my night in a VW bus

In the fall of 1972, I spent the fall semester in Guanajuato, Mexico studying with my university. They sent down one Professor, a Spanish professor, who hired a couple local lecturers and a rug maker. Voila, a small satelite campus! The local lecturers were anthropologists and archaeologists.They told us amazing stories of ancient Mexico and right up to when the Spaniards quite viciously conquered the Mexican indios.

The rug maker was a sweet guy who taught each of us how to make one small two foot by three foot rug. I wish I still had that rug. The first half was perfect, each loop perfectly sized, so perfectly a machine could have done it. I used a pencil to make each loop perfect. but it took forever and I wanted to get class over with and get stoned. All I wanted to do was get stoned. So I rushed the rug. I loved the rug because half of it was obsessively perfect and the other half was wild, uneven loops, lazy, quick, rushed loops. I got the rug done in record time and my late afternoons were no longer wasted on rug looping. I was out getting stoned. And my only regret is I got rid of the rug, testament to my pot smoking, errant youth.

We made friends with other Americans who were just passing through, trying to travel all around Mexico in their year off. They saw us students as stodgey, although we had more dope than they did. Young Americans traveling in VW vans as a couple did not make all the Mexican male student friends we two blonde gringas made. My blonde travel pal and I had endless guys followinig us around, all of them hoping to get lucky. My roomie and I had great dope connections. Two blonde American college girls attracted endless packs of admiring Mexican boys who all fanasized that all American college girls had free love sex. In truth,my pal and I were virgins but none of the Mexicans believed us. And all of the Mexicans would score us dope, hoping with each buy that we might have some free love sex with them.  You didn't buy lids in Guanajuato. You bought bricks. The bricks were the size of the much larger house bricks used in adobe homebuilding, bound tightly with metal wire lie a bale of hay back on my uncle's farm in Indiana. Cut open the metal wire and the tightly bound brick burst into a bushel of dope. Our first bushel was the best. Acapulco Gold. It was golden toned and looked like a loose bushel of wide wavy waves of grain, like the golden tops of good wheat at its peak on an Iowa plain.

Acapulco Gold was as good as its reputation, much more powerful than the skunk week sold back home. Plus the altitude in Guanjuato was high. Two hits and we were flying. And we rolled 'em like cigars and smoked one cigar each. Why not? I think we paid $20 for that first kilo of Gold and it was always that cheap or cheaper.


We got to know other Americans, the travelers. These other Americans were a young married couple who ended up breaking up in Guanajuato when the gal slept with a sleazey Mexican womanizer who slept with all the sexually active gringas. So he didn't sleep with me. I was a virgin. He did con me out of my brohter's h.s. football jersey, which was an idem with considerable cachet in Mexico. It had his school'name on it and his number in bulky embroiderered letters. The guy said "You can always get another one" and he was cute so I gave it to him but I knew I could never get another one.  My brother dropped off the team and became the team manager. Managers did not get those cool jerseys. That jersey was super thick, long, warm,cosy and cool. It came below my ass, kept me toasty warm and in Mexico it was very, very cool to be seen in it.  And I just get it away to a guy ally catting with several girls i knew. I was a dope. He was very cute. but he never hit on me.  Maybe that's why I gave him the jersey altho I also remember being disgusted by him because he told each girl he slept with that she was his true love.  I still want that Jersey back.

Before the couple broke up, a few Americans decided we would celebrate American Thanksgving, our first away from home for all of us,, by driving to a nearby town with a steakhouse known for its Argentinian steaks. Huge fat steaks super cheap, by our standards. None of us drank -- we were all too stoned.

The steaks were awesome.

We had intended to drive home the same day but we fell asleep after the steaks and by the time we awoke it was too late to drive on the dark, bad roads.So we agreed to camp under the stars. No one had tents but all had sleeping bags.

I had a bad cold. I was coughing, hacking and wheezing.

The married couple with the van got to sleep in the van which was not exactly warm but at least they weren't on the ground. They whispered to one another and agreed that I was too stick to sleep outside on the gorund so they insisted I sleep in the van. I was shy about intruding into their sex life, which was a big deal to my virgin self.   I knew they had sex in that van most nights but I was very sick and I couldn't resist sleeping indoors. Believe me I wasn't such a virgin that I didnt know they fucked like bunnies in the van. But they insisted I sleep inside, expressing concern I migh develop pneumonia. I was pretty sick. And i didn't really sleep all night cause I hacked all night. So i doubt the couple slept all night either.

As soon as we all got settled in for the night I heard a zipper unzip. I never wanted to beam myself magically out of a space more. I heard that zipper. How could I not hear it. I lay on one side of the van, the woman in the middle, the young husband on the other side. He unzipped her zipper, testing the situation, I suspect, in hindsight. Man, that zipper sounded loud.  It had to have sounded just as loud to each of them as it did to me. And then he put his hand down her pants and fingered her and she moaned.

Oh my gosh, I wanted to escape but I was on the inside. I could not have left the van without making a scene. I steeled myself for a long stretch of sexual play. But they must have come to their senses. I think the gal pushed his hand away. We all knew I could hear it all.

We never said anything.

That zipper was so loud but so was the fingering and the mild moaning before she stopped it.

And I actually believed sleeping in the van seriously helped my health. Really.

I was so sick. It was sick cold out. Everyone not sick was jealous I was in the van but I would have given everything not to sleep in the van.  And sadly there had been room for everyone in the van. It is weird, in hindsight that since the couple lost their sex nest, they didn't let everyone in.

That zipper was so loud. Blue jeans. Levis. Loud zipper.

Great steaks. Happy first thanksgiving abroad.

Z-i-p!  That was in November 1972. I have never heard a louder zipper since then.