Here’s another one of my stories from my youth. Not too much happened here, but what the hell, I’m gonna tell it anyway. I wrote this last night as a comment on my friend John Howell’s blog. So, if John doesn’t mind me stealing from his blog, here goes. If he he does mind, I’ll take it down … after everyone (all seven of my followers) have read it.
Disclaimer: My editor was not available. So any errors are her fault. She should have been around.
My only time in New Orleans (18 yrs. of age) was when I was hitchin’ to California and got picked up by this guy that was passing through New Orleans. He was telling me about it and telling my 18 year-old self about the bars. He asked me if I wanted to hit a bar or two with him. Of course, I said yes. Then he said I could have my choice of bars. One that played blues or one that had strippers. Guess which one I chose? I was a virgin at the time.
So I’m sitting at the bar with my new friend while this woman pranced on the bar in front of me. She and all the other girls knew what a cherry I was. But I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I was so cool. But they knew better. She winked at my friend and laughed. He nodded and smiled back.
All too soon it was time to leave. So we got back in his car and headed west. On the outskirts of town, he pulled into a motel parking lot. “I’m gonna hit the hay. You’re welcome to share my room if you want,” he said.
Now, you gotta understand this guy was macho-plus. Six-foot, three inches tall. Deep voice, cowboy boots, the whole nine yards. I’m a kid. 140 pounds and wet wet behind the ears. Green beyond belief.
Well, I took him up on his kind offer. When we got in the room, I laid out my sleeping bag on floor over against the far wall. The guy turned off the lights and got into the bed. Things were quite for a little while. Then out of the darkness I heard, “You can sleep in the bed if you want.”
“No, thank you. I’m cool.”
“No … thank you.”
He started to cry. I stayed where I was. I went to sleep and was surprised when I woke up the next morning not dead.
I rolled up my bag and left while he was still asleep. I went out to the road in the early morning mist and stuck out my thumb and left New Orleans and my friend far behind.
That is what I think of when I think of New Orleans.