernail polish. "Witchy," I said, and you smiled.
I was 18, assumed you were the same but don't really know. We left our friends in the bar "for a walk," and strolled across the road into the Waushara Golf Course, where all manner of merriment and giggling ensued, on a fairway, in the dark, under the stars. You were wonderful, and I was mightily satisfied. You assured me you had been too, twice, but I'd assumed as much anyway, judging from the synchronization of your soundtrack with my, er, activities. Got ourselves reassembled and walked back to the bar holding hands, found our friends, and parted company. We exchanged addresses (long before cell phones or even email), and a couple of letters flew back and forth, with good intentions to get together again, but it never happened.
I'm not in love with you, wasn't back then either, but you were wonderful in that in-the-moment scenario, and I'm pretty sure I was the same for you. People get so weird about a simple romp in the hay, attach so much superfluous meaning and significance to it, when really we're all just taking our comforts where we will. We knew what we were doing, respected each other, took care to make sure we were both on the same page, and it was great. And the memory of that night has cheered and sustained me through a fair number of otherwise darker nights over the intervening years.
No way in hell you will ever see this, but that's okay, it's been great fun reminiscing :-) Wherever you ended up, I hope you've had a happy life, filled with love and bliss and great joyful sex.
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