No, I'm not doing a thing tonight

She uttered to her red dress

Carelessly caressing the wind

 

The man in the pinstripe twisted

Her brown curl with a sly smirk

Then walking down the hill glanced one last time

At the 'v' fold of her skirt

And those chubby knees scarred

By worn nylons

 

After the dusk had mellowed to black

Twice over and brought up a new morn

The young woman lay upon the same checkered quilt

Innocently crushing the green twigs and wondering

If her virginity would ever wander back