Sara Dean long and lean

Sara Dean my movie Queen.

Sara Dean just a dream?

Sara Dean my Sara Dean.

She wasn't really long and lean. She was rather short, with long dark hair, but a body, ohhh my. In those days any girl that even looked at me was as good as a movie queen, but Sara, she was a goddess, at least in the beginning.

As for a dream; she might have been, a dream that stirred emotions I had no words for (perhaps best described as lust).

And as far as Sara Dean being mine, That was true for a few fleeting moments in the winter of 1970.

To think that a generation has been born since then.

I first met her at a rally of the Liberal Religious Youth in Schenectady, New York. The LRY was just what it claimed to be, young people expressing their liberalness, albeit within the confines of the Unitarian Church. It was the winter of 1969. I was just hanging around trying to look "hip". Had my palm read by a great looking chic. We made significant eye contact, the safest of safe sex. Such an experience carried with it all the hopes and desires of a sexual encounter without the emotional or physical pain of actual contact. In the sixties, it was generally thought to be a precursor to more

intimate associations, but for me it often turned out to be the sum total of a date. After all, it was a lot easier to have meaningful eye contact then get up the nerve to ask a girl to do...well you know. It did, however, save embarrassing and potentially crushing ramifications; such as, outward displays of social ignorance, including not knowing the words to "Satisfaction" or unintentional yet potentially devastating accidents, like tripping over ones bell bottoms.

Anyway, after my palm reading I watched this half naked couple on the back lawn of the congregation hall. They were oblivious to the fact that it was only forty degrees outside. The girls body was ok, not great, she had a big butt. His was skinny, thin, white, chalk white. He had a dark matt of hair on his chest. I became very self conscious as I watched and wondered if other people were looking at me, watching them. I don't remember doing anything out of the ordinary, I mean my tongue wasn't hanging out of my mouth, I wasn't salivating or anything. The whole scene was decidedly un-sexy but there was something hypnotic about it.

Sara Dean was one of the people watching. She melted my loins right then and there, even though she was hung around this very skinny guys neck like love beads. (What was it with skinny guys with long hair back then?) Her hair was held in a loose pony tail by leather thongs and she wore rawhide boots with white fur coming out the tops. Her faded jeans, looking soft and pliable, were tucked into her boots, giving full shape to her calf, to her legs, to her firm rear end... She saw me, made eye contact and smiled. I was beside myself. Then I thought; what if the smile was intended for someone else? I looked behind me, no, she was smiling at me. My heart leapt into my throat. She had smiled at me. Did it mean she liked me? She didn't even know me. Was I funny looking? I vowed I would talk to her as soon as she was alone.

She was never alone.

I saw her hanging around the necks of at least three different guys that weekend. I spent the good part of it following her around, discreetly of course; hiding behind pillars and blending in with crowds, but soon the weekend ended and there had been no talking to Sara Dean. Still, I could not get her out of my mind.

Fast forward to January 1970, another gathering. This time a conference at a camp in the woods of the northern Adirondacks, used to entertain spoiled rich kids during the summer. In the winter it was isolated, surrounded by desolate windswept woods, we were all alone, young adults becoming socially aware and physically/sexually mature, did our parents know what they were doing sending us there?

I was sure that this was it, orgy city. I would finally sample the free love everyone had been talking about, but which had eluded me so far. I met up with some friends I had gotten to know from other LRY gatherings. Susan, a close but platonic friend from Saratoga. David, a talented and handsome half of a set, his brother Jim was also talented and handsome, they both had bone white hair. We got together and 'rapped', talked about the break up of the Beatles, about the war in Vietnam and future plans for demonstrations in February. The mood was much different from the last weekend, more serious, sincere and socially conscientious.

I hadn't seen Sara Dean, I wasn't even sure she was coming. I felt apprehensive and slightly depressed.

I had thought about her a lot during those long weeks since Schenectady. I ached for her. I dreamed of finding her alone in the woods by the lake, oh what bliss it would be. I rehearsed what I would say over and over in my mind.

I believe that at seventeen what ever social passion burns in a man or a woman is sexual in nature, the force of the world drives like a steamroller over the emotionally naive. I could not look forward to or care about anything else in my life until I found Sara.

Fortunately I did, at dinner she was hung around another skinny guy with hair down to his ass. She definitely had an attraction for guys that looked like they could be blown over by a stiff breeze.

I tried to catch her gaze but she was sitting too far down. She did glance my way a few times but never saw me.

After dinner I followed them to the main recreation hall. They were headed for the discussion group that was announced at dinner. I wasn't really interested in the subject but would have gone anywhere, done anything, to be near her.

As I settled onto a piece of floor, waiting for the seminar to begin, she saw me and waved. She smiled that Sara Dean smile and I was gone.

You know the old,' you want to make significant eye contact but you don't want the other person to think you are that interested, ploy?' I was trying it for the first time. I gave her a few looks, then would seem engrossed in the discussion. Slyly I would check to see if she was looking at me through my peripheral vision. I didn't want her to get the impression I was staring at her but I did want her to realize I was interested. I thought it was working pretty well until my legs fell asleep.

I knew I would have to get up and walk around, or be crippled for life. As it happened, Sara and her skinny dude were getting up just about then. This was disaster because I didn't want to get up just after they got up otherwise it would look obvious that I was getting up just because they were getting up and... who said that an adolescent mind was rational. I now had to wait just the right amount of time not to be obvious but not to lose them either. I nudged the guy next to me and asked where the bathroom was. He didn't seem to notice that when I did get up I headed in the opposite direction.

I followed Sara and her scarecrow, keeping just out of sight. I felt dumb and sneaky, but that didn't stop me. They talked to some friends and I slid behind a counter. They headed to the make-out room (A room set aside for socializing...in the dark). I heard her laugh. A raw, queazy feeling came into my stomach. I wanted to make her laugh.

I peeked over the counter. I saw her hand slipping into the back pocket of the skinny guys jeans. My eyes started to water, but I moved off after them.

"Hey Sherm, Sherman." Susan came out of a doorway. Susan was always quick with unsolicited personal advice. (In a pique of depression I had revealed my secret desire for Sara to her.)

"She's a boy chaser." She smirked. "She's a cock teaser, all she wants is a body count. Another guy another notch in her belt." I listened half heartily. Being another notch right now was O.K. by me.

By the time Susan realized I was a hopeless case Sara was nowhere to be seen. My mind went wild. Picturing her off in some dark corner with the skinny guy on top of her firm round body... I wanted to scream.

I went for a walk.

The night was cold and clear the snow crunched under foot. I walked along the lake, the moon reflecting off it's frozen surface. It wasn't long before I was chilled and started to head back to the dorms.

The path was slick with hard packed snow and ice and I had to watch my every step, so that was why when I looked up I gasped the gasp of indefinable panic, I could not believe my eyes. There she was, Sara, the Sara, my Sara, Sara Dean, coming towards me, alone, with her fur lined boots and tight lambskin soft jeans. I panicked.

This was it, my chance, the moment I had been fantasizing about, waiting for. My mind raced a thousand miles an hour, I was suddenly sweating under the layers of sweaters and jackets. My mouth seemed dry and all I could think to say was...hi. When we were about ten feet apart she saw me. Her eyes met mine, those perfect eyes, the eyes poems are made for. She smiled a perfect smile and just started to speak when.... WHAAP! THUD! she went down, disappearing from my sight. Falling hard on her exquisite rear end. This was fate, this was Kismet, heaven smiling down on me, I could be the gallant hero, the knight, her man of the hour...but what did I do? Ran, I ran. I don't know what happened, all of a sudden my legs were running. I tried to stop them, I even fell a number of times, face first, I deserved it. I could only imagine her bewilderment, but I never saw it, because I was running in the opposite direction.

I couldn't believe what I had done. I spent the rest of the conference in utter disgrace and terror of meeting her again and having to explain myself. I did everything I could to avoid her. Susan laughed when I told her. She said that Sara probably slipped on purpose. I could have punched her right in the nose.

Jump ahead, a year later. Winter again and this time we are headed for Canada. The year had been good for me, I had matured, I had a summer fling and that helped my self-esteem no end. Carol had absolutely no interest in any kind of social consciousness unless it had to do with the latest fashion statement. I was looking forward to the Canada trip since I hadn't seen my old friends in much of that year and I hadn't seen Sara Dean at all. I thought I had gotten her out of my system, especially since our last encounter on the ice.

I was standing in the bus terminal with my knapsack, cowboy hat and wearing an old army jacket that I had gotten recently on a visit to my Uncles in D.C.. I had just learned how to roll cigarettes and was practicing.

Ron, at school, told me it was a sign of maturity, so I did it, even though I didn't smoke. I waited an hour or so and still did not recognize anyone in the terminal. I looked at my watch and knew the others should have arrived by now. Something was wrong. Had I gotten the days mixed up? Was I early or late? Finally I spotted a couple of kids that looked familiar at the snack bar. I went up to them and asked if they were here for the youth charter to Ottawa. They said they were and came over here to get something to eat since the other terminal across the street didn't have a snack bar. The other terminal, of course.

When I met up with the others there was the usual hugging and kissing. There was a lot to catch up on so we all sat on our packs and sleeping bags in a circle in the middle of the bus terminal. After a half hour an announcement came over the loud speaker that our bus would be late. Another half hour later, we started singing and clapping. A half hour after that we were bored out of our minds.

I was sitting, my back against my pack, watching the people go by when I heard a familiar laugh behind me.

I turned half way around and saw the rawhide boots with white fur sticking out the tops. She was looking at me. "Sherm?" I was looking up at her, helpless. "I won't ask if I can help you up." ouch! but a well deserved ouch. The shock on my face must have been the same that had been on hers because she started to laugh. My face flushed.

"I...I, never got the opportunity to apologize about that time...I really do feel bad. She smiled. "I know. I like my men shy, you are forgiven." I wanted to say that she also liked her men skinny, but I didn't.

"I would like to ask a favor though."

"Sure." I was not over this girl.

"Could you let me sit next to you on the bus?"

I couldn't believe my ears, I tried to keep my heart from pounding through my chest.

"Sure, I mean, yes, I would like that."

She put her small blue suitcase next to my pack and sat down. I could feel my muscles tense and soon my leg fell asleep. This time I would let it fall off.

"Is that all you are bringing." I said referring to the suitcase.

"Sure, it's just a few changes of underwear."

Gulp!...I figured it was a case of out of sight out of mind. Now she was in sight and she was definitely on my mind. She too seemed to have matured in the past year.

I found it hard to put words into cohesive sentences so I let her do most of the talking:

"In the past year I have dated all sorts of guys, trying to figure out what ones I like the best. You know there are a lot of men willing to take advantage of someone like me and I am tired of being taken advantage of. Remember Billy, the guy I was with at the Schenectady conference last year?" I remembered him.

"Well he just up and left for Africa or someplace, didn't even tell me. I was shattered. Then there was Ted and Angelo...." She was giving me a laundry list of every guy she ever saw. I listened, perhaps I thought I could get some valuable tips on just how to be the perfect guy for her. Little did I know then that women always complain about what they need most in a man.

Finally the conversation drifted towards the Lake conference, but she didn't say anything, just that she thought I was good looking and wanted to know me better even then. I flushed, she giggled.

The bus finally came. We chose our seats, towards the back on the right side. I offered her the window seat she accepted. We stored our gear and sat down.

It was a four hour drive, I had at least four hours side by side with Sara Dean. I had to make a decision right then and there. There would be no forestalling any advances I wanted to make, yet I still felt awkward, one false move and she would be gone.

She saw I was nervous, she slipped her hand into mine. You know that feeling of the hand, a new hand, a soft hand, the hand gently scented and knowing. There was nothing like it. As you get older the sensuality of the hand gets lost amid all those other parts, but here it was as if the world had opened up and grabbed me.

There was a definite sexual tinge to the air as we pulled out of the station. By the time we hit the Adirondacks Sara and I were done talking. Our hands still clasped, a little sweaty and uncomfortable now, her head was on my shoulder. My desire was growing. She pressed her face closer to mine and suddenly we were in full contact, mouths on mouths, tongues around tongues. Her hands in my hair my hands reaching up her back.

Counting last summer, I had never experienced passion like that before. As far as I was concerned the world had melted away...almost.

Even in the height of passion I could not forget that we were on a crowded bus packed with people, people we knew. The bus had filled with the smell of incense and the windows were fogged beyond use. There was little we could do to hide anything so what was the sense in trying.

I was surprised to find she was wearing a bra, after all, this was the burn the bra era. Just the fact that she wore a bra made me think twice about pursuing my present modis operandi. I was no expert in matters of the bra. Friends boasted of undoing it with one hand but I was not schooled in such techniques.

After my rather inept tries, she reached around and undid it herself. That was a positive sign.

There I was, one hand on her beautifully formed breast, believe me, the breast of a goddess, our mouths crushed together, numb, my hand pressed against the window for support when all of a sudden the bus lurched to a stop. My hand slid forward jamming my fingers into the metal frame of the window, pain shot through my fingers and into my arm. Our mouths slipped, her teeth caught my lip and sliced it like a razor.

"Ten minute stop." The bus driver opened the doors to the cold winter air.

Sara Sat up pinning my arm behind her while she straightened her sweater.

"I think I'd better go to the ladies room." She gave me a peck on the cheek and got up to leave.

The middle finger of my right hand and my lower lip were bleeding. I nursed my wounds, sucking on my finger and looking at my lip in the reflection of the window. I knew she would be right back so I had to stop the blood flow or our whole encounter might be over. This was my moment, my time with Sara Dean and I was not going to let a little pain get in my way.

There was another two hours before our arrival in Ottawa. I rejoiced at another two hours with Sara. Then I realized, why should it end there, we had the whole weekend. I smiled to myself. This was going to be the greatest weekend of my life.

Sara returned and we resumed pretty much where we left off. My finger throbbed but I didn't pay any attention to it. She had taken off her bra in the ladies room so everything was smooth sailing.

Sara pushed her mouth against mine with renewed vigor. She moved her hands down to my pants and I moved mine up to her breasts. She was kissing me so passionately that I was afraid things might be going too slowly for her. I tried to slip my hands between her legs but she had crossed them. Talk about your mixed signals. Her hand was doing a dance on my crotch and I was stuck with trying to pry her legs apart. Finally reaching for the zipper of her jeans she, still kissing me, full tongue and all, pushed my hand away. This was getting weird. Then I remembered where we were and suddenly I couldn't picture going much farther without it being a spectator event, then I remembered we had a whole weekend ahead, I relaxed, there was plenty of time. Besides everything started to get painful. Her hand grinding my groin, my cut lip already sore. We took a breather. Her face was flushed and her mouth was very red. She smiled.

Although we resumed briefly, the general thrust of our embrace was over. Had we discharged ourselves; fulfilled our unexpressed pent up desire and lust?

I had a twinge of fear, a thought that there was nothing left, that there might not be any further ground to be furrowed, I did not know what to do or say. I just smiled dumbly back at her.

Finally Sara turned to face front, her sweater still hiked up and her pants half undone. She turned to me suddenly, her face soft but perplexed. Her beauty at that moment was astonishing, I could hardly believe I had the honor of being with her. She touched my cheek and I felt that there was something wrong, something she wanted to say, but she didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. We were silent the rest of the way, looking into each others eyes every now and then. The lights of Ottawa getting closer and closer until suddenly, we were there.

We sat waiting for the people in the seats ahead of us to leave. I wanted to turn to her and say that it didn't have to end that we had the whole weekend but then as I looked out of the window to the station, there on the platform stood a familiar tall skinny guy with long hair. I turned back to Sara, she was up reaching for her small blue suitcase. She bent down looking past me out the window. I caught her arm, her eyes filled with apology. She kissed me and walked down the aisle.

All feeling left my arms and legs. The pit of my stomach was a knot. She ran up to the skinny guy and they hugged and kissed. She kissed him with those same lips that just a little while ago had been locked with mine. She was again someone else and what did I have, a cut lip and a jammed finger. Susan chuckled over it but did not gloat.

I saw Sara again, almost a year later. Our eyes never met. She had gained weight, there was a rumor that she was pregnant.

Every once in a while, I will see someone who reminds me of Sara Dean. Although I have forgotten exactly what she looked like, it would be the way they carry themselves or how they toss their hair. I remember now, without longing, my first true passion.

Sara Dean just a dream?

Sara Dean my Sara Dean.

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