As Jake opened the door, he got a full blast of music and was temporarily blinded by the much brighter lights from the main room. He paused to get his bearings. Glancing around, he almost immediately spotted a small group of politicos arguing in the corner: Carl, Pat and Luis. He ambled over toward them. Carl was sounding off about the military-industrial complex or some such shit.
"What a crock!" Jake broke in.
Carl looked up at Jake, his mouth working soundlessly. Finally, he was able to blurt out, "Fuck you man, who the hell ast you?" Then he bolted off in the direction of the bar.
"Jake, that was pretty crude!" It was Pat, scolding him. "Carl may be a bit naive in his politics, but at least he's trying!"
Jake was taken aback by Pat’s reaction to his put-down of Carl. Pat Richardson had the coolest, if not the brightest, head on campus. Jake had always been fascinated by her mind, her boundless energy, and her brilliant political instincts. She was really too much! Jake found himself wondering where she would be ten years from now. Something in politics he was sure. A congressman? A White House advisor? A hot shot in the NAACP? Something big, that he knew.
Right now, though, the music was talking to him and he felt an overpowering urge to dance with her. What the hell! Just come out with it. "Let's boogie," he said, grabbing her right arm with his left and encircling her waist with his right.
He started them off in a kind of Lindy/Jitterbug dance he’d picked up from some of his black friends in the Hood. As he directed Pat’s movements in time with the music, he felt an almost forgotten surge of sexual energy fill his body.
Holding her right hand tightly with his left, he spun her out until she reached the end of her “tether,” at which point he tightened his grip and pulled her back with all his strength. This caused Pat to curl into him so that her back was now to him and her ass right up against his crotch. Grasping her free left hand with his right, Jake pulled both her arms tightly so they crossed over her small (but firm) breasts. He rocked her back and forth several times in this position; with each rock, she looked back at him, first over her right shoulder then over her left, her eyes sparkling and her mouth smiling at him seductively, as she moved easily under the guidance of his powerful arms.
The chick was almost beautiful when she smiled, Jake thought. Almost. He dug her afro — much better than the straightened hair she'd worn as a freshman. And he dug her firm little breasts, although unlike just about every other chick on campus, Pat wore a bra so you hardly noticed that she had tits at all. And he definitely dug the color of her skin — very dark, an almost purple-black. Jake found himself considering her possible origins. West Indian? Must be. Yeah, West Indian with little or no white overseer's blood involved. Yeah, he definitely dug this chick. He wondered what she'd be like in bed. One thing for sure, she'd be black all over. None of this tan-line shit that Joanie and most of the other chicks he slept with had. And her bush? He bet it'd be kinky like her 'fro. Yeah, he could dig that. The hell with Joanie; this black chick was more like what he needed right now. No complications, just a good fuck!
He spun Pat out again, roughly this time, and pulled her back in, even more strongly than the first time. When her ass pressed against his crotch this time, he pulled her arms really tight and initiated a little bump and grind to which she responded with renewed fervor.
Everyone in the room and the room, itself, seemed to be shouting out the same message: “Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me!”
“Oh yeah!” Jake cried out. “ Sock it to me!”
He was having a fine old time, yes he was, uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah!
"Jake! Jake! Did you hear what I said? The music's changed. I can't dance to this stuff." Pat’s voice broke through the sexual energy that enveloped him. She went on, "And neither can you."
Jake stopped moving and listened to the syrupy tune and words dripping out of the speakers. Jesus! Someone — probably one of Bill’s blonde bimbos — had put on some stupid surfer song with no beat or soul.
“In the kitchen. I could go for some myself.” Pat was leading him toward the kitchen, her hand on his muscular arm. “Where’s Joanie,” she asked. “I haven’t seen her.”
Joanie! Shit! Jake had forgotten all about her. He’d promised to go back to her place later, but now all he wanted to do was make it with Pat and, from the looks she was giving him, it seemed like she had the same thing in mind. Shit! He was sick of Joanie and her fucking expectations of him. And where the hell was she anyway? Oh yeah, in the other fucking room, probably getting eaten out by that AC/DC chick Annie. Well, fuck her. If she didn’t come out soon, maybe he and Pat would slip upstairs for a quick one.
As they approached the kitchen door, he glanced around. He spotted Bill, standing alone for a change, bopping away goofily to that ridiculous surfer song.
Jesus! What a cornball Bill is! Jake closed the kitchen door quickly to blot out the god-awful song and the sight of Bill doing his little dance.
Links
NAACP
60's dancing
Aretha Franklin
The Beach Boys
Go to the next scene in Jake's story
New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 11 "New Year's Resolution"
Go to the previous scene in Jake's story
New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 9 "No White Boy's Shit"
Go to a related scene
New Year's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 4 "Praxis"
"What a crock!" Jake broke in.
Carl looked up at Jake, his mouth working soundlessly. Finally, he was able to blurt out, "Fuck you man, who the hell ast you?" Then he bolted off in the direction of the bar.
"Jake, that was pretty crude!" It was Pat, scolding him. "Carl may be a bit naive in his politics, but at least he's trying!"
Jake was taken aback by Pat’s reaction to his put-down of Carl. Pat Richardson had the coolest, if not the brightest, head on campus. Jake had always been fascinated by her mind, her boundless energy, and her brilliant political instincts. She was really too much! Jake found himself wondering where she would be ten years from now. Something in politics he was sure. A congressman? A White House advisor? A hot shot in the NAACP? Something big, that he knew.
Right now, though, the music was talking to him and he felt an overpowering urge to dance with her. What the hell! Just come out with it. "Let's boogie," he said, grabbing her right arm with his left and encircling her waist with his right.
He started them off in a kind of Lindy/Jitterbug dance he’d picked up from some of his black friends in the Hood. As he directed Pat’s movements in time with the music, he felt an almost forgotten surge of sexual energy fill his body.
Holding her right hand tightly with his left, he spun her out until she reached the end of her “tether,” at which point he tightened his grip and pulled her back with all his strength. This caused Pat to curl into him so that her back was now to him and her ass right up against his crotch. Grasping her free left hand with his right, Jake pulled both her arms tightly so they crossed over her small (but firm) breasts. He rocked her back and forth several times in this position; with each rock, she looked back at him, first over her right shoulder then over her left, her eyes sparkling and her mouth smiling at him seductively, as she moved easily under the guidance of his powerful arms.
The chick was almost beautiful when she smiled, Jake thought. Almost. He dug her afro — much better than the straightened hair she'd worn as a freshman. And he dug her firm little breasts, although unlike just about every other chick on campus, Pat wore a bra so you hardly noticed that she had tits at all. And he definitely dug the color of her skin — very dark, an almost purple-black. Jake found himself considering her possible origins. West Indian? Must be. Yeah, West Indian with little or no white overseer's blood involved. Yeah, he definitely dug this chick. He wondered what she'd be like in bed. One thing for sure, she'd be black all over. None of this tan-line shit that Joanie and most of the other chicks he slept with had. And her bush? He bet it'd be kinky like her 'fro. Yeah, he could dig that. The hell with Joanie; this black chick was more like what he needed right now. No complications, just a good fuck!
He spun Pat out again, roughly this time, and pulled her back in, even more strongly than the first time. When her ass pressed against his crotch this time, he pulled her arms really tight and initiated a little bump and grind to which she responded with renewed fervor.
Everyone in the room and the room, itself, seemed to be shouting out the same message: “Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me!”
“Oh yeah!” Jake cried out. “ Sock it to me!”
[Note: Turn off "Respect" above before starting up Don't Worry, Baby" Below.]
Soundtrack:Don't Worry Baby---The Beach Boys
"Jake! Jake! Did you hear what I said? The music's changed. I can't dance to this stuff." Pat’s voice broke through the sexual energy that enveloped him. She went on, "And neither can you."
Jake stopped moving and listened to the syrupy tune and words dripping out of the speakers. Jesus! Someone — probably one of Bill’s blonde bimbos — had put on some stupid surfer song with no beat or soul.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “You’re right, Pat. Want something to drink? I’m thirsty. In fact I’m thirsty and hungry. Any food around?”
“In the kitchen. I could go for some myself.” Pat was leading him toward the kitchen, her hand on his muscular arm. “Where’s Joanie,” she asked. “I haven’t seen her.”
Joanie! Shit! Jake had forgotten all about her. He’d promised to go back to her place later, but now all he wanted to do was make it with Pat and, from the looks she was giving him, it seemed like she had the same thing in mind. Shit! He was sick of Joanie and her fucking expectations of him. And where the hell was she anyway? Oh yeah, in the other fucking room, probably getting eaten out by that AC/DC chick Annie. Well, fuck her. If she didn’t come out soon, maybe he and Pat would slip upstairs for a quick one.
As they approached the kitchen door, he glanced around. He spotted Bill, standing alone for a change, bopping away goofily to that ridiculous surfer song.
Jesus! What a cornball Bill is! Jake closed the kitchen door quickly to blot out the god-awful song and the sight of Bill doing his little dance.
Links
NAACP
Aretha Franklin
The Beach Boys
Go to the next scene in Jake's story
New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 11 "New Year's Resolution"
Go to the previous scene in Jake's story
New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 9 "No White Boy's Shit"
Go to a related scene
New Year's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 4 "Praxis"
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