A scene from "Heaven's Harlots".

From Miriam William's Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years as a Sacred Prostitute in the Children of God Cult, regarding how before she joined Children of God she flirted with the counterculture and as a senior in high school end up going to meet her middle school-aged little sister's new history teacher at his house because of his similar countercultural leanings:

I walked into a living room similar to ours. There were two other older boys sitting on the couch watching television. One motioned for me to sit next to him. He was a big fellow with curly black hair, and he smiled as he put his hand on my shoulder...

I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable around these boys, who obviously were more sophisticated than I was, and I hadn't been prepared for a roomful of older males.

A man with shoulder-length, brown wavy hair was coming down the steps. He had a slight build and wore a full moustache. I remember thinking that he had a nice smile.

"I'm Sonny," he said as he extended his hand to welcome me...

I was glad to stand up and move away from the bear grinning at my side. I introduced myself and then sat on another chair, feeling tension inside me caused by indecision on whether to stay or run away. However, Sonny looked safe...

I followed Sonny upstairs to the front bedroom. He had music playing and a few albums lying out on the floor. I looked at his collection...

"Do you like Carole King?"

"I never heard her."

"Well, you'll have to listen."

I sat down on the floor while he put on an album called "Tapestry". He sat behind me on the bed with his knees touching my back while he told me about his musical tastes, his graduation from elite Franklin and Marshall, his work as a teacher, and his desire to go back to graduate school. He was twenty-four years old and from Massachusetts...

My own vision included a major societal shift from war to peace, from hate to love, from bondage to liberation. I don't know if Sonny felt the same way, but I saw him as a fellow freedom fighter. When he offered me a pipe of marijuana, I took a hit. I still wanted to believe that smoking pot was a ritual between the enlightened, and maybe love would secure the connection. I let him take me to bed without any resistance.

I like the period feel of this excerpt. It reminds me a lot of the description of the last hours of Karen Carpenter from The Carpenters: The Untold Story, which I meant to type up a few months ago, but have never gotten around to.