© June 1996

Shirley was a true blonde, and tiny -- 4' 11", maybe. At 19, almost 20, her skin was tight, smooth and flawless. She liked to keep a light tan because she knew I liked the tan lines. I told her the tan lines pleased me, which was enough for Shirley.

Well, not all the time dammit, but it sounds good.

With five years of college plus three years in the Army, I was twenty-six when I started dating the young woman. In addition to working for the railroad, I owned a bar that a trusted friend managed, a prosperous flower shop my sister ran, and half of a used car lot, where my stepfather did his thing. On top of that I found time for the Jaycees a couple of nights a week and a weekend gig doing radio. I was lucky.

Over the years I had developed a taste for women that did not always include the likes of what at first appeared to be a naive young girl fresh from the country. My ass was still sore over a young female friend of my sister's who had dumped me in favor of someone else. At the time of this telling, it had been nearly two years, and I still had not met anyone who could take that woman's place in my heart. I might have been looking in the wrong places.

My problem was simple. I, uh, well, I had learned to like what most guys would call 'bitches.' Oh, no, not the overt, ball-busting kind. I can't stand females who burn their bras and demand you call them 'Miz.' The kind of females I liked then (and now) are determined, sexy, smart, classy, devious, and underhanded - with a whim of iron.

In other words, a challenge.

But I had to watch myself. Some women who appear to have all of those qualities really are inherently of a more shallow mind. This is usually revealed by periodic attacks of the dreaded Vapours, a female state that causes good men to act like Iranian cab drivers and drives weak men to drink.

Actually, I started dating Shirley by accident - Charlie had to close his drugstore early.

Across the street from the railroad offices where I worked, was an old hotel. I was in heaven the day the YWCA bought it and converted the entire structure into a women's domicile. There were about 300 young women in residence in the facility at any given time, and I did my best to get to know as many as time allowed. My T-Bird convertible and bachelor apartment didn't exactly give me a negative image.

OK, so I had a reputation.

A drugstore occupied most of the ground floor of the residence. The owner -- Charlie -- was an old goat who doubled as the pharmacist, and made the best Coke float known to mankind. As older men will do, he also volunteered to be my mentor in the game of life. And I liked him well enough to listen. From time to time we traded favors, but the balance was usually in Charlie's favor.

My friend had watched with interest, and a more than a little amusement, as I tried to screw my way through the building. He could even tell I was getting bored with the game. I had told him about losing the great love of my life, and he knew I wasn't just playing the rake (although that was part of it); I was really trying to find my heart again, but without much success. Of course that may have been because I really was looking in the wrong places.

One thing Charlie and I had in common was an indiscriminate love for females, especially the kind that challenged us. When time allowed, we would discuss for hours the sometimes irrational, sometimes funny, usually perplexing ways of the distaff side of the human equation.

Of course the young ladies in the building knew none of this, and probably didn t care. I was eligible, or at least decent company for someone lonely, or whatever it is young women see in young men. Just a few weeks before he introduced me to Shirley, Charlie had guessed that nearly twenty percent of the building had become my most willing conquests - or had thought about it.

This was in the late sixties, which Charlie said reminded him of the "Roaring Twenties," when he was young man. He got laid a lot back then, too, he said.

Besides burning their bras, many women of the late sixties were also smoking dope and screwing like war widows. I didn t smoke dope, but I tried to be helpful with the rest. It had been several weeks since I had visited the drugstore. An unfortunate incident had soured me -- not toward Charlie but toward women, especially toward those in the YWCA dorm. I also had a rather daunting task set for me over the next week to ten days -- set for me by a female who wanted me to do something for her that both excited and appalled me -- and I needed to talk it over with my friend.

After work I walked across the street for a Coke float and some of Charlie's chatter. A frumpy little girl was sitting next to my usual stool, but when I started to sit further down the counter Charlie motioned me to my regular seat with a nod of his head. Other than me, the frump, one of Charlie's cashiers and Charlie, the place was deserted.

"Hi Charlie."

"Yo son, meet Shirley," said Charlie, as he started making the float. I took another look at the girl. Huge sunglasses, hair in curlers, baggy dress, all contributing to placing her at a minus five on a scale of a hundred. I was not impressed. The baggy dress made her look like a real heavy weight.

"I know you," said the dumpy girl, "Gretchen slapped the shit out of you a couple of weeks ago." I decided then that the little frump's personality matched her looks. My emotions immediately ran through embarrassment to chagrin, then changed to pissed off and wanting to get even. It wasn't so much what she said -- the incident was a matter of semipublic record; in a dormitory full of women, any such happening would be the subject of much discussion -- it was the way she said it.

With glee in her voice she continued, "And I'll bet you deserved it." Her leg was swinging back and forth, and a huge grin seemed to light up her face. All I could really see were the damn sunglasses and teeth.

"Probably," I mumbled, looking for Charlie. The float was sitting in front of me but the old goat was not in sight. Looking around, I discovered Charlie was doing something busy behind the prescription counter.

Turning back to Shirley, I said, "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Not really, I'm bored out of my mind."

"So you decided to bust my balls as light entertainment?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said contritely.

I didn't believe her for a minute.

"Apology accepted."

We sat in silence for a few moments. Shirley was sucking on the last of some kind of drink, and I was inhaling the float. Two weeks without one of Charlie's floats had me in withdrawal, and the float was wonderful in spite of the company.

"You're mad."

"Not really."

"Yes you are, and I'm sorry. I really mean it this time -- maybe a little, anyway." Then the little ball-busting frump grinned at me again as if I was the nail and she was the hammer. This called for retaliation.

"That's ok, and I really love your hairdo."

"Touche. So I'm supposed to go hide when I'm fixing my hair?"

We glared at each other for a moment, while Charlie walked up and looked us over with a laugh. "I see you two are getting to know each other real quick."

"Right," I mumbled.

Shirley said to Charlie, "He's an asshole."

To which I replied sarcastically, "No, I'm not. Little girl, I am being a jerk. There's a jerk in all of us, even you. Especially you, maybe. But I have a lot of redeeming qualities, which assholes don't have. I know what the hell I am. Do you know what you are?" The word I had in mind was bitch, but I didn't want to say it.

Instead of getting mad, the frump just looked at me from behind her damn sunglasses-and-teeth face. Finally she said reluctantly, "Maybe you are, maybe you're not. The jury's still out." Why did I feel as if I were back in the Army undergoing quarter's inspection? Did I leave my fly open?

"Besides," I went on, "Gretchen slapped me because she doesn't have a sense of humor or I'm an insensitive beast, take your pick."

"That's too easy, gimme a harder one."

Charlie was listening to us talk. He interrupted to say, "Lighten up you two. Now listen to me. I'm closing up early. Janey (his late night cashier) just left. It's Easter weekend and ninety-nine percent of the women in this building have gone home. So I'm closing early. And you two are taking up real estate that will soon be dark."

I still wanted to get Charlie's advice on something, so I asked, "You got time for a little light conversation tonight?"

"Nope, got a hot date."

"OK, Charlie, understand."

His wife had passed on a few years earlier, and Charlie was trying to find his lost libido with a grass widow he had known for years. I would have bet even money that he was on the verge of getting in her pants, maybe again, and that was why he wanted to close early. 'Why not. The old goat deserves all the fun he can find, ' I thought. I would just deal with the problem myself, or catch Charlie on Tuesday.

Shirley was not so charitable. "Damn. I'm bored, and the building's empty. I'm also hungry, and with you closing there's no place within 5 miles of here to eat."

On that note, Charlie got this crafty look on his face. A sneaky little smirk appeared as he said, "Hey I got a great idea. Jack, you owe me a few. Take Shirley out and feed her. I keep a good customer happy, and she can entertain herself all night at your expense."

I gave the old goat my dirtiest look, while Shirley protested. "How the hell do I know I can trust him Charlie?"

"If I say you can, you can. Trust me, not him."

"Charlie," I started to say. He held up his hand to cut me off and I stopped protesting. I owed him. 'Damn.'

Putting on my best ingratiating phony smile, I swiveled the drugstore stool around to face the little frump and said, "Hi young lady, uh, Shirley. Would you please provide me with the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight? I promise you one of the best meals in Houston. I'll be a complete gentleman and deposit you back on your doorstep completely unsullied by humble self after our repast."

The little frump looked at me with an unreadable expression for a moment, then gave me a look at her teeth again. "Sure, why not. I'll go get dressed and try to think of something pleasant to say, maybe. Or maybe not."

On that note, she slid from her stool and walked rapidly to the door leading into the YWCA lobby. The words "Ten minutes," trailed her exit. I turned to give Charlie my best glare. He just laughed at me.

Then he got serious. "Don't even think about fucking her."

"Not my type. She's a little too, ah, hefty for me. And why are you going into your protector of damsels act? What's she to you?"

Charlie leaned against the ledge of the ice cream cabinet and folded his arms. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Because I think she has some potential. Too early to tell, but I get a good feeling about this one."

I started to protest, "Charlie, she's a fru..." He cut me off to say, "Wait. I gotta go ring out. You just sit there and contemplate your sins. And you owe me seventy-five cents."

"Put it on my tab."

Charlie went on about his business and I sat there trying to think of someplace I could take the fat little frump where nobody I knew would see us. I drew a big zero. I really wanted Italian food, but Romano's was out. If I showed my face there with Shirley, I would be the butt of blind man jokes for the next century.

'Hah, ' Bill William's Drive-In south of town would be our destination.

Then I thought about my problem. This captured my thoughts for some time, and I was only vaguely aware that Charlie had finished his chores and walked over to the counter to sit down a couple of stools away from me. He cleared his throat and I looked up to follow his glance.

Coming into the drugstore was a vision of loveliness.

I turned to chew on Charlie's ass for making me go out with Shirley. A lonely Goddess was possibly available, and I was stuck. "Damm You Charlie!"

Then the bolt of lightning hit.

I slowly turning back around. Shirley was by then standing about two feet away from me. I silently inhaled her presence with my eyes. The transformation was complete. Gone were the sunglasses, the frumpy dress and the hair curlers. In their place was long silver blonde hair, laughing ice blue eyes, and a body to die for.

'Fat!' No way, my glasses must need checking. I was immediately enchanted. I was bemused. I was flabbergasted. I was also trying not to get hard and embarrass myself.

As I slowly slid from my stool, Shirley was reading my face and gauging my reactions. Her body language hinted just a wee bit of apprehension, a touch of insecurity. At that point, I realized she might just be interested in me. The hair on the back of my neck rose from the electricity generated by the immediate tension between us.

The transformed young lady was standing erect, with her arms in front of her clasping a small purse. Her posture was almost military, and with her shoulders held back, her prominent breasts begged for my attention, but I didn't look. My eyes had become locked in a test of will with Shirley's. Just the barest hint of some exotic perfume threatened to distract me.

Neither of us won the test of wills that time as Charlie grabbed me by the shoulder and with his hard pharmacist's hand, turning me to face him. "Remember what I said." The expression on his face wasn't grim or threatening, in fact he was smiling.

"OK, Charlie, I'll keep my word." 'Dammit, ' I thought.

Turning to Shirley, I held out my arm, and she took it as I said, "We're going to Romano's." Then, arm in arm, we left the drugstore. Charlie locked up behind us.

Shirley was excited about my convertible. When she demanded that we drive with the top down, I protested. "What about your hair?"

"I've got a brush, or I'll put it up in a pony tail. Don't worry about it."

So off we went with the top down. Half my mind was on driving, the other half continued to inventory Shirley's charms. This took an unusual amount of time. Her legs alone were clearly worth a year or two of concentrated thought.

The transformed little frump was wearing a yellow sun dress. The hem was just above mid-thigh in current fashion. A memory of another time and another sun dress - white - briefly flew through my mind. Charlie knew about that other damn sun dress and I wondered for a moment if there was a connection. Then I rejected the thought as too tenuous.

"Don't you want to go somewhere like Bill William's?" said Shirley, intruding on my thoughts. Had she read my mind? Probably not. Bill William s was 'the' drive-in during those times.

"We're going to Romano's," I replied. "I'm driving. I'm buying. I'm hungry for Italian food. And I want to show you off. You look great. I was surprised."

"How many eyes was that?"

Startled, I said, "Do what?"

"Never mind, Romano's it is."

To avoid further conversation and clear my head, I made a production out of driving. Shirley took the hint and occupied herself changing stations on the radio until she found the one she wanted.

The music was blaring and Shirley's hair was blowing around in the breeze as we arrived at Romano's. As we pulled into the parking lot, she began frantically brushing her hair, then when that didn't work, quickly arranged a pony tail as she had promised. The valet dashed over to open the car door for Shirley, and did his best to look up her dress. I was pleased to note she denied him the opportunity with considerable grace - not easy to do in a near mini-skirt.

Mike was on duty as the maitre d'. His eyebrows tried to find the ceiling as we walked inside and he got a good look at Shirley. I had known Mike a long time. We were buddies. The asshole barely acknowledged my presence as he bowed and scraped leading us to the 'A' table.

The only other time I had been privileged to sit at that table was not something I wanted to think about right then. Instead, I enjoyed the reactions of the other diners, both male and female, to our entrance.

My buddy Mike held Shirley's chair as he seated us. He then whipped out two menus and began a major production detailing the selections. As he recited the daily specials and menu features, Mike focused on Shirley and surreptitiously kept trying to look down the front of her dress.

This didn't fool Shirley. Looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, she said tartly, "Whatever Jack orders is fine with me."

"I usually get something that isn't on the menu," I said, "Do you like chicken, pasta, or what? Also, what type of sauce do you like?"

"Whatever you like is fine with me." This was not to be the last time I was to hear those words from Shirley.

"OK, Mike, get your eyes back in your head and turn in two of my specials. Oh, and please bring us whatever German 'Blush' you carelessly ordered and can't get rid of. For some reason wine sounds good tonight. Later on in life, I developed a taste for wine. At that time, it was rare that I indulged myself.

My old friend made another production out of reclaiming the menus, and marched off with his back straight, in a parody of haughty disdain. Shirley could tell he was faking, and laughed. I was immediately entranced by her 'tinkly' combination giggle and laugh.

Shirley and I were scarcely able to have a conversation. We were only able to talk in between a parade of hard-leg Jaycee friends and acquaintances who came by to be introduced to her Royal Highness. She played the queen well. I was torn between jealousy -- some of the guys did everything but ask for a date -- and wallowing in the reflected glory.

Mike appeared to escort us out when it was time to go. Shirley grinned when she caught his wink at me as we exited. My T-Bird was already at the entrance, and a valet was stationed at each door. Shirley disappointed the one holding her door by gracefully getting in the car with a minimum flash of legs. I wondered if he had won a coin toss, or if he had seniority.

As we drove away, Shirley said brightly, "This is a new dress. I think I'll wear it more often."

"Right. But not around me unless you warn me in advance, so I can bring my shotgun."

Shirley reacted with her 'tinkly' laugh, and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. Her hard breasts brushed my arm. Then she fiddled with the radio until the sounds of "My Girl, talking 'bout myyyyy girl," filled the car. We were both full of wine and good spirits. Shirley sang the melody, and I did the counterpoint, emphasizing the boom-a-boom-a-boom-a-boom bass part.

It seemed to take no time to drive back to where she lived.

Mindful of my promise to Charlie, I drove directly to the converted hotel. As we arrived at the entrance, Shirley said, "Park for a minute, please." When I complied, she leaned over and gave me a hair-raising kiss full on the lips, again pressing her almost too-large breasts against me. Pulling back, she looked in my eyes intently, while cupping my face with her hands.

"The jury is leaning in your favor, she said. Can you pick me up at ten tomorrow morning? I really would like to go to Galveston beach."

Arriving at an instant no-brain decision, I said, "Make it ten-thirty. I have to do my radio gig from six to 10 on Saturday mornings."

"OK, that's fine. I'll be listening."

As she dashed inside, I watched her skirt flip up in the back. Shirley's legs were absolutely world class. I glimpsed narrow ankles. Her calves and thighs were slender and slightly muscular. Just the way I liked them.

The evening and the wine must have dulled my senses. It didn t register until much later that she had not asked which radio station - that Shirley might know more about me than I realized at the time. The thought of what I must do the following week, and how painful it would be, intruded for a moment, then I rejected further contemplation of that in favor of thinking about Shirley.

Shirley had changed from busting my balls to pleasant company too fast for me to understand why. Something was going on that was not obvious - perhaps? For a moment I speculated that Charlie was somehow involved, then rejected the thought. I had not seen or heard anything to indicate that Charlie was more to Shirley than what he appeared to be. Maybe she had started out irritable because she had been caught wearing the wrong dress, or maybe it was the curlers.

As I drove home, bits of the evening proved worthy of recall. I remembered the one-woman parade to the restroom. I could trace her path by the turning heads and watching eyes. Shirley walked with pride and grace, shoulders well back in a feminine version of military posture. Her narrow waist and perfect, heart-shaped ass gave a swing to her movements that was erotic without being vulgar.

I was entranced, as I had not been for a long, long, time. Charlie was right, this one had potential. I gave a sigh as I realized my friend knew me better than I would have ever expected.

The next day was a hoot.

I picked up Shirley at exactly ten-thirty. She was dressed for the beach, with a wrap covering her body to mid-thigh, and lugging this enormous canvas bag that looked as if it would haul all her worldly belongings. As she got in the car, Shirley was in full-blown attack mode. Why did that not surprise me?

"You asshole, how dare you."

"Who me?" I asked innocently.

She bent over the seat back to drop the bag on the rear floorboard, then shifted around to sit facing me. Those ice-blue eyes of hers drilled into me. I noticed her make-up. The previous evening it had been impeccable. Just right for an evening on the town. Now, there was just a touch of mascara, and a much lighter shade of red lipstick. Perfect for the beach.

A random flash of insight took root in my mind. Shirley had class. She also liked to fight. "Shirley Zapalac and her friend made an entrance last night at Romano's that had to be seen to be believed."

"Had to have been seen," I corrected.

"Whatever." As I pulled away from the curb, she continued, "As the gorgeous young woman held court, I could not think..."

"Help but think."

"Help but think that Houston had gained, and Hollywood had lost, true beauty," she recited.

Correcting her, I said, "Shirley Zapalac, and her friend, made an entrance last night at the upscale restaurant Romano's that had to have been seen to be believed. As the gorgeous young woman held court, I could not help but think that Houston's gain was Hollywood's loss. Seldom have these tired eyes seen such a combination of class and beauty in one young woman. And that's the end of the eight o'clock news from Demand Radio seventy-nine, Houston."

"Yes, that's what you said, you rat."

"Did I miss something?"

"Damn right. I was so embarrassed. All my g... Never mind." Then Shirley started tinkle-laughing, and I broke up.

I grabbed a big hat from the back seat and pushed it down over Shirley's head. "You need this or you'll get the sunburn from hell." She accepted my gift, and off we went.

Driving to Galveston was a blast. I drove the car, and Shirley drove the radio, searching until a song was found we both could sing. It seemed to both of us that only minutes had gone by when we arrived at the beach, after stopping a short distance away to take the top down.

At the time, Galveston was 'the' place to go to the beach in the summer. Sandy beaches extended from the southwest end of the island to a ferry crossing on the northeast end. The city itself, and the main beach area, were near the northeast end.

Shirley insisted we conform to the ritual. This meant driving up and down the main street that was between the shops on one side and the beach on the other. Parking was to be found in lots behind the shops. Steps led from the high sea wall down to the beach, and the six lane street was atop the sea wall and level with the rest of the town. Wide sidewalks lined both sides of the street.

Traffic was bumper to bumper. The sidewalks were full with surging humanity. Kids herded along by parents, teenagers walking or standing in same-sex knots gawking at each other, couples out for a day at the beach, roller-skaters, bicyclists, joggers, shoppers, any one of which were liable to dart out in front of the vehicle parade at any moment.

Cars and trucks of all descriptions slowly drove along the road, more often than not packed tight with shrieking girls and cat-calling boys. And if you were young and good looking, the order of the day was a minimum of clothing. Male and female great bodies were everywhere. So were pot bellies and cellulite, overexposed on the not so great.

I focused on driving, to avoid a fender-bender or hitting someone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Shirley bouncing around taking in the sights.

Kneeling on the seat gave her a little more height. It also allowed her to stand on her knees and clutch the top of the windshield in a pretended effort to see better. This naturally drew the attention of the knot of young men we were then passing. Not unexpectedly, they responded with bellows of, "Hey babe, dump that low-life and come over here with us." "I love you." "Beeeeerrrr." "Oh, my God."

And so on.

Shirley pretended to be embarrassed, and slumped down on the seat with a tiny voiced, "Eeek." I wasn't fooled for a minute. Sure enough, she did it again after a few minutes. I pretended to be irked.

"You're going to cause a wreck."

"No I'm not, I'm having fun."

"Brazen hussy."

"I'm ready for the beach now."

I parked and we walked hand-in-hand down to the beach, carrying just our towels and sunscreen lotion.

When Shirley took off her wrap, I almost shot in my pants. I felt like a fifteen-year-old on his first date. The bikini she was wearing was so tiny, I thought we might both get arrested. My groin ached and my eyes threatened to leave my head as I gawked at her tiny waist and flat belly. What I like to call the saddle - that part of a woman between her waist and upper thighs - on Shirley, was to die for. Absolutely my ideal.

While I was checking her out, she struck a pose. Her eyes gave away her thoughts as they roved over me in return. I could tell when she got to the lump in my swimsuit because she flushed slightly, and looked away. Then she looked back more boldly, lingering for a moment on the object of her attention, then looked up to play stare-me-down.

That was neither the time nor the place for that, so I closed the short distance between us, kissed her firmly, swatted her behind with the flat of my hand, and said, "Enough of that. Behave yourself. Save the games for later."

Shirley nuzzled my neck for a moment then pulled away, and we strolled hand-in-hand down to the water. Our belongings were in the trunk of the car, except for towels and suntan lotion left behind on the beach. As we walked, I could feel the hot sand under my feet, and the equally hot stares of a thousand eyes upon us - mostly looking at Shirley.

Splashing each other, swimming together - Shirley a surprisingly strong swimmer - again walking hand-in-hand on the beach and through the shops across the street, we had a perfect day. Laughing at nothing, conscious of the ever-present stares -- which finally caused Shirley to put her wrap back on -- we became the near-total focus of each other's attention.

And, from my view, the unwelcome center of attention from jerks looking at Shirley's charms as we walked around. My little attention-grabber liked to look at souvenirs. Not necessarily to buy, however. She wanted to see where they were made.

"This one's from Japan - Sayonara. Oh, look, Taiwan. Oh my God, Germany. I want to go there."

We helped each other with suntan lotion. From her tan lines, I could tell her last bathing suit was a one piece. I kidded her about tan lines, and got dunked for my trouble. I did mention that tan lines turned me on.

My cock made itself known off and on all day. I couldn't help it, although I tried. Shirley had a unique smell. Her own feminine odor mixed with the exotic perfume I had previously noted to form a distinct miasma that periodically drove me to the brink of total distraction. The smell of a woman was a major turn-on for me, and Shirley's bouquet was exquisite.

To say I was in heat would have begged the issue. But I had promised Charlie, so I told myself I would just simply have to wait - and hope. Shirley labored under no such instruction, however, and there was no doubt she was also turned on.

All the little things women can do to let a man know, she did -- light touches with her hands, a pose when she knew I was looking, breasts pressed as if by accident against my arm or torso, the look in her eyes; I thought Shirley wanted me as much as I wanted her. She may not have been the only good looking woman at the beach that day, but you'd never have known it by watching me.

She almost, but not quite, flaunted herself at me. But her body said there was still something held back -- maybe for later. 'Damn you Charlie.'