OK, Let's go....

Like the lyrics in the old Four Seasons' song, "Oh What a Night,"
....the words, what a very special time for me
kept constantly ringing through his everyday thoughts. With a gripping nostalgia, he heard "Oh, what a night!"....running through his mind, again again and again.

In June, 1980, Potter was a wild-eyed kid on dope. ....Good dope ....and he had just made love all night long–––to a living doll. She was so exquisite in fact, that when Potter flew the next day, it was the first time in his memory in which he was not completely consumed with acute airliner lust, i.e., ....the old stewardess-longing syndrome.

What was the deal with these airlines, anyway? Did they really go to such great lengths to recruit the most fetching and alluring fleshly manifestations of femininity on God's green earth just to aggravate the heart out of poor Potter?
Potter thought so.

There had been a big going away bash the night before in the little town of Caravan, Maine, ....all because Lonnie Potter had tickets for the early morning flight to Boston out of Frenchman's Island –––destination Corona, Alaska. On the long exhausting journey, Potter would fly via Beantown, Chitown, Seattle, and Anchorage.

With parents handily away, Potter and his sister Sela had the house filled to overflowing with their mutual and exclusive friends, ....and friends of their friends. The whole damned lot of them were gaily consuming various intoxicating libations and numerous and assorted herbal medicaments, and in Herculean proportions––all in honor of Potter and his big bon voyage party.

As he describes it, there was actually more than one amorous female pursuing Potter that evening. He remembers it as being an extremely titillating and ego-gratifying night–––an unusually great deal of fun. Having several lusty woman treating him like a stud-muffin sexual object wasn't something "Don Jaun" Potter ran into just every old night.

Telling me the story, Potter exclaimed, "I still can't believe I ended up in the rack with Stevie fucking Loomis! Gawd!"

....Potter related to me how he wound up locked inside his parents' master bedroom, sprawled out with Stevie on the big kingsize bed, ....and how he was prematurely coming a million different times in a series of frenzied mental climaxes. Lonnie was reeling in the unlikely sexual fantasy he was now living out.

"One minute I'm brushing my hand on her shiny silk stockings, playfully touching her knee, ....and then boom! ....the next thing I know, we're upstairs and I'm pulling her tight little plaid skirt up over her head..."

Potter could only describe it in reverential tones––– his eyes sort of glazed over and he rasped in a wistful murmur––– "...it was one wild ride, baby, absolutely electric with excruciating, sensual energy."

Stevie Loomis was one "tough" broad. Tough was what they used to call girls that had bodies like ....well, ....like God. As the old expression went, certain chicks were, "....tougher than a leather-lined canvas sack, jammed full of 64 oz. ball-peen hammers..."

Stevie Loomis was one of them.

Potter was about 23 at the time, and Stevie was maybe 19. Stevie was, without question, the pick of her high school class....
–––a piece, ....a dish, ....a babe–––
....a total drop dead knockout ....and Potter was smack in the middle of his parents' big hard bed, eating her sweet silken pussy like a hungry tomcat lapping up heavy cream!

By the time Stevie and Potter finally passed out it was already turning daylight. The next thing he knew it was a mad dash for the airport over at Frenchman's Island. Potter barely made the gate.

During the long day aboard the many connecting flights, Potter felt a unique and powerful immunity to the normally devastating and irresistible wiles of the comely stewardess legions. The fresh and tactile memory of Stevie's perfect inner thighs rubbing his cheeks danced sprightly through Potter's head as he virtually ignored the beautiful flight crews for the first time in his life.

....He couldn't help a constant gloating chuckle, smugly thinking, "I've got sweeter than you right here on my fingers, Babydoll!"

Potter breathed deeply the sweet scent of Stevie Loomis from his unwashed hands every time one of the flying heartbreakers would bend over in front of him–––and even when they didn't.