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That Time We Met a Bunch of Navy Guys, and Other Funny Stories

I was about 19 at the time and the legal drinking age was 21. This never stopped us though and my band of merry makers set off for down town Chicago in my 1980 Chevy Monte Carlo with a V-8 and T-tops. To say we were hot was putting in mildly. We were young with our hair long and our skirts short.

Our destination was a little bar just off of Rush Street named Muldoons. It was a divey little tavern without much personality but we loved it because we knew the bouncer and they had live music in this kitschy little room on the second floor. On every Saturday night there was a guy who played guitar in the corner of the dimly light room who specialized in the 60’s music that we were hooked on at the time. He would play bye bye Miss America Pie and Van Morrison while we gyrated around the room letting every man with in a half mile radius that we wanted some and many times getting it. Beers were on tap and flowed most nights leaving us ripe for trouble turning the small corner of the second floor bar into a John Waters movie. We loved the place and we were on our way.

Flying down the Dan Ryan at 75mph in my trusty Monte, with my gaggle of girls in the backseat, I blared the radio. Madonna, INXS, Guns and Roses, Depeche Mode, it didn’t really matter as long as it was loud and we knew all the words. Things were going peachy with the wind whipping our hair through my t-tops when I absentmindedly looked down. I realized we were almost out of gas. With a gasp, I let everyone know that we were, for sure, not going to make it to Rush Street. My co-pilot started to panic and I calmed her down and instructed her to grab the map out of the glove compartment. Mind you, this is before cell phones, google map or the internet. We knew we were in trouble.

We got off at the 22nd Street exit which led to China Town. I assured everyone that we would find a gas station, no problem but I was wrong, it would become a problem. I did not realize how hard finding a gas station would be. In the burbs there is a damn gas station every 20 feet, but no here there wasn’t.

We drove east down Cermak quite aimlessly while everyone kept an eye out for a gas station. As we approached each corner, we would be hopeful that this was the one, but alas, it would not be. We started to get worried as the buildings turned from trendy apartments to rundown tenements with broken windows and bars on doors. We all got really quiet as we began to freak out. I took a chance and turned north on Western Avenue. This would prove our best decision that night.

As we neared 16th street, one of my crew yelled from the back, “I see one, I see one”. We all breathed a sigh of relief as our eyes fell on the neon lights of a neighborhood gas station. We pulled into the little brightly light gas station and we were almost to the pump, when the car, with a puff, puff, chug, chug, ran out of gas. Right there, about 30 feet from the pump, my car stopped. I might as while introduce you to my partners in crime before I explain the serious of events which are about to take place.

There is Patti (with an i), who is my sister, wearing her naturally curly, brown hair in a braid, holding her voluminous, over sized boobs in a modest blouse, and accentuating her backside with a short jean mini skirt. She is only 17 but she can keep up with the big boys and she is never short on quick sarcastic insults that sometimes make you dizzy.

Suzy is my co-worker and this is the first time she is out with us. At work she is the epitome of sunshine and the captain of good moods. She is always making me laugh even when I don’t want to. She is sporting a purple tank top that makes her small boobs appear larger than usual and a black mini skirt which slims her some what big behind.

Debbie is also my co-worker and I have known her for awhile. I love her adventurous spirit. She is always up for anything I can cook up and in for the long haul. She is pretty desperate to find a boyfriend since her X dumped her about a month back. She is looking hot in a black leopard sort of outfit in one piece that zips up the back. Her hair is long and curled to perfection which she informed all of us, took her an hour.

And then there is Nikky, which we all call her and she is so a Nikky; hot tempered and funny as hell. She is a petite thing, standing maybe 5′ nothing and 105 pounds soaking wet but what she lacks in size, she makes up in a filthy mouth and loud persona. She outdid herself tonight in a skin tight hot pink dress with high heels and lipstick to match. Her light brown skin pops in the outfit and her long silky hair cascades down her back. She is a firecracker in a tight wrapper.

Then there is me. I like to think of myself as the leader of the pack and the brains behind most of our Friday nights. I would describe myself as a girl next door sort of pretty, with a good sense of humor. I have wavy blonde hair and decided on my favorite blue plaid skirt with a v-neck sleeveless shirt that highlights my descent boobs and my shapely legs.

So there we are, 30 feet from the gas pump. We all get out of the car to survey the distance and decide what to do.

“Let’s just fucking push this bitch,” says Nikki. Come on. We can do it.” I agree that this is the best bet. I mean it is only about 30 feet, how hard could it be.

Now that you have a picture of us in your mind, you can imagine, we were quite a sight, 5 pretty, young girls, all dressed up with no where to go, trying to push this car. We were all in high heels or sandals so our feet were skidding and slipping and that car was not going anywhere.

“Move to the other side,” directed Debbie to Patti who was on the left side of the car.

“It’s not going to make a difference,” Patti answered.

“Just do it would ya?” said Debbie.

Patti obliged and we counted down and all pushed together. Still the car would not budge.

Just about this time, a big Buick pulled up to the adjacent gas pump and out jumped a guy. He started to fill up his gas and at first we didn’t see him with us all trying to push the car and bickering amongst ourselves. He couldn’t help but notice us though.

He walked over very nonchalantly laughing under his breath. He kind of stood back chuckling and surveying the scene before him.

“What are you laughing at?” said Nikky who saw him first. “Give us a hand. Don’t you get paid for helping women in distress or do we have to be in water?”

Now, we all turned and there was this guy standing there with his hands folded over his chest, smiling and holy smokes, he is cute. He has brown hair, a little wavy, blue eyes, a little devilish and big muscles, a lot yummy. He is in a full Navy uniform except the hat and those blue pants looked really good on his toned young body.

He doesn’t say anything back to Nikky. He just keeps smiling and laughing. He walks back to his huge old Buick and knocks on the trunk. What happened next was right out of a movie. The doors to the Buick open and out walks, one Navy guy after another and one cuter than the next. They are all in their Navy blues and we just stood there, mouths open, eyes lashes batting, brains swirling.

They all walk up to the car in a big group of blue uniforms, bulging muscles and smirking faces. The first guy motions to me. “Hey why don’t you jump in there darlin’ and give that wheel a spin.” He has a southern accent with a little twang and I am afraid for a moment I might melt right on the spot but I regain enough of my motor functions to jump in the seat and grab the wheel as they get ready to push. They each take a side and the car moves as if it is made of paper. We made it to the gas pump. They are our heroes. They must be rewarded.

What occurred next can only be explained as a flurry of pursing lips, flipping hair and coy giggling. All my girls, were clearly flirting like they have never flirted before, this was like big league flirting. There was 6 of them, 5 of us, and I liked those odds.

I jumped out of the car and thanked the brown haired, blue eyed, southern drawl boy and touched his arm, laughing about what we must have looked like. He introduced himself as Bobby, which I loved and I introduced myself. He was telling me some story about when he ran out of gas but I really didn’t pay attention because I was busy noticing his lips as he spoke with that sweet southern accent.

“I love coming to the rescue of some dames in distress, especially one that looks like you darlin” he siad to me while his blue eyes met mine and his southern accent dripped off his like the moon on a hot summer night. I melted right there onto the pavement between my car and the gas pump. This night was getting good.

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