Let's remember Marsha, the girl in the stories I recounted about the Electra Palace hotel in Thessaloniki and the cop on the levee. She was a part of my young life that I do think about a lot these days. I've been told that she's teaching at a tech school--- geology, maybe geochemistry ---these days. I'm told that she's planning a wedding for her daughter. I have to sigh at that. Still, she is in my thoughts--- or at least the stories I know from her past keep coming to mind.
I saw "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" not long ago. I had to note that Marsha reminded me of Margaret Qualley's character--- the hippie girl Pussycat who was one of Charlie Manson's followers. Marsha was never a hippie girl, though she was an outdoors girl. Not quite so tall as Margaret Qualley, and with larger breasts, but the same long, slender legs and a preference for short shorts and sandals. I'll have to think here for a moment. If not quite Margaret Qualley's character, then maybe Kat Dennings in "Daydream Nation". In any case, excellent legs and long, dark-brown hair. I've always preferred long legs to large breasts, but she was a 36C, which went with the outdoors girl look.
Back in January I wrote about her adventure in Thessaloniki with the rich Greek boy, the one who drove her up above the city in his vintage MG. Marsha did have a thing for sports cars. She had posters of exotic ones--- Aston-Martins, Bugattis ---on her bedroom walls at home along with posters from ski resorts. I'll suspect that as soon as the Greek boy showed her his MG, he was three-quarters of the way to getting her shorts off...and certainly set to get road head.
Memory says that there was a boy--- older than she was, of course, in his mid-twenties ---with a sports car that she knew here. He had a sports car, naturally. I can't recall what kind, though I think it was a Triumph rather than an MG. My own knowledge of vintage sports cars is minimal at best, and all I can think of would be a Triumph Spitfire or a TR-6. He had one, though, and she was stunned and thrilled to be able to ride in it.
What do I know about the boy? Very little, really. She was fifteen or sixteen when they met; I think he was twenty-four. Her first sports car, and her first older man. His name was Tony--- I do remember that. He was called Tony T, though I have no idea what the the T stood for. Marsha met him through her older sister, who briefly dated him. I think Marsha decided to make her own play for Tony after her sister broke up with him, but the mechanics of it all are a mystery. Marsha's sister Pamela (a film devotee) described Tony once as looking a bit like a younger version of Richard Harris' King Arthur in "Camelot". These days, I have to to rack my memory for what that would've meant. I'll note that I stayed friends with Pamela long after Marsha and I had gone our separate ways. I don't think I ever asked her outright about Tony and Marsha, but she may have told me things over the years. Anyway...what else do I know? Older than Marsha. He rented a small house down by the river. He worked offshore, and then or later he worked as a diver around offshore rigs.
She did tell me that he was her first road head. Not her first oral experience, not by any means, but certainly the first in a moving car. Watching Margaret Qualley blithely ask Brad Pitt if he wanted her to give him head while they drove did make me wonder how her first road head happened. Did she offer him her favors to get a ride in the Triumph? Did Tony tell her that the price of admission for a ride at speed down country roads was a blowjob? I'd like to think that he looked at her over the inevitable aviator Ray-Bans and told her that there was a price for a place in the passenger seat. I'll expect that his smile was insufferable, but just what a tenth-grade girl would've swooned over.
Marsha did spend a lot of time at his house, she told me later. Drinking Heinkens and smoking weed, of course. Cutting school to go do that with a hot older boyfriend was exactly what just what every bougie girl at our school would've thought was a perfect weekday afternoon. They spent a lot of time in bed--- and of course his bed was two mattresses on the floor. Well, at least it wasn't a waterbed. There have to be limits. Always. He liked her FDAU--- face down, ass up ---and he was the first one to introduce her to sodomitical practices. He liked feeling her squirm, and as the older man, he was a bit nervous about getting an underage girl pregnant. Not enough to do anything about contraception, she told me, but certainly enough to get him to do anal sex a fair amount.
Driving with Tony was always about him fingering her down her shorts or under a short skirt. Marsha's usual habit when driving was to kick off her sandals and put her bare feet up on the dash. She'd never heard of a foot fetish at fifteen or sixteen, but she knew that Tony (and a few other older men later) always wanted her barefoot. But having her feet up on the dash made it easier for him to get a hand up her skirt. The Triumph was too small for sex in the car, but Tony knew all the places along the river roads to get out of the car with a picnic blanket.
I used to have visions of Marsha with her shorts off, standing barefoot on the seat of the convertible Triumph, hanging onto the roll bar while she wrapped her legs around Tony. Probably not a viable position, though he could have used it to go down on her. Alas, though, I suspect that vintage Triumphs didn't have roll bars in those days.
Not a lot of drama to the story, mind you. She spent a few months sneaking off from school to Tony's house, and he spent a fair number of afternoons speeding down country roads with her giving him head. In the end, I suppose, they both grew bored. I wonder if she'd had sex in a Triumph and wanted to move up to something else, whatever that may have been in those days (a Porsche?)...or if she had a pregnancy scare...or if she worried about being caught skipping school. I do wonder what would've happened if her parents had caught her with Tony. The drama I think would've been worth seeing.
My lovely long-legged blonde friend in NZ told me that she always took the opportunity to be naked in a fast car with an older lover behind the wheel. My friend in Asheville once pulled off her sundress and drove home naked down back roads one summer night in a battered old pickup truck. I'd like to think Marsha was naked in at least a few sports cars in her teen days. She didn't try being without underwear until later--- something I persuaded her to do ---but I like to think that she'd launched at least a few pairs of bikini panties into the wind and sat with her legs open and sandals off on sunlit drives down the highway.
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