Whitestone Drive-In

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[Donna is also in Donna in the Senior Year and One Night in The Bronx. Michelle’s role-play as “Sherri” is in Role Playing With Michelle, Ch. 03. The petting game in the theater is in Springtime at the Paradise. ]


In May 1977 Donna invented a late college role-play for us. Both of us had less than a month before our graduations from our respective schools.

One day were sitting in her apartment having Chinese take-out and beer. Somehow our conversation had gotten into the topic of movie theaters and drive-ins and how generations of young people had developing their love lives in whatever setting where they could find some privacy. I briefly told her about my earlier experience with another girl at a Bronx theater where we had played a petting game that had gotten us both off.

She said, “You mentioned that once before. It was nearly two years ago, right?”

“Forgive me, I guess we’ve known each other long enough that we’re starting to repeat our stories.”

She laughed and said, “A bad sign after only ten months!” I got a sense that she was only half-kidding but she didn’t pause there, “There really is a drive-in in the Bronx, the Whitestone – you know, out by the Bruckner interchange.”

That place was only a few miles from her apartment on Barnes Avenue. I had been there a few times with other women, namely Andrea Cartselos in her 1967 Oldsmobile (the Ted Kennedy cruiser she called it) and Judy Weinberg in my father’s Pontiac. College kids without apartments or dorm rooms had to get creative. It was not-so-modest little Judy who actually had full intercourse with me out there. She had pulled her skirt up, straddled my lap, and executed a very nice cowgirl bang on me while I watched – or mostly ignored – a Robert Redford movie called The Great Waldo Pepper.

My mind was starting to drift over to these lost girlfriends and I remembered Andrea’s mouth on my cock and Judy bouncing on my crotch. Then I saw Donna’s intense look that signaled to me that she about to propose something.

She said, “That’s been a drive-in for decades. I wonder what it was like in the fifties, say twenty years ago. We could, as a game, try to recreate that.”

“We don’t have a vintage car for this.”

“Of course not, that’s not possible for us. And we’ll have to see whatever movie is playing in the present.”

“So what’s the point of this?”

She leaned forward with that earnest look she sometimes got, “The point is that we can recreate the sexual mores of the era.”

“Which were?”

“Which were, for good kids like us, not as much sex as nowadays.” Before I could interrupt she continued, “We’ll play two people about our age, except it’s at least twenty years ago. I’m going to assume we’re both still virgins.” I think I inwardly cringed at the notion. Maybe the 1970s were not so bad after all.

“When I go on a date with a guy, and we park in a car say, I have certain rules, or I mean my character will have them. Now I’m not sure what her exact standards are; you may get away with certain – ah, things – but not others.”

“And what are those going to be?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you, you’ll find out by trial and error.” Good, a natural-born role player; she isn’t going to give me all the details.

I asked, “So what did guys do back then when they were tired of the ‘good girls’?”

“I guess they visited whores, or they found loose girls. And of course there was always that old stand-by.” Donna, bless her dirty soul, made the “masturbation pump” gesture.

I said, “There’s still plenty of that going on.”

She laughed, “And with girls too!” She went on, “In our era, you just think sex, you get sex.” That’s not quite how I remembered my freshman year, but I conceded the general point she was making.

She said, “This way we can attempt to recreate how people felt and thought back then.”

I said, “This reminds me of method acting, like when some guy would stay up for three days so he could look tired in a scene.” I wasn’t sure who had done that but I knew actors would try stunts of that type. Pretending to be a virgin who couldn’t get laid with his own girlfriend seemed like a real acting challenge.

I asked her, “So how do I play it, I mean what does my character do on this date?”

“Basically, just be your usual horny self.”

“But I already know my character is not getting anywhere.”

“No, you misunderstood me. You – or rather he – is going to get somewhere; I’m just not going to tell you how far. He’s going, being the healthy young man he is, to push it, I mean sexually, to as much as he can get away with.”

This whole thing seemed both clever and somehow bizarre at the same time. Nevertheless, I went along with the plan. I had been in various frustrating, even difficult role plays at times, and I knew that when they were over my leading ladies would usually give me an enthusiastic bang to reward my dedication casino oyna to my craft.

I said, “This sounds like it’s going to be a bit of a chore. And what is you’re character going to be like?”

“I see her as a typical New York girl, not as polished as . . . “

“As you are?”

She was a bit embarrassed, “I meant to say – well I’m not sure. I think she’s going to a secretarial school. Say she’s nineteen.” Donna was twenty-two at this point. Then she smiled, “And her name is Trudy Maltabes.”

I smiled at that too, “That sounds like a character on Happy Days.” I had never met a Trudy or Gertrude who was less than fifty-years-old. “And who am I going to be?”

“Some guy like yourself. Let’s say you are a college senior at City or Fordham or wherever you want it to be.”

“And Trudy is impressed by that?”

“Maybe, somewhat, you’d be a decent catch.”

I tried to imagine a version of myself born twenty years earlier than my real self. I thought, 1935, my revised birth year, was Elvis Presley’s year too. And look at how much pussy he probably scored. But then, he was a huge celebrity and surely not typical of that age cohort.

I had another question, “It would help, how long have I been going out with this girl?”

“I guess about a month.”

“Is that what they would call going steady?”

Donna laughed at that, “I don’t know how they defined that back then. I’d say their relationship is kind of warming up – it looks promising that is.”

I tried to confirm more, “And this guy – me – is ready to make some moves on her, is that the point?”

“Yes, to be clear, that is the point.”

I pondered that and I remembered a number of other roles I had played. In one of the first I had ever done my old girlfriend Michelle, a maven for method acting, had punched me in the nuts. I had gotten “aggressive” with her virginal character, a college girl from Ohio named Sherri. That had been in a car too, her 1971 Dodge Coronet.

After that was over Michelle apologized profusely. But hell, the show must go on whatever the outcome.

I said, “Okay, I’m game.” But I was always game for what these women invented. “Let’s see what happens.”


In true fifties style I had to supply the car, or rather I picked up Donna’s 1971 Chevelle ahead of time with a spare set of keys she gave me. I didn’t wear much different to prepare for the era, assuming that male fashions hadn’t changed much. I had a button-down shirt on and my black dress shoes and I felt I would fit well enough into 1957.

It was a warm May evening when I drove up to Donna’s apartment building. I double-parked and stood outside by the passenger-side door. She was downstairs within five minutes.

Her outfit, like mine I suppose, was an approximation of period dress pulled together from what she already had. This included a white pullover sweater, a knee-length skirt, white ankle socks and brown shoes. She had a hairband across the top of her head and her usual glasses.

What caught my attention the most was way she moved as she approached the car. Donna had a sort of smooth flow as she walked that expressed her self-confidence I think. Trudy seemed to clunk over in a stiff and awkward way as if she was uncomfortable in her own body.

After I let her in on her side and I got in on mine she said, “Daddy’s going to be waiting up for me, so let’s not come home late.” Her real father was actually miles away in Queens somewhere and probably hadn’t kept track of his daughter’s day-to-day schedules in a very long time.

“So Paul, how are you?” She leaned over and kissed me lightly on the mouth. I noticed her perfume, which she seemed to have applied rather heavily tonight. She also had bright red lipstick.

“Hey Trudy, you look very pretty this evening.” That sounded like something a ’50s guy would say.

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.”

There was something a bit different about her voice and then it struck me what it was. Donna had grown up in a northern Queens neighborhood called Murray Hill but she didn’t – at least to my own city ears – have a noticeable New York accent. Now she did, but it was subtle, only marginally different from what I was used to it. It was slightly more nasal perhaps; I tried to identify exactly the technique she was using. I’m sure that someone who didn’t know her wouldn’t think there was anything faked about it.

Women are natural-born actresses, I thought, and not for the first time. The “game-playing” ones I knew could slip into a role and stay in it for a long time. Donna had already impressed me several times with her talent for these endeavors.

She folded her hands in her lap and I started driving up the block. Her posture was upright and she looked straight out the windshield. Usually when I was driving she would turn in her seat and look over at me. Now her bearing seemed to demonstrate primness and rectitude.

Then canlı casino she reached into her purse and unwrapped a wad of bubble gum. Before she popped it into her mouth she offered me another piece but I declined it.

I had never seen her chew gum before but now she was adept at blowing perfect bubbles and then pulling them back into her mouth. Probably it was some habit from her childhood that she had long ago dropped.

It was a bit distracting but Trudy and I managed to get a conversation going. First I turned on the radio to an AM station that had top-of-the-charts songs. They were seventies songs of course, but there were going to be anachronisms in this particular game.

I talked mostly about real events at City College. Trudy went on about events at her school. I think I recognized a few of the characters there as real people at Manhattan College.

In was dusk when we reached the Whitestone Drive-In. I had picked the perfect drive-in feature, a concoction called The Car. Starring James Brolin, the plot revolved around a demonically-possessed Lincoln Mark III that drives itself around a Southwestern town while running down and killing the inhabitants.

Trudy declined any purchase of snacks. I parked in the right back corner of the lot. I didn’t think actually watching the movie would be an important part of the game. However, a bit of privacy might be a factor.

When we had our speaker attached to the window Trudy took her gum out and stuck the wad onto the dashboard. It struck me as a strangely bad-mannered thing to do. I asked, “Is that thing really worth preserving?”

“Yeah, it should last for a while.”

As the opening credits unfolded I suddenly felt quite awkward. I didn’t know what kind of relationship I had with this girl, and I was ignorant of what fifties dating and mating rituals were supposed to be. In the 1970s if a girl liked you the physical side of things usually progressed pretty readily. I didn’t know much about the attitudes of a fifties girl like Trudy.

Trudy was sitting on her side of the seat with a gap between us. I focused inward and got my mind in order: this guy, me, has been going with her for a month and he’s thinking he’s due for some action now. That was in line with the instructions Donna had given me.

I decided to go over to her instead of trying to pull her across to me. At first I put my arm around her shoulders and she settled in against me. So far so good. Then I put my face into her hair and nuzzled the side of her face. I said, “How about a little make-out session?”

I saw her frown, but she replied, “All right, a little one.”

The way she kissed me was not at all like Donna. From the first night I had met her she had been warm and relaxed. With this Trudy girl I was very aware of her tension and reluctance. It seemed more like an obligation she was meeting rather than any real affection for me.

Okay, the hell with it, be bold. I tried to work my right hand down so that it was approaching her breasts. I could see them pushing out the front of her sweater.

She quickly flipped my arm back, “Hey, you’re getting a little forward, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t say, yes, and what of it? I also wasn’t going to apologize. Instead I made some comment about the movie which I wasn’t really watching. Trudy let me smooch with her again but she felt even more on edge.

In a minute I tried to escalate again. I turned sideways and put my left hand on her left knee which was just below the hem of her skirt. Having reached this goal I immediately pulled on it in attempt to get her legs apart.

That was instantly countered by her jumping sideways. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She had moved so far over that she was now against the door.

It was time for some verbal persuasion, which meant I on the verge of loosing this Passion Pit encounter. I leaned towards her and attempted my best Lothario voice, “Come on Trudy, we could do nice things for each other, you know that.”

“Like what?”

How would I describe it to this very unenthusiastic girl? “Well, you could touch me and I could touch you. We’d both benefit.” That seemed like a fair deal.

“Very heavy petting, you mean. Not that I couldn’t see this coming.” Her wording seemed historically accurate. I didn’t think 1957 couples threw around the term “mutual masturbation” on dates.

In any case my cleverness was failing, “Okay, yeah, you could call it that.”

“If you’re so eager to be touched, go touch yourself.”

That surprised me, “Excuse me?”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic container of hand lotion, “Here, take this, go sit in the back, and do whatever you have to do.”

I tried to offer a gentlemanly exit from the situation, “I’ll take you home right now, if you really want it.”

She dismissed me with a wave of her hand, “No, I want to watch the movie. Really, go in the back kaçak casino seat and do whatever it is you want.”

I – or my character – felt a twinge of anger. I suddenly wanted to do it back there just to spite her, “All right, since you put it that way, I’ll jerk off to my heart’s content.”

“Or your dick’s content.” That sounded more like Donna’s joke than Trudy’s but maybe it wasn’t a true slip out of character.

I made up something and tried to sound jocular, “How about you inspire me by showing me your tits or something?”

That did not go over well. “You really are deluded, and rude too.” She waved me off again. “Go ahead, do what you have to. I’m going to watch the picture.”

A minute later I was sitting in the middle of the back seat with my pants open and my cock out. Being twenty-two years old I didn’t need much inspiration to get an erection. I rubbed the lotion on myself and within a few more moments I was quite efficiently masturbating.

Yet the whole scene had a slapstick weirdness to it. Trudy sat determinedly in the front, staring through the windshield. The absurd dialogue from the movie came through the speaker. But somehow I was able to get into the fantasy life of my character. Maybe having done a number of roles in the past few years had given me some insights into method acting.

I said, “Trudy, I’ve never told you this, but I’ve done this before thinking of you.”

She answered without turning her head, “Must you tell me that kind of thing?”

“I just want to let you know, I think you’re such a sexy girl, I really want to be with you.”

“You guys, you’re all about sex – it gets tiresome after a while.”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I thought you were a good guy, but I see you’re just like all the rest after all.”

That really stung, and somehow it also inspired me in my efforts. The next thing I heard from Trudy was, “Must you be moan so loudly about it? Can’t you keep it down?”

“No honey, I can’t. Thinking of you – it just motivates me.” That didn’t sound very romantic.

“What a line, did you just make that up?” Actually I was indeed thinking of Trudy, not Donna, back there with me. I could picture nailing her as she lay on the back seat cushion, her underpants on the floor and her shoes and ankle socks waving around in the air. A reasonably hot little scenario, I thought. I wonder what kind of underpants she does have this evening?

The fantasy was good enough that I was soon near the climax. I managed to say, “Did you ever see a man come?”

“What kind of slut do you think I am?” I thought of responding, it’s too bad you’re not any kind of slut at all. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to speak at that point. At the crucial moment she did turn to look at me. In turn, as any man would, I was looking at myself. I think I deliberately groaned more noisily than usual just to bug her.

I managed to get a hit against the back of the seat in front of me, but quite a bit of cum landed on my pants. Probably if I had thought ahead I would have pulled my clothes down further. Trudy commented, “Jesus, look at the mess you made on yourself,” and then she turned to face the front again.

I thought, this whole date is a mess. I considered some banter on the order of, why don’t you come back here and lick it off? But I didn’t say that; I was feeling very frustrated with Trudy and I knew she wasn’t happy with me either.

As I tried to clean up and get my clothes in order, I wondered how far into the movie we were. I figured it had to be at least ninety minutes long and we were not even near the halfway point yet. Thankfully Trudy – or Donna – grasped our predicament, “You know Paul, I really think you should take me home now. I’m sorry, this just hasn’t worked out tonight.”

I was grateful when I could detach the speaker and then drive off the lot. I was tired of Trudy, the car and the ridiculous movie. As we entered the street she said, “I’m hungry, let’s get some take out.”

I went through the drive-in of a White Castle, an institution probably little changed since 1957. Trudy clutched her paper bag and said nothing to me during the fifteen-minute drive back to Barnes Avenue.

When we were stopped in front of her building I said, “Trudy, I’m sorry this didn’t go that well. How about I take you out again in a day or two and it will be better, I promise.”

“I don’t know Paul, I’m rethinking this whole thing. I’m having a lot of doubts about it all.”

I leaned over to kiss her good-night but she turned away and refused to do it. I tried one plea to save my imaginary relationship, “Don’t you have an interest in me too?”

“Interest, so that’s how you put it now. How about we reverse it: do you have any respect for me?”

Before I could respond she pushed the door open and left the car, taking her bag of White Castle dinner with her. I had to slide over and close the door. As I watched her enter the building, either my character or I said something for revenge. She couldn’t hear me now but it felt good to say, “Hey Trudy, I’d like to stick it right up that cute ass of yours, that’s what I’d really like to do.”

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