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Subject: Celeste's Lost Files - Meeting Shirley 1 {The Observer} TTT
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TTT Archive (Treasure Trove of the Titmouse)
Celeste listed several stories as "lost" in her Cumulative Monthly List posted
in late
July. I'm posting those I have to ASS/M and hope those who have others will
do the same.
My reposting will include:
Bushido {Sachi Mizuno} Excerpt only. Anyone got the rest?
Cleave it to Beaver 1 {MrNatural} Is there more?
Dispensation of Grace 3 {Horangi} Anyone got parts 1-2?
Face of Betrayal {Morpheus' Twin}
Hands On {Deidre Ng}
Meeting Shirley {The Observer}
Open Big {Thomas A Long}
Silent Intruder {Annette}
Tammy's Game {Tammy Ng}
Terri's Dilemma {The Observer}
Tonya Harding, Slave Girl {Your Friendly Author}
These stories have been minimally cleaned up. If I have it,
the text includes original headers and footers.
Still missing, as far as I'm concerned:
"Let Your Fingers Do the Riding" by Solo Polyphony
"Under the Table" by DOLFAN353
"Shower Buddies" by Stone Wolf
"'D' Is for Driving" by Dulcinea
"So Shy" by Scott Sanders (young love)
"Stuffing the Old Gobbler" by MrSpraycan
Best,
Titmouse
[in:mtgshrl1.txt] alt.sex.stories/dl/sl960620.t
>From observer@onramp.net Thu Jun 20 18:52:17 PDT 1996
Article: 98578 of alt.sex.stories
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From: observer@onramp.net (observer)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: **New - Meeting Shirley [Damn You Charlie][1/3] M/F Rom
Date: 20 Jun 1996 02:29:55 GMT
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Author's Note:
If you have not read the story "Terri's Dilemma," then the following
story may not be as much fun for you. Whenever I post a new story,
all of the proceeding stories are posted at the same time for your
convenience.
This story was scheduled to be released in May. I wanted to revise
several older stories to be reposted at the same time and was
delayed.
I answer all E-Mail, eventually.
This story is available in WPD format. Request file SHIR1_F.WPD.
If a segment is missing, send a request, I will respond.
This story is intended solely for the entertainment of adults, and
may contain words which depict acts of human sexuality.
If you are a minor as defined by your local political jurisdiction,
a postal inspector, or an asshole looking for trouble, please delete
this file before reading, and go away. In other words, void where
prohibited by law. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance herein
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended..
***
***"Meeting Shirley" subtitled "Damn You Charlie"***
by Observer (c) June 1996, all rights reserved - Edited by Chris
Part One of Three Parts
***
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.
***
End of Part One of Three Parts
If any part is missing from your server, E-Mail me, I will respond.
observer@onramp.net
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