"Watching The Submarine Races"

It is, by far, THE sweetest of all aspects of dating.

Parking.

Known by euphemisms such as, "Watching The Submarine Races," or "Waiting For Trains," parking is a universal source of joy and pleasure to young boys and girls, and an equally powerful reason for angst and worry in parents.

Parking is such a monumental aspect of dating, that later in life we can still remember the people, the places, the songs that played on the 8-track, and those electric moments in the dark when passion ruled, "by the dashboard lights."

For a guy, the dilemma that comes early in a relationship is, "How do you ask, assuming that you DO have to ask, if a girl wants to go parking?" Does a young man just assume that she also wants to? (It IS assumed that he does!) Or, does he assume, that she just assumes, that "it" is going to happen - after the movie and the hamburger joint?

This young man nervously debated this point in his head during many a movie. The dilemma lay somewhere between, "Do I act like a gentleman and ask her - risking that she will think I am some kind of wuss?", or, "Do I just let the animal inside me rule and simply, without announcement, head straight for the cemetery after we eat?" The fear was that the former would produce ridicule, and the latter would produce a cold slap-in-the-face.

Neither was good for a young stud's burgeoning ego.

Though the world was changing in the late 60's and early 70's, it was still a tough environment for a girl. Especially a "good" girl. Did she give in to the carnal enjoyment of kissing and "petting," or did she practice self-denial and, as a result, spend scads of time at home with her parents on Saturday night?

Many of the girls this writer knew and went out with knew precisely where to draw the parking and petting line. If the action got a little too frisky, they would suggest getting out of the car for a short walk. This was an effective as a momentary, "cold shower," but did not fully dissuade her young male partner once they were back in the car.

Other girls were obviously of the persuasion, "What took you so long?," once they finally got to that darkened place of bliss. These were usually the girls with a full dance card on the weekends.

Effective parking demands that a handful of variables be present.

Once a mutual desire is confirmed, the first hurdle involves finding just the right place.

The absolute, hands-down, best option for parking is a cemetery. Preferably, a country cemetery. All the elements are present. Dark. Quiet. And, most of all, privacy. Cemeteries are filled with dead folks. And, everybody knows that dead folks don't disturb anybody.

Girls, however, generally do not like cemeteries. This could be because of all the horror movies they've seen. Or, that cemeteries seem rather sacred and separated from the world's obsessions.

But, with all due respect to the dead, cemeteries can easily come alive - in the front or back seat of a '72 Nova - on a Saturday night.

Church parking lots are also excellent venues for parking. Few public facilities are less frequented, more private, and provide more darkened parking lot space - unless, of course, some smart-aleck group of church deacons has positioned street lights throughout the property. Parents, nor the police, think to look first in a church parking lot for a young couple discovering youthful joys. The only roadblocks in this setting were the occasional Saturday night visit to the building by a church custodian, or the holding of a weekend, all-night singing or prayer service.

Too, if you were out with a girl who had an overly-sensitive conscience, or was, herself, super involved in her own church youth group, this "holy ground" arena for parking might not be the best choice. The greatest concern seemed to be that Jesus would come back at that moment and, "catch us."

She may have been right.

Many other places could, if necessary, fill the bill on a lustful Saturday night. School parking lots, dead-end country roads, subdivisions under construction, and pasture land (particularly if there was a lake, pond, or old barn nearby). The sound of crickets, for some reason, were quite the aphrodisiac for some young females.

Another variable is the music.

Got to have the right music.

Ted Nugent, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath were great for cruising. But, NOT for the romantic mood needed while in the back corner of a darkened Methodist church parking lot. Groups like Bread, The Carpenters, The Commodores, Elton John, and Neil Diamond were the ticket.

Experienced parkers know that girls L-O-V-E love songs. They are much more prone to hug and kiss and cuddle during slow, sentimental tunes. So, on a hot night in the old church cemetery, the trusty 8-track was busy cranking out, "I Honestly Love You," "The Way We Were," or "You Light Up My Life."

It is still hard to believe that this rock and roll guitar player spent good money on such repulsive, musical drivel. But, alas, this was the female viagra of the day.

Though they are made fun of by some in modern times, 8-track tape players were great companions in the land of watching submarine races. Though they did not offer the convenience of a perfect song selection - like the burned CD's and iPod's of today - they did provide an unending loop of music which continued as long as passion called for it. If a tune inappropriate for the atmosphere of the moment did happen to cycle through, an experienced parker could easily, without missing a beat, bump the player to the next track using his free hand.

It was a small price to pay!

On those nights when you had already gone through the tape case, exhausting all the mood music you had brought along, the radio was not always a good alternative to the 8-track. Especially if the parking exchange seemed to be going well. This was a lesson well-learned on one particular evening with a young blonde who was undeniably starved for some male, lip-time.

Trust me - she was!

The case full of sappy 8-tracks had already been through a fourth lap of repetition in the tape player. Yet, this girl was not yet ready to be taken home.

Trust me - she wasn't!

And so, rather than listen a fifth time to Barry Manilow, The Chi-Lites, or "Please Come To Boston," this genius fired up the car's radio. Great timing, too. The station had just begun a commercial free block of slow-dance numbers. Rod Stewart's, "Tonight's The Night," and The Eagles, "Take It To The Limit," were the first two cuts in the block.

Great choice, old boy.

Things were going along fine until the commercial-free block ended. When it did, the first sound that came blaring out of the speakers was a human voice, addressing the, "pain and itching of hemorrhoids."

Good old Preparation-H!

I thought the girl would never stop laughing.

While darkness and music were vital to a passionate evening of carnal exploration, these were not the most important of all ingredients.

That would be - the smells.

Fragrance is a powerful thing. Some smells drive a girl crazy, while others only drive them away.

A young man hoping for a thunder and lightning exchange on his front seat should never make the following mistakes:

Old Spice and Taco Bell.

While advertisers make great claims about their fragrances (remember, "Hai Karate"?), seldom does Old Spice bring out the beast in a girl. Rather, it reminds them of their dearly departed grandfather.

One male cologne ad made this tantalizing boast: "All my men wear English Leather, or they wear nothing at all!"

As a result, how many cases of that stuff did we buy?

Too, the girl should remember that perfume can do crazy things to a man/boy. No young, male suitor wants to be in the middle of a passionate kiss - able to breath, for the moment, through nothing but his nostrils -  only to be bludgeoned with a strong whiff of White Rain Hair Spray or Merle Norman Astringent.

Instead, know that he will come alive with even greater passion whenever the sweetness of, "White Shoulders," or "Love's Baby Soft," wafts through the air.

Lay it on thick, ladies.

The other smell to avoid is the residual revenge from a Taco Bell Double Re-Fried Bean Burrito. Gastric misbehavior from eating the wrong foods can absolutely wreck a romantic evening behind the old steering wheel. Other than male B.O., it is the one thing that should be avoided like the plague.

Young men - beware.

Flatulence is not funny to most girls. Nor does it increase the chances of you getting your fun-meter pegged. Regardless of how amusing this practice might be to one's male friends, girls are not tickled by, nor are they drawn to, a guy who won't control his bowels. Nor will she be amused by the offering of such classic excuses as, "More room outside than inside," regardless of whose grandmother used to say it.

And, no amount of Fabreze (which we did not have back in the day) can atone for the tasteless, ill-mannered practices of failing to bathe properly, and/or rampant attacks of digestive track relief.

Instead, young fellows, bathe, shower, and dry behind your ears. Use deodorant and cologne. Fill your car with the smells of fragrant incense, spices, and other pleasantries. Don't eat Mexican or fiber, or anything else that Mr. Colon cannot quietly and inwardly process. And by all means, hold it in until you have walked her to the door.

Remember, her ancestral line leads back to Eve and the Garden of Eden. She will respond accordingly if you go the second mile to make the atmosphere a haven of sweetness, and your  potentially odorous body a model of cleanliness, hygiene, and proper dietary preparation.

Trust me - she will!

Ah, the power of young love...

In a car...

On a moonlit evening...

With soft music playing in the background...

And, two people making memories that will one day come to life again...

As they turn fondly back through scrapbook pages from the past.

In the words of a song by the group, Widespread Panic...

"Ain't life grand?"