Lo, the unbelievers shall descend upon this post with claims of fraud and malfeasance. They will insist it never happened.
But it did!
If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that weird stuff happens to me all the time so you won’t be all that surprised. However, since I will be discussing sex and parades (two very randy topics) I will make every effort to keep it clean and g-rated. So let’s get to it.
When my ex and I were teens we didn’t have a place to go to physically express our romantic feelings and since we were struggling musicians we didn’t have money for a hotel.
But I did have a car and what a car it was. Imagine a red 4 door 1960 Pontiac Bonneville with a V-8 engine that had already racked up 128,000 miles since it came off the assembly line 12 years earlier. If it could float it would probably classified as a battleship and be fitted with eighteen inch cannons. Needless to say there was plenty of room for smootchin’ in the backseat but for those who know New York, know there are very few places one can go for privacy.
Of course there was the drive-in. Otherwise known as the world’s cheapest motel but the movies changed every 7 days and that’s too long a wait if you’re a boy and girl in their late teens with hormone overload.
So we started scouting out of the way locations hoping to find an area private enough for us to perform the unspeakable acts of depravity and debauchery we so enjoyed.
Unfortunately, most of the places we found weren’t as private as we thought, judging by the number of times the cops pulled up behind, got out and rapped their flashlight on the fogged up windows.
Thank goodness for fogged up windows!
Anyway, I remembered the roads leading to Ferry Point Park in the Bronx. For the mile or so from the Bruckner Expressway off-ramp to the park itself, the area was primarily empty lots and warehouses. Nary an occupied dwelling for at least a third of a mile.
One night we set out, found a street far from any personal residence and seeing only a closed warehouse with 2 trucks parked outside, decided we were safe from prying eyes and viewed it as an ‘all systems go’ signal from the Universe.
But as we all know, the Universe has a bizarre sense of humor.
So, we quickly slipped into our birthdays suits (wink, wink) and proceeded to…well use your imagination you naughty, naughty person!
Anyway, so we’re all kneecaps, asses and elbows when we hear a thumping sound in the distance. We ignore it but a minute or so later, we hear it again. She gets concerned, so I rubbed a clear patch on the fogged window and look out.
No big deal, apparently one of the trucks parked outside the warehouse was making a delivery, so we figure when they finish they’ll take off.
Satisfied, we get back to business but minutes later, numerous other noises, some particularly odd, fill the air, but being in the midst of woofkie-foofkie, we paid no attention.
I remember a golden oldie was playing on the radio that night. One of my favorites, “I Only Have Eyes For You’. Beautiful song and as we lay in the afterglow of love making, wrapped in each other’s arms, a base drum, followed by the thunderous blare of snare drums, trumpets, glockenspiels and tubas suddenly filled the air with a rousing rendition of the ever popular ‘Star and Stripes Forever’.
As my beloved kicked me into the roof of the car and scrambled for her clothes, I— after tumbling back to the seat— wiped away a section of fogged window and saw the St. Helena High School marching band passing by in perfect lockstep formation, apparently practicing for the upcoming Thanksgiving Day parade!
“Wow!” I said. “Sex and a parade, could this day get any better?”
My betrothed however, did not possess my appreciation for the art form and expressed her dissatisfaction by saying: “Stop staring at the (bleeping) parade you (bleeping) moron and get us the (bleep) out of here!”
Ahh, young love. There’s really nothing like it.
I later discovered that St Helena’s High regularly used that particular street to practice because of its distance from residential housing.
Good to know.
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