Such was the case with a beautiful young Swedish exchange student we'll call "Marika" I met shortly after graduation. She was living with my buddy's girlfriend's family and since he and I were close, it was only a matter of time before we all started hanging out together. At the time, I lived in Valencia, California which was a smallish town back in the 1980's. As such, everyone knew everyone and you pretty much dated in your own social circle. There was no internet, cell phones didn't exist yet and the concept of social media was as foreign as abstinence is to a Catholic high school girl.
Inevitably, I fell for Marika and given there wasn't much competition, she was eventually swayed by my charms. I actually had a little game back in the day but even so, I knew she was way out of my league. She was everything you ever heard about Swedish co eds. A stunning blonde, blue eyes and built like a Playboy bunny. But she was actually sweet, nice and had a great sense of humor. She kept telling me how much I looked like George Michael, which may have had some truth to it, but as long as she wanted to jump me, I didn't care if she thought I looked like Mick Jagger.
I was determined to win her. I wined and dined her, brought her flowers and took the time to get to know her. After about four months of this, she finally capitulated and a romance blossomed.
What I didn't realize was that this woman had the sexual appetite of a female inmate. Anywhere, anytime, it didn't matter. On a car, in a car, against a car, a phone booth, the bathroom and Burger King, I could have it my way with her just about anytime. A date with her usually left me with hickeys, rug burns or bruises. Thankfully, I was not living at home during this time or my mom certainly would've asked me questions I could've only answered with creepy grins.
Ironically, I was initially reluctant to get involved with Marika as I knew that exchange students eventually must go home and I'd probably never see her again. I was determined to appreciate every moment I had left with her.
One day during Spring Break of her senior year, we went swimsuit shopping to a department store in the Valley.Back in those days, dressing rooms were just becoming co ed and she suggested that I follow her in to one to view the suits all at once so that she didn't have to parade around the department store. Seemed logical to me.
Before we got to the dressing room, she was stopped and told that women are not allowed to try on swimsuits. Making up an excuse, she hid a few in her mix of summer dresses to try on.
I was a little uncomfortable being in the dressing room, as it was a high traffic area and people of all ages were coming and going. Despite this, our romance was new and any excuse to see her naked sounded good to me.
As she peeled off her street clothes to reveal cute little white undergarments, I was having difficulty breathing. When she tried on the first summer dress sans bra, she could tell I was paying full attention. She pressed herself and pushed me up against the wall. As she did so, she flipped up the back of her dress to reveal her best side. If you've ever seen a tanned blonde in white undies, it really is one of the seven wonders of the world.
Within seconds, we were kissing and groping each other. As she reached for my belt, I grabbed her hand and said "are you nuts? Not here!" Her reply was brilliant. She pulled back, leaned against the mirror and got a sad look on her face and said 'I'm only here a few more months.' Good point.
Naturally, with all the blood having left my brain, I was in no position to think logically. The passion resumed and within moments, my pants were down around my high top Vans and we were getting busy. Within seconds, we heard voices...and we froze. An elderly gentleman was entering the stall next store to try on clothes. Mind you, we were already in the act.
Frozen like statues, we waited for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly and quietly, we resumed our activity. After a few moments, we heard heavy breathing coming from the stall next door. We timed our movements in rhythm with the breathing but before long, the breathing turned even heavier. After a moment or two of that, we were sure we were caught when we heard the man utter "Nail her, nail her."
Realizing the jig was probably up, we sped up like rabbits trying to finish the act before all hell broke loose. In my head, I thought for a moment that the guy was in his still listening to what was going on and "pleasuring himself." I whispered to Marika softly as I paused the passion, "what if he's in there rubbing one out?" Marika replied 'eeww....that's gross. Can men still do that at that age?' Always with the jokes, I replied "yes, but it's illegal to do it in public. It's called Assault With a Dead Weapon."
Marika and I giggled but soon, our interlocked anatomy reminded us that we had unfinished business.
Seconds later, the man burst out of his stall and we heard a loud crash. Still muttering "nail her, nail her!" he was quickly joined by (I assume) his wife who exclaimed "oh my God!" just as Marika pretty much proclaimed the same phrase.
We hurriedly tried to get dressed but in the process, I caught "myself" in my zipper. It was a pretty severe cut too, as I was bleeding pretty noticeably from "down under." As we tried to exit the dressing stall, the door was partially blocked by the man's wife who was kneeling over her fallen husband. In her hand, she had one of those asthma inhaler thingies. Turns out he was having an asthma attack and was asking for his INHALER.
Right about that time, the store security guard rushed in, followed by a couple of clerks. Mind you, I had blood spatters all down the front of my pants and some serious "swelling" that hadn't subsided, if you know what I mean.
An older woman store clerk noticed this and I quickly made the excuse that I had caught myself in my zipper and my girlfriend was trying to help me get unstuck. Whether or not she bought didn't matter, we just wanted to get out of there. Marika, being a good samaritan, leaned over the man to try and provide some assistance. Unfortunately, in doing so, she exposed her breast and his condition worsened. Realizing we were probably doing more harm than good, I grabbed her arm and assisted we leave.
We tried to exit discreetly, but over the PA came the announcement 'we need Security to women's swimwear.' Panicked at the notion that we may have been accessories to something, we sped up our pace to a fast walk, then a run.
We basically fled the store like shoplifters and made our way to my car in the parking garage. Driving away, we had a good laugh, but the bleeding hadn't quite subsided. Marika, being the caregiver she was, offered to 'kiss it and make it better,' but I figured we'd had enough fun for the day.
In time, the relationship fizzled as she moved away and while the emotional scar eventually healed, the physical scar is a reminder of my sexy exchange student experience. To this day, to prevent having to explain myself, any time I get intimate, I make sure the lights are off. No one knows this about me except maybe my doctor...and now, pretty much everyone reading my blog. Fortunately, with my recent vasectomy, I can blame it on that...and probably will. Think anyone will catch on?
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