Chloe’s Confessions Part 3 - Sex Stories

Chloe’s Confessions Part 3

... because there wasn’t much to do there if one wasn’t swimming. I came up with the idea of Coney Island, where I hadn’t been since going with my parents at age eleven.

Gina said, “Have you seen what a dump that place has become? It must have peaked about sixty years ago.”

The Rockaways had an amusement park called Playland, and we decided on that. There were benches there too if we wanted to look at the ocean for a while. It was an extremely long trip by public transit, but we figured that would be part of the adventure.

I had green shorts that day. Not short-shorts, I couldn’t imagine myself in those. Gina had loose-fitting blue trousers, and Jenny had her denim skirt. We all had sneakers so we could do some walking if necessary.

Maintenance on the subways back then was starting to go downhill. Except for the newest cars, they were extremely noisy when the windows and end doors were open during warm weather. The 2 train had a particularly bad collection of rattletrap cars. When we changed for the A at 59th Street, that line had bigger, longer, and even louder equipment.

The best part of the trip was when the train emerged from the tunnel and crossed a couple of miles of trestles and bridges over Jamaica Bay.The subway that went to sea. We stood between the cars and enjoyed the seashore breezes.

It seemed like the three of us had temporarily gone back to the more innocent days of just a few weeks earlier. We said nothing about the sexual complications that had ...

... emerged. Instead, we were just high school students enjoying the holiday and each other’s company.

Gina had never been on the route before, and she asked, “Why did they even build this in the first place? Who comes out here in the winter?”

Jenny knew. “The Long Island Rail Road originally had it, and of course, they lost money on it.”

Playland was compactly fit into a single square block. I had always hated “thrill rides,” which often meant a roller coaster. Those had been among the worst, although I had endured rides on even wilder contraptions at various locations. By 1973, carousels were about as far as I cared to venture into the world of mechanical fun.

Gina was hyped to go on the Rockaway coaster, which was named the Atom Smasher. The “Chloe Smasher” seemed more apt. She asked me, “What’s the problem? Are you really scared of these things?”

“You bet I am. It’s like going through a series of fatal accidents and surviving all of them.”

“That’s the point of riding on them.”

Somehow she persuaded me to try it one more time, as if it was a phobia to be overcome. Jenny and I sat about halfway back, while Gina of course had to be at the very front. Just before we started, she looked back and waved at us.

The first step was the slow climb up the first incline. It seemed so calm to be pulled up seven stories, but I knew what was coming. As always, I closed my eyes as we crested the summit.

I couldn’t see the first drop, but I certainly felt it. It was ...