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The summer of 1966 rolled around like any other year in sleepy, small town Pennsylvania. While most of the town’s residents may not have even noticed, things were actually going pretty good for me. I had graduated high school, I still had my job in my friend’s father’s shop doing basic machine shop work, I still had my ’61 Impala SS and most importantly, I was still going out with Debbie. Debbie and I were both 18 now, which meant that even though we were not old enough to drink in Pennsylvania where the drinking age was still 21, we could trek out on occasion to Staten Island or even Manhattan and enjoy the vast array of clubs. You could say we were both really enjoying our newfound freedom and mobility. The other thing we liked to do in the summer, was to head out to the New Jersey shore. There was a small, relatively secluded section near Sandy Hook that we felt we had “discovered.” There never seemed to be anyone else around and we often made full use of our relative privacy. One particular outing I recall quite vividly. I had washed and Simonized the white Impala that morning. I drove to pick Debbie up at her house shortly before noon. I pulled up to Debbie’s house, or should I say rumbled up, as the car now had headers and glass-pack mufflers. I parked and went up and knocked on her door. Debbie answered the door wearing a rather sheer beach cover-up which barely concealed the white two-piece swimsuit underneath. She looked rather radiant with her blonde hair bouncing as she approached. With a ankara travesti big smile, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then ran back into the house to grab her things. She soon came back carrying a large woven beach bag and a transistor radio her uncle gave her for her birthday. We got in the car and headed out towards the highway. It would be at least a couple of hours till we got to the shore but neither of us was really in a hurry. Getting there would be half the fun. As we hit Route 33, the breeze came blasting in through the open car windows. I glanced over at Debbie from time to time and could see her trying to keep her long blonde hair from blowing in her face. The strong breeze made the remaining curls dance wildly above her dark, plastic framed sunglasses as she smiled back at me. The suns rays did their own dance as they alternately lit up Debbie’s tanned thighs as she sat there on the big vinyl bench seat. Occasionally I would reach over and brush her left thigh with the back of my hand which would elicit a quick giggle. Out on the highway, the rumble of the big dual exhaust pipes quickly drowned out the radio. I reached over and turned it up. ‘Wild Thing’ by The Troggs was playing, a song which was a big hit that year. Debbie and I both really liked the song. “Wild Thing. You make my heart sing. You make everything groovy.” I reached over and stroked her chin as I mouthed the words. Again, she giggled softly. After exiting Route 33, when we were well into New Jersey, we stopped ankara travestileri at a soda fountain and shared a root beer float. I went over to the jukebox and put on ‘Wild Thing.’ As the song started to play, I got behind Debbie and started to run my fingers through her long, blonde hair. “Wild Thing, I think I love you. But I want to know for sure.” As the song played I reached forward and whispered the words into her ear, my nose gently nuzzling her earlobe. I could feel her body tremor lightly as I softy caressed her neck with my fingertips. She leaned her head back into my face as I buried my face into her soft, blonde locks. When we finished our floats, we headed back out on the highway. In about an hour we were at Sandy Hook and parked the car. It was a bit of a hike from where we were to the beach, but not too bad. After we got out of the car, I led Debbie around to the trunk to show her what I had brought with us. “Here, check it out. You’ll like this.” I said as I popped the trunk open. “Gary, you didn’t.” She answered. “Oh, yes I did!” I showed her a case of beer I had stashed in the trunk. “Here, give me your bag.” I said. She somewhat hesitantly handed me the big woven bag as I proceeded to take out the sandwiches and replace them with two six packs. I figured the sandwiches could be carried out in the open easily enough. “Here, carry the sandwiches. I’ll take the bag.” I told her as I handed her the food. I closed the trunk as we began the walk to the beach. When we got onto travesti ankara the sand, we both removed our shoes. The sand was hot on the bottoms of our feet, but we soon made our way down by the water. The damp sand felt cool and soothing on our bare soles as the ocean waves lapped across the tops of our feet. We proceeded to walk hand in hand past the crowd sunbathing on the surf. We knew where we wanted to go. About fifteen minutes later, we had walked well past the end jetties and found our relatively secluded spot that we held so dear. We set up the little belongings we brought and turned on the transistor radio. Debbie and I sat there in the sand just holding hands for some time barely saying a word. We were just enjoying the gorgeous blue sky adorned with puffy clouds that hung like cotton candy over the crystal clear blue water. The gulls sang their own special tune as they hovered overhead, sometimes passing so close it seemed you could reach out and grab one. After a while, I reached into the bag and took out two beers. I opened one and passed it to Debbie and then opened one for myself. Where we were sitting was for all practical purposes invisible to the other beachgoers because of the position of the jetties. After a few beers, we headed into the water and had fun splashing each other and bobbing up and down in the waves. As Debbie’s bathing suit top got wetter, it just seemed to hug the curves of her perfect breasts just that much tighter. Don’t think it went unnoticed. A couple of beers later, our splashing and bobbing turned into a full-fledged game of one on one tag. We were just having fun in the sun on a perfect beach day. I went over to the bag to get myself another beer and I heard “Wild Thing” come on the radio.

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