Summer of 1984

When we could, we’d sneak sex. If my parents were gone, John Mark would take his “lunch” in my bed. When they weren’t, I’d blow him in a bathroom, or he’d blow me in park, or we’d sneak a quick fuck in his car.

July turned to August, and August headed toward September. As I started at the local university, I wondered about Labor Day weekend. My grandparents and I were certainly headed to the cabin, but I wasn’t sure if John Mark was. DeeDee was close to popping, and I didn’t think she’d tolerate him being gone. I was surprised when John Mark told me she not only tolerated it, but encouraged it.

“That’s what we’ve become,” he said, with only a slight amount of melancholy. “She’d rather I wasn’t around.”

*****

With our grandparents there, we were back to the living room floor, and the loud, raucous sex of the 4th returned to the silent, furtive sex of Memorial Day. Still, there was none of the dance of Memorial Day weekend. We both knew and wanted what was going to happen. We fucked each other Friday night, and sucked each other Saturday morning.