S**T! THE RAMONES EVEN WROTE A SONG ABOUT IT!
If you were from South Queens back in the day, Rockaway Beach was your oasis: a veritable French Riviera for the working class -- the pristine sand decorated with crumpled beer cans, discarded condoms and occasional medical waste which washed up on shore.
Couldn’t afford a shitty, above ground pool for the backyard? Pack up the kids in the ol’ junk box and head for Rockaway. Shit, the Ramones even wrote a song about it.
There I was, soaking in the sun along with bikini-clad Katie and four other girls from our 60 Park crew. Katie looked amazing in that bikini: yellow with black polka dots. At one point, she’d decided to cool off in the water. When she got back to the blanket, I noticed that her sea-soaked bikini bottom had somehow hiked itself up; leaving her with a self-inflicted wedgie that all but exposed her glorious posterior. Although this was the pre-thong era, Katie had apparently seen the future – and I, the very gateway to paradise.
“Katie, your ass is totally showing!” Maryanne, one of the girls in our crew, said.
Katie nonchalantly reached behind her and yanked the material of her bikini down over her shapely bottom. Lying there next to her on a beach towel, staring straight up at those magnificent glutes, I silently thanked the Lord that I’d chosen to wear my old, baggy cut-offs rather than my tight-fitting swim trunks. No, that sure as hell wasn’t a banana in my pocket.
“You’re shoulders look pretty red, Quinn. How about a little sunscreen?” Maryanne said.
Maryanne had made it abundantly clear that she had a thing for me. She was a cute girl. A little too zaftig for my tastes at the time – and definitely no competition for Katie: the Emerald Isle’s answer to Phoebe Cates.
I thought Maryanne was going to simply pass me the bottle of sunscreen. Instead, she insisted on doing the honors.
“You’ve got big shoulders,” Maryanne said, as she slathered me with sunscreen, “You’re back is really muscular too.”
I glanced over at Katie who was now stretched out flat on her back on a beach blanket alongside me. Her eyes were shut as if deep asleep. I watched the slight, almost imperceptible rise and fall of her flat belly with each breath; the faint outline of her toned abs; the perfect “innie’ belly button; the smooth, sun-tanned skin.
I could’ve had sex with Maryanne right there next to Katie and the latter probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. That was my relationship with Katie in a nutshell. After Maryanne finished giving me a thorough lubing and checked my filter, Katie eyes suddenly sprang open. She sat up on her blanket.
“I could really go for some ice cream. Wanna take a walk with me, Quinn?”
No need to ask. In that bikini she was wearing, Katie was a stone adolescent masturbatory fantasy; a sex magnet for every creep on the beach. Every perv with eyes would have her image on speed dial – permanently burned into the CD ROM of the ol’ spank bank. Of course I was gonna go with her.
As we headed off toward the boardwalk, I let her have a little bit of a head start so I could enjoy the view. Oh, that ass! (Hey, I needed a snapshot for the spank bank too.)
When we got to the soft-serve stand on the boardwalk, Katie ordered a vanilla cone. I paid. She balked, but I insisted. As we headed back, she suddenly stopped short.
“How come you didn’t get anything, Quinn?” “I didn’t want anything.”
I looked at her. Hair still wet. Like Aphrodite herself risen from the sea in an almost non-existent yellow and black polka dot bikini.
“You don’t want anything?”
“Nope.”
She took a step toward me. Close enough so I noticed the tiny flecks of hazel in her otherwise deep blue eyes.
“Are you sure about that? Sure you wouldn’t even like a taste?”
She twirled the ice cream on her tongue. Her bikini was cut so low, I thought I detected a hint of pubis winking at me.
She gave me the look. You know the look. What could I do?
“Actually, I would like a taste of that ice cream.”
I pulled her into me and kissed her: ice cream on her tongue. She kissed me back. We were really going at it. I slid my hand down inside her bikini bottom to cop a quick squeeze of ass.
“You just made me drop my ice cream.” She laughed.
“I’ll buy you another.” ...
From "KING OF THE NEW YORK STREETS"
Read it now!!! ...
https://www.amazon.com/KING-YORK-STRE...
Couldn’t afford a shitty, above ground pool for the backyard? Pack up the kids in the ol’ junk box and head for Rockaway. Shit, the Ramones even wrote a song about it.
There I was, soaking in the sun along with bikini-clad Katie and four other girls from our 60 Park crew. Katie looked amazing in that bikini: yellow with black polka dots. At one point, she’d decided to cool off in the water. When she got back to the blanket, I noticed that her sea-soaked bikini bottom had somehow hiked itself up; leaving her with a self-inflicted wedgie that all but exposed her glorious posterior. Although this was the pre-thong era, Katie had apparently seen the future – and I, the very gateway to paradise.
“Katie, your ass is totally showing!” Maryanne, one of the girls in our crew, said.
Katie nonchalantly reached behind her and yanked the material of her bikini down over her shapely bottom. Lying there next to her on a beach towel, staring straight up at those magnificent glutes, I silently thanked the Lord that I’d chosen to wear my old, baggy cut-offs rather than my tight-fitting swim trunks. No, that sure as hell wasn’t a banana in my pocket.
“You’re shoulders look pretty red, Quinn. How about a little sunscreen?” Maryanne said.
Maryanne had made it abundantly clear that she had a thing for me. She was a cute girl. A little too zaftig for my tastes at the time – and definitely no competition for Katie: the Emerald Isle’s answer to Phoebe Cates.
I thought Maryanne was going to simply pass me the bottle of sunscreen. Instead, she insisted on doing the honors.
“You’ve got big shoulders,” Maryanne said, as she slathered me with sunscreen, “You’re back is really muscular too.”
I glanced over at Katie who was now stretched out flat on her back on a beach blanket alongside me. Her eyes were shut as if deep asleep. I watched the slight, almost imperceptible rise and fall of her flat belly with each breath; the faint outline of her toned abs; the perfect “innie’ belly button; the smooth, sun-tanned skin.
I could’ve had sex with Maryanne right there next to Katie and the latter probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. That was my relationship with Katie in a nutshell. After Maryanne finished giving me a thorough lubing and checked my filter, Katie eyes suddenly sprang open. She sat up on her blanket.
“I could really go for some ice cream. Wanna take a walk with me, Quinn?”
No need to ask. In that bikini she was wearing, Katie was a stone adolescent masturbatory fantasy; a sex magnet for every creep on the beach. Every perv with eyes would have her image on speed dial – permanently burned into the CD ROM of the ol’ spank bank. Of course I was gonna go with her.
As we headed off toward the boardwalk, I let her have a little bit of a head start so I could enjoy the view. Oh, that ass! (Hey, I needed a snapshot for the spank bank too.)
When we got to the soft-serve stand on the boardwalk, Katie ordered a vanilla cone. I paid. She balked, but I insisted. As we headed back, she suddenly stopped short.
“How come you didn’t get anything, Quinn?” “I didn’t want anything.”
I looked at her. Hair still wet. Like Aphrodite herself risen from the sea in an almost non-existent yellow and black polka dot bikini.
“You don’t want anything?”
“Nope.”
She took a step toward me. Close enough so I noticed the tiny flecks of hazel in her otherwise deep blue eyes.
“Are you sure about that? Sure you wouldn’t even like a taste?”
She twirled the ice cream on her tongue. Her bikini was cut so low, I thought I detected a hint of pubis winking at me.
She gave me the look. You know the look. What could I do?
“Actually, I would like a taste of that ice cream.”
I pulled her into me and kissed her: ice cream on her tongue. She kissed me back. We were really going at it. I slid my hand down inside her bikini bottom to cop a quick squeeze of ass.
“You just made me drop my ice cream.” She laughed.
“I’ll buy you another.” ...
From "KING OF THE NEW YORK STREETS"
Read it now!!! ...
https://www.amazon.com/KING-YORK-STRE...
date
newest »
newest »
What a great tribute to him and he is smiling somewhere up there saying it's about time someone wrote something about our neighborhood and the bond Cliff and Quinn had as best friends.
Thanks again
Scott