Suavecito

Suavecito

A Story by barleygirl
"

high school shenanigans in the 1970's . . .

"


At the tender age of fifteen Raul was my first taste of brown sugar. For a time every sweet tooth in my mouth yearned for more. With his poised gentlemanly charm, he was the embodiment of Suavecito.

In a small rural high school nearly half Hispanic, Raul stood out with his light eyes and hair. His straight shoulder-length mane began dark at the roots and then was sun-splashed all over with a million shades of tawny blond. He knew his hair was gorgeous as he casually flipped it with well-manicured fingertips flashing his chunky golden-quartz class ring.

His eyes were of an uncommon iridescence rarely found in humans but sometimes captured in a tiger’s enigmatic orbs. Raul’s eyes drew me in beside smoky cave flames where glimmering gold and warm cocoa danced. Shimmering strata like those found in a Tiger’s Eye stone sparkled and beckoned. We often locked eyes and silently conveyed our feelings with yearning sultry stares.

I’ll never forget the first time he caught my eye. Although short in stature, Raul carried himself like a big man on campus. To a mere sophomore and country bumpkin like me, here was this popular outgoing senior in his blue and white block-KC jacket. I never dreamed he’d give me a second glance.

I remember sitting on a lonely bench in the high school quad area where dorks gathered. As an underclassman I wasn’t allowed in the seniors’ lounge, so I parked myself near the entrance where I could watch as Suavecito was greeted with friendly laughter and palm slaps all around. Mostly I wanted to watch him walk away in his faded 501 jeans ironed neatly with front and back creases down his trim muscular thighs. Well-fitting jeans captured his cowboy-boot swagger.

But one Friday Raul didn’t walk away. He emerged from the senior den and asked me to go cruise main after the final bell and before kickoff.

In 1972 King City High School bussed in about half its nine hundred students from far-flung agricultural lands and tiny hick towns. Not many kids had cars back then, so the ones who did were easily recognized driving up and down Broadway aiming to be seen. Raul cut a striking figure in his bright orange Road Runner with white leather interior. It felt like royal court to be walking beside him on our way to the school parking lot after the bell rang that Friday. I had no idea where we were going or how we would kill several idle hours before the game started.

Sauvecito knew all about the power of persuasion. He wasn’t outwardly cocky but his understated demeanor still shouted his cocksure self-opinion. Being a perfect gentleman in word and gesture, I’m pretty sure any girl would’ve followed him without question as I did.

After opening his car door for me, Raul stood there in the perfect spot to get an eye-full. It was impossible to climb into his jacked-up ride without my tight mini-skirt leaving my garters and stockings far behind. This was a year before the dress code changed, allowing girls to wear long slacks (but not jeans or shorts) to school. So I squirmed against the creamy leather trying to cover my peekaboo thighs as he pretended not to stare.

But that Cheshire grin was ever-present. Raul always appeared to be amused by everything. With unavoidable surrender I glided into my role of princess for the evening, occupying the other bucket seat of his flashy hot rod. My social status was seemingly elevated as schoolmates waved to acknowledge this fresh new after-school coupling, hiding gossipy sniggers. I’d never even been in the high school parking lot before that afternoon. I didn’t know any of these older kids with the rare freedom of wheels.

Impressed as I was by my apparent invitation into the forbidden social strata of upperclassmen, I was thinking more ardently about the time I could finally be alone with Raul. As much as I enjoyed watching him flash his winning smile at everyone, I wanted him all to myself. I couldn’t wait to nibble those full lips framing his perfect teeth. I wonder if he knew I was secretly drooling? Most likely he did . . . he was definitely a smooth operator.

We pulled out of the parking lot and made our way down Mildred Street, waiting in a queue to turn left onto Broadway. Crosswalks spilled over with students going in every direction, hoofing it on a Friday afternoon, acting like they didn’t desperately wish they had wheels.

A never-ending stream of big yellow school buses spilled from the front utility lot, each one full of sorry suckers who were stuck in the backwoods on a Friday night. That would’ve been me most of the time. Not many guys were willing to drive an hour out of town to pick me up for a date and then drive another hour back into town to go do something together. Not to mention doubling those two hours of driving to take me home afterwards. It just didn’t happen.

We first stopped on Russ Street at Virdans where I scurried in to tell mom that I wouldn’t be spending the afternoon waiting in her beauty shop for activities to begin. She asked if I wanted her to wait around and give me a ride home after the game. I bravely volunteered Raul to drive almost a hundred miles out of his way to bring me home. I didn’t guess wrongly. He drove me home after several games and dances that autumn.

Our second stop on Broadway was the Taco King, a snack-bar style restaurant owned by Raul’s family. He was crazy about camarones! Coming from a poor family of nine kids, I didn’t get much seafood out in the boondocks. It was a treat to watch him scarf down a tall cocktail glass full of glistening shrimp drizzled with lemon and fresh salsa, but I preferred the shredded chicken soft tacos. It was so easy to be with Suavecito as he reeled me in.

A regular end-of-week regimen for the privileged few was to go look up some twenty-something cousin and get them to buy us beer. Then we’d head out Bitterwater Road to go shoot the loop. Everyone who was anyone was out shooting the loop on Friday afternoons before the game.

Raul introduced me to a few favorite stops along the way. A few times we stopped at a stately tumbledown barn and climbed up onto the old-fashioned loft stacked with hay bales. After spreading a soft flannel blanket, we lie on our bellies looking out the high doors onto the winding country road below. Raul knew every car that would be shooting the loop and he taught me this country version of such sophisticated trends. Of course we did a little necking up there, too.

Although he also hailed from the tiny hick town of San Ardo, Raul seemed erudite compared to my sheltered country sensibilities. It felt like he was in control and knowledgeable about everything I hadn’t yet experienced in life. But he was so gentle and patient with me. He never pushed me to do anything until I was literally dying to do it with him. He torpedoed me with polished gentlemanly overtures. Sauvecito knew all about the power of persuasion.

As we drove along in his bright orange Road Runner, often I stared at him, mesmerized by his plump come-hither lips. Sometimes I scooted over to clumsily climb onto the clunky console, longing for him to press his smooth palm against the inside of my waiting thigh. He always had the band ZZ Top jammin’ on eight-track as dry heat buffeted through open windows swishing our hair and threatening to thrash open the buttons of my top . . .

They come a-runnin' just as fast as they can . . . 'cuz every girl’s crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Yeah, we heated up the backseat of his hot rod on a few evenings that autumn. We jumped out and skipped through the moonlit chaparral, dancing to La Grange as we savored the delicious freedom of our near-nakedness. Unfortunately his sporty orange ride burst into flames on the backroads between San Ardo and Lockwood on the way to San Antonio Lake where I grew up. Once again I was relegated to the sorry suckers stuck in the backwoods on Friday nights.




© 2017 barleygirl



Author's Note

barleygirl
A mostly true story . . . I asked high school friends on Facebook to help remember details & one sassy guy told me Raul already spilled everything back in the day *smile* . . . Sadly, Raul passed away from a heart attack a few years back.

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Featured Review

What an absolutely superb story - mostly true or not, I believed every word! Your write stories as if born to In this, dear you, you lead readers into such a glorious time... places, expressions, fashion and of course, lovin'.. til they're near familiar to this ignorant Brit!

'.. about CAMARONES! Coming from a poor family of nine kids, I didn’t get much seafood out in the BOONDOCKS. It was a treat to watch him SCARF down a tall cocktail glass full of ... '

Your gorgeous man reads delicious! However, though an awful addendum it might be having learned of your Raul's tragic death, what memories remain.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Many of my Facebook friends did not realize Raul had passed away & so they really enjoyed my sharing.. read more



Reviews

Love this
I really love your work

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

I very much appreciate your kind words! *smile*
It was vey pleasant to read this account, nearly true , of your past. You write with well controlled emotion, but you get across the emotions of this young innocent girl being infatuated, and adoring the more 'savoir faire' handsome young man.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Thank you for appreciating that I like to leave some ideas to come from the reader's imagination . ... read more
Glorious, passionate, care-free days and story. Excellently written, personal and honest. Lovely relaxed, casual writing style. Great authentic detail- I can see you as a young innocent girl blossoming for the first time. Of course, love the ZZ Top reference. Hope there will be more where this came from!

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Thank you for appreciating my stroll down memory lane. Yes, I've got many more & I'll be doing more .. read more
Annette Pisano Higley

1 Month Ago

I'll be waiting! Stay cool Margie! :)
What I loved most about the story were the carefree times when we could be ourselves and take what we wanted without being over judgmental. Told in a simple and endearing way. Your storytelling is as superb as always and I always look forward to another one.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

This is my way of processing all those glorious options I never took in my younger days. I love the .. read more
DIVYA

1 Month Ago

Its wonderful how writing helps us process so much of what happens to us in life. Its a pleasure and.. read more
What an absolutely superb story - mostly true or not, I believed every word! Your write stories as if born to In this, dear you, you lead readers into such a glorious time... places, expressions, fashion and of course, lovin'.. til they're near familiar to this ignorant Brit!

'.. about CAMARONES! Coming from a poor family of nine kids, I didn’t get much seafood out in the BOONDOCKS. It was a treat to watch him SCARF down a tall cocktail glass full of ... '

Your gorgeous man reads delicious! However, though an awful addendum it might be having learned of your Raul's tragic death, what memories remain.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Many of my Facebook friends did not realize Raul had passed away & so they really enjoyed my sharing.. read more
This is a perfect example of the time-honored trope of poor girl meets hot, well-off, popular older boy who opens her eyes to a world she's never experienced. The way everything is described seems absolutely storybook in how perfect it all is. He sounds like a total hunk.

Posted 2 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

2 Months Ago

Raul is celebrated around here . . . FB friends from high school really enjoyed this walk down memor.. read more
So let me see now.
You and raul are bonking in the back of his hot rod.
You're thinking to yourself. My god, this guy's hot.
Totally unaware the car's on fire.
I'm giving you a hundred for this, Margie.
Cos i'm with you all the way.

Posted 2 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

2 Months Ago

Thank you for writing the companion poem to my story. As always, you're hilarious! (((HUGS)))

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Added on August 20, 2017
Last Updated on August 20, 2017

Author

barleygirl
barleygirl

Central Coast, CA



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Just loving life & sharing my blessings. more..

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