Kutsher’s was one one of the biggest summer resorts in the area, and during the summer evenings there were dances. Weekends featured big-name acts that played the Borscht-Belt circuit. These shows were followed by everyone getting on the dance floor. It was obvious that most of the older women — 40s, 50s and above — really didn’t know how to cut a rug. Meanwhile their husbands really didn’t participate. They were busy in the game room playing seven card stud.
But back on the dance floor I soon became the resident dance instructor, partner and all-around cool, young guy who knew all the dances — from the waltz to the boogaloo. I was slick. Inadvertently, I was using the dancing to learn the nuances of stirring the inner wants and needs that were boiling just below the surface of all my dance partners. These women were well dressed, well-provided for and all of them there to have fun while dancing the night away on a warm summer night. Occasionally they drank a bit too much but they were always proper, and all of them smelled fragrantly delicious to me back in 1961.
One night as I was doing The Twist to Chubby Checker with Mrs. Mandell continuing to lean on me, The Four Tops jump-started my soul and Mrs. G’s thigh rubbing on mine began to jump-start something else. Then a young lady cut in. It was Mrs. G’s daughter wanting her turn on the dance floor. Monica was maybe 19 or 20, fresh as a spring morning, extremely pretty, well groomed and delightful. She was devilishly aggressive. She basically moved her mother aside, saying, “I love this song.” We danced doing the Frug. The night moved on as we swept around the dance floor moving through the others making for a striking couple of young-uns amidst the elders. I actually didn’t realize that we had danced out into the summer evening and to the swimming pool. We found our way to a chaise lounge in a desolate corner of the empty pool area.
With only the moonlight and the soft summer breezes we began to make out My heart was beating out of my chest as we rolled onto the cement pavement. She took the lead and unzipped me as I lay next to her. My mind was racing. I did not want to get caught by my employers, or her mother or any of the hotel guests. I did want to get laid. Now I was on top of her, my knees scraping on the cement .She put me inside her. Or did she? Damn if I could tell what was really happening down there. My knees hurt. They were becoming raw. Monica was schooled at this, I could tell. She guided me, whispered to me… and fucked me silly until a strange warm feeling crept through me and a kind of fluid oozed out of me and into her. After a minute, she scurried off saying, “See ya back inside.”
Yes, I got laid right there and then, for the very first time. It was wonderful. I was confused, excited and sitting on the concrete poolside with my pants around my ankles and a gooey film around my 15-year-old dick.
DON’T GET ME STARTED!