One Hell of a Year

By

Maxx Shane

One Hell of a Year

Copyright © 2013 Maxx Shane

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

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Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

This book is dedicated to the people who lived it…

Especially To:

Marci Schwartz,

My Love & Inspiration

And

Stu Wilson

Steve Carter

Lou Palonzo

Jeff Hunter

Special Salutation to

George, John, Paul & Ringo

of

The Beatles

One Hell of a Year is one hell of a novel.

—Paul McCartney

CONTENTS

Chapter One: Welcome to My Asylum

Chapter Two: She’s Just a Little Bitch

Chapter Three: I Saw Her Standing There

Chapter Four: Entering the Great Wide Womb

Chapter Five: A Hard Day’s Night

Chapter Six: We’re All in the Twilight Zone

Chapter Seven: Please, Please Me

Chapter Eight: Thank You Girl, Thank You, Girl

Chapter Nine: From Me to You

Chapter Ten: Paging Ben Casey…Calling Dr. Kildare

Chapter Eleven: I Should’ve Known Better with a Girl Like You

Chapter Twelve: Ask Me Way

Chapter Thirteen: He Loves…And She Loves: All My Lovin’

Chapter Fourteen: She Loves You; And I Love Her

Chapter Fifteen: Let’s Have a Revolution…

Chapter Sixteen: The Beatles Are Coming…The Beatles Are Coming

Chapter Seventeen: P.S. I Love You

Chapter Eighteen: I’ll Follow the Sun

Chapter Nineteen: Got to Get You into My Life

Epilogue

About the Author

It was the end of an Era for one generation,

And the beginning of a new for another…

You should’ve been there.

CHAPTER ONE

WELCOME to my ASYLUM

The beating of my heart began in 1946. At the time, you could say I emerged from my cocoon during the conception of what is prominently known as the Baby Boom generation. It was during this crucial historical juncture in time that I was considered lucky to be endowed with such a gifted label. Henceforth, from that illustrious year, and from this day forward, I will always be the baby boomer throughout my life.

Now, here I am, 1964, eighteen years later, not only entering the prime of my life as an adult, but embarking on a new generational wave that will revolutionize my life, America and music. But before you and I go any further, and become personally acquainted, let me introduce myself. My names is Stacey. Stacey Thomas Albert Spencer to be exact. Mom was praying for a girl and pop a boy, so the Stacey label stuck. The other two names came about because my parents had high hopes for me. My father was hoping I’d be President like Thomas Jefferson. Mom was hoping I’d turn-out to be a great scientist like Albert Einstein. I fooled them both… I became a writer. Mom used to tell me everyone in the family was really pleased with my name. Yeah, everyone but the guy that has to live with it. My entire family is about as crazy as you can get. Mom’s a die-hard Democrat and pop’s a staunch Republican Minister. According to Grandpa Festus, it seems my ancestors were the talk of the town in Boonton, New Jersey. Uncle Jasper used to run booze for the big boys in Chicago back in the twenties. Aunt Matilda, the rich matriarch of the family, was a women’s libber and used to hand-out abortions like a machine gun spitting out bullets. Great grand-pappy Elias was the biggest moonshine peddler in the country. The story goes that when Elias went traveling around to sell some of his wild elixir, he’d always meet-up with some nice piece of tail along the way. He was doing just fine for a couple of years until Grandma caught on one fine day and took a rifle to him. My uncle Josiah ran a well-greased whore house with a well-greased whore house with a squadron of broads brought in from the city of Brotherly Love. It’s been said that Josiah would fight like a hound in the morning, hit the bottle by noon and screw the chicks at night. Gramps told me (on my secret oath not to tell a soul) that Uncle Josiah was found in bed dying, surrounded by quite a few naked women. His last immortal words were, Them damn bitches knocked the living shit out of me. All these good deeds of my illustrious family are kept hushed-up around my neck of the woods. Pop being a preach and all don’t take too kindly about our family tree. It seems pop went up and killed our great family heritage. He’d tell us kids to lead a clean and respectable life. Why, I can remember that when he found out Cindy Baker, the town slut, grabbed me behind the school football stand he nearly had a shit fit. He would always say there were good and bad people living in God’s world. When I asked him who the hell were the bad people, he kept telling me I would meet up with them down the road to life.

You don’t have to know too much about me or about my childhood, unless you want to puke. I have a lousy thirteen year old brother, who like all the younger brothers, just loves to bug the crap out you. Right now I’m an upper-freshie at Rutgers State living in one of those long, prison-size dorms. It’s sort of an average place with the same old average knuckleheads and the same chicks that you’d find anywhere else. The scenery around here is pretty cool, especially the girl’s dorm across the football field. You can easily spot those chicks now that Ernie built this high-powered telescope. You’re able to see nature in the raw right before your popping eyes. Some of these chicks got a hint we were spying on them and decided to put on a show for us. They would parade their wild asses every which way trying to get us hot and bothered knowing full well we couldn’t do a damn thing about it except get off in the shower. What’s really screwy about these chicks is that they’ll tease your nuts off sitting in class with their mini’s way up to their crotch, but won’t let you see anything outside of class. Some of these chicks are really cool, but snotty bitches. You know, within, they’re just dying to be screwed over, but on the outside, they act like they just don’t give two-shits. Take this one chick, Selma Tushingham. Her name may not sound so hot, but she is. All the guys call her an Angel. I call her a Bitch. She’ll date you, spend your money (on some fancy place,) yet won’t let you kiss her goodnight and will ram you in the nuts the minute you try it. What as ass… and I do mean it literally. John Dern, one of my floor buddies is just crazy about Selma though she’s not too crazy about him. Some of the guys brand her the original hydraulic lifter. When she sits down in class and her mini lifts up, so do other things.

The dorm meals are just like any other place… they suck. Sometimes the food almost looks and tastes like the real thing. Either it looks like it was cooked with a blow torch or over a Bunsen burner. Most of the time it looks and smells like it came out of someone’s stomach. If I had a buck for everyone that got ptomaine at this place I swear I’d be a millionaire. Last term this one guy was right in the middle of making it with this chick when he suddenly turned a pale white and made a quick charge to the nearest shit-house. Some other guys I know weren’t that lucky. You never know when your stomach is going to shift into high gear, but when it does, congratulations is usually bestowed upon another initiated member into the Heave-Ho Stratosphere Club.

Today is the big day everyone has been waiting for. It’s the last day of classes before Easter recess. Some of the guys are planning to head home for the week. Others are heading to Fort Lauderdale hoping to land some chick in the sack. But a little group of us guys got together and decided to drive to New York City and welcome the Beatles on their first visit to America. It seems Steve’s uncle is some Exec at WABC-Radio and could get us all in to greet the Fab Four at a welcoming party thrown by the station. That suited me just fine. It sounded really great. To me New York seemed like a new world waiting to be explored. I was all for it. I figured it was better than spending your lousy vacation break by visiting the folks. I’m sure you’re all familiar with the same old routine. You come home and everyone is sobbing, smiling and belting you on the back. The next day things get back to normal like they were before. The rest of the time you fight with your kid brother, maybe knock out a few teeth to make up for lost time. And the rest is just plain old bumming around with friends you once knew and hoping you’d forget. Going back home could be a real drag. Especially if you don’t have a chick waiting for you. The only thing I’d probably have waiting for me back home is a Gretchen Copeland. She’s got a real nice set of knockers, but is indescribably ugly. I mean if a body was to plant her in a cornfield, I’m pretty sure she would scare the living shit out of the crows.

This one guy’s brother will be vacationing in Bermuda for a while and is leaving this huge pad in the city just for the taking. I told my folk’s I’d be staying at this friend’s place in New York. Mom seemed to have given me the green light. But pop had another one of his shit fits. Over the phone, he started preaching about sin city. That I should watch out for perverts, the ungodly, and Commies. He ended it all by telling me not to get into any trouble. What he really meant was not to knock-up any chick. Some of us guys felt we had just about enough of all this crap and decided to get the hell away from it all.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE’S JUST A LITTLE BITCH

It’s now about 4:30 in the afternoon and the campus is really dead. Why, if you wanted to love it up with some chick you could go right ahead and do it anywhere. There’s not a soul around to stop you.

Well, I opened things up breaking the silence. Are you ready for the big vacation in the city, Stu baby?

But there wasn’t a response. He just laid on the bed looking straight-up at the ceiling. He gave a slight nod with this dopey expression on his puss. Now I was really wondering what could be on his mind. I wanted to help the poor bastard.

Say Stu. Is there anything buggin’ ya? You just don’t look your old self.

Nah, he replied. I’ll be all right in time.

Now he was really driving me up a wall. C’mon kid, I said, trying to dig the info out of him. It can’t be as bad as all that?

I knew then he was sulking over his chick, Sue. When I asked him if there’s another guy involved, he kept ranting and raving that he didn’t care anymore… that he’s glad he found out she’s just a little bitch, and kept mumbling to himself for a while."

Well, you know how these damn chicks are, I remarked. They seem to just come and go today. It must be this new liberation thing that I heard about. I tried cheering him up. I told him that with the good-looking chicks I’ve heard so much about in the city she’ll be wiped from his memory. I went on like how city girls didn’t crap around or play games, how hot they are and that he might get lucky and land one for sure. This bulling continued for about ten or fifteen minutes until I realized he was fast asleep. I was talking to myself. Well, I said to myself, "that was pure fun conversing with the brick walls.

I felt kind of grimy so I took a shower, a shave and a shit and shot the breeze with this guy who was still left on the floor. Later, the guys ordered a large pizza and brought some beer into the room. Steve put on a Beatles record and we all bulled until one in the morning. Everyone rambled on about meeting the Beatles, what they were going to say to them, how the city chicks differed from the small town chicks, and the parties they were going to throw in New York. I just couldn’t get to sleep because the damn pepperoni started acting up on me, so I just stayed up a while browsing an old Playboy magazine. I just love when they tell you that the chicks in the spread outs are home grown, down to earth, and come from these little towns nobody ever heard about. I’ll tell you this much… I’ve yet to meet some chick in my home town that looked even close to as good as the ones in the mag. I tried not to concentrate too much at the pics. This way, I wouldn’t get so hot and bothered and be spouting during the night. So, I jumped to this one section that’s just too much. The Playboy Advisor. I just couldn’t believe some of the idiotic questions people can ask. Like, I just screwed a girl, do I have to marry her now? Or, I just found out my girl’s a nympho but her old man is loaded, should I marry her? Or, what about this… My dick is five inches, how can I get it to seven or eight? After reading the questions, (and some of the dumb-ass answers,) I tossed the mag aside, threw the covers over my head and fell into a quick snooze.

CHAPTER THREE

I SAW HER STANDING THERE

Early, the next morning, all five of us were busy laying down plans for the trip. It seems we’re not going to be the only one’s spending Easter break in New York. Lou clued us all in that there would be three chicks who are also heading to the city. We told them about our plans, to string along, and the rest of the old crap. What seemed crazy to me is I knew what that ass wanted… Another ass. Now I know, deep down, we’re all a bunch of ass lovers, but that bastard would screw anything that was wearing a skirt. There are only three of them and five of us. One could be sure that the sharpest of the bunch will be riding in the saddle like Annie Oakley. When the rest of the guys heard there are chicks tagging along, they started whooping it up. They were acting like a bunch of horny bastards. Now, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t mind having my own chick on this trip. But these ass-holes didn’t even see them yet and they were already licking their chops. When I once asked some of the guys if they would screw a chick if she wasn’t a looker, I would always get the same feedback… Put a flag over her face and bang her for old glory. I imagine to a guy, a hole is just a hole. I remember mom used to tell me that you have to give love before you get it in return. I used to think it was okay when you and some chick get better acquainted and really take a liking to one another. But the guys keep telling me I have these old fashion, out of date, corn-belt ideals that went out with the sweet little virgins years ago. I guess it seems there’s a whole new revolution going on and I’ve been sitting on the sidelines too long. Well, getting back to what we were doing, everyone seemed mighty happy. Everyone except Stu. I figured he still had that damn bitch on his mind. Maybe Lou the ass is right when he says, date ‘em, lay ‘em and leave ‘em, even though he can’t live up to his own motto. It seems he loses the chick right before he even gets started. I once overheard that nut job talking to some new chick. I figured she had to be new around here or she wouldn’t be making time with him. Last semester, the guys decided to have a little fun with him. Charlie, an electronics genius, bugged Lou’s room when it was Open House. That’s one day a semester when chicks were able to enter the dorm premises and visit the guys. A small mike was hidden on the main floor. We not only picked up Lou making it with this big titted vulture, but plenty of squeaks and groans. It turned out to be quite a show. Some guy went business-like and started charging admission. But Lou killed all our fun when he asked the chick if she knew any new sex positions rather than just lying in bed, squealing. WOW. You should have heard that bitch hit the ceiling. After some yelling and name calling, we heard this loud thump and Lou crying about his masculinity almost being destroyed. What a knucklehead. He’s well-known around here as being one of those new type of hippies with his long straggly hair, fuzzy little beard, and his association with Jesus Freaks. You never know what he’s going to do next. I remember the time when he barged into my room, tells me there’s some nice looking piece asking for me on the main floor, only to find something that looked like an explosion in a gut factory. The others aren’t as perverted as Lou but could easily pass for being flaming ass-holes. Steve’s a studious minded individual, especially on the topic of sex education. But, Steve’s an O.K. guy in my book. It was his idea to spend Easter at his brother’s pad in New York. Jeff’s an easy going guy, most of the time, until he spots a good looking pair of legs, and then tries like a son-of-a-bitch to put the make on her. He say’s he loves cars because that’s where you make the chicks. And, he also claims he love booze because that’s how you get to make them.

Finally, the guys finished laying down the plans for the trip and pulled me over to see the confounded mess. Heading off the top of the list of things to do was finding BROADS. Did you ever see so many broad-minded ass watchers in your life? We bulled some more and then made a split to the showers. The guys started clowning around in the bathroom, as usual, and began belching out and utterly destroying the Beatles,’ She Loves You, at the top of their miserable voices. After some enlightening choral singing, they started having a pissing contest to see who could shoot the farthest. They began making small bets. It took only a couple of seconds until the stench started flowing my way. So I decided to head the hell out of there before I got drowned. I went back to my room, flipped on the Beach Boys, flung myself into bed and rested-up for a while. I figured I’d relax a while before we shoved off. But I figured wrong. I was suddenly attacked by this loud shriek and a crashing down of my door. Lou barged in first with Jeff trailing on his ass. I looked at my alarm. It was only a little past 8:00 A.M.

Get up… get up, they insisted, while trying to haul me out of bed.

Get the hell out of her, I shot back. We’ve got til noon to clear out.

C’mon, pick your damn ass up, Lou demanded. Let’s head to White Castle and get some belly bombers.

I’m not hungry in the first place, I said. And number two, I want to get some shut eye, so fuck offs, you guys.

All right, Lou responded with this smile on his puss. But, you know what they say, too much sleep is not a good thing.

Yeah, Jeff agreed. Ya right, Louis baby. I once read that somewhere. They said too much sleep can put you in an early grave.

Well, if you fuckers don’t get the hell out, I threatened, you’ll be there before I will.

Well, that’s fuckin’ gratitude! Lou remarked.

Yeah, Jeff concurred. "That’s really fuckin’ gratitude.

Get your asses out, I told them, turning on my stomach to finish some uninterrupted sleep

After some moments of silence, I was suddenly hit with a bucket filled with cold water But the cold water wasn’t enough for those bastards. They topped it off with some ice. I’ve heard of guys being pissed on like this at a frat induction, but this was a hell of a cloud burst thunderstorm.

You crazy son-of-bitches, I yelled, quickly pulling my ass out of a flooded bed. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?"

Get a move on, demanded Jeff, standing outside the doorway laughing uproariously with Lou. Those chicks will be here soon.

You dumb bastards, I exclaimed drying myself off with a towel. Right now I wouldn’t care if a band of whores were serenadin’ me outside my window. Get the fuck out of here.

I stood in the middle of the room drenched in total disbelief. My bare feet were standing in this pool of water surrounded by tons of ice, my under clothes soaking wet and a steady stream of water running off the top of my head. As I started cleaning up the mess, I kept thinking about the knuckle heads I’d be stuck with in the city. The worst part of it all is knowing Lou would be living under the same roof with me. Even if it’s just for a few days you can’t trust the crazy bastard. You never know what that hippie freak is going to pull next. Most of the time, it’s hard just trying to talk to him. Whatever goes in one ear goes right down to his ass.

I knew I would never get back to sleep again. So, I got dressed, shot me some Right Guard into my pits, finished packing and locked the door behind me. Downstairs, in the dorm lounge, Stu was catching some TV action. I sat down beside him and watched The Munsters for a while. When eleven o’clock rolled around, we started making tracks to Steve’s car. Steve was busy putting the final polishing touches to his new ’64 fire engine red Camaro with this white lightning streak running along its side. The guy’s really a luck son-of-a-bitch with his folk’s being rich and all. He promised me he would set me up with this hot cousin from Long Island. According to Steve, she’s a real looker, and just received a new Corvette for her eighteenth birthday; compliments of daddy. I asked him if she puts out and he told me if I don’t mind putting out the bulge that site in my back pocket instead of the front. That she first prefers being pleased like a lady, before she pleases like a slut.

From a distance, I spotted these three chicks who would be tagging along with us. They were sitting cozily on this piss yellow Mustang talking with the guys. My eyes latched onto this little blonde. I saw her standing there all decked out in a mini, sporting this Twiggy hair style. This chick was cute looking in her ultra-short blond hair and baby face smile. She was a petite packaged version of a Twiggy and a Barbie Doll toy model you find sitting on a department store shelf. Her eyes met mine. For a few moments, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She smiled at me. I smiled right back. Our eyes, and no doubt our hearts, seem to connect. I concentrated solely on her, holding my smile for her, while making tracks to