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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Rosie the Riveter
by Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
***
Interested in the history of welding? If not, how
about? "Ooooh! Oooooooh!" as the leading man drives his
living steel shaft deeper and deeper within me. "Oui,
mon amour! Ohhh!" Or, "How to flux his hot-rolled
cylinder and get riveted." (MF, voy)
***
FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTES
We contribute this slice of heritage to National
Women's History Month. (Whoops! NWHM was in March.
Well, for the one next year.)
There were eighteen million Rosie the Riveters, two of
whom were Alice Jean Crowder and Diane Stapleton Estes
and they welded, not riveted. They welded very well,
thank you, according to the Kaiser Shipbuilding
inspection tallies. In terms of rivets (if you're a
literal male), we had Rose Bonavita who drove a record
3,345 into a torpedo bomber in 1943. A Rosie really
named Rose!
History says that World War II was won by American
industrial might. (Should we have said "Herstory"?
Considering Ms. Bonavita, "Herstoria"? Vocabulary got
complicated after the Rosies burned their bras and the
US got licked in Viet Nam.)
Give the picture at
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Rosies
.jpg a gander.
Rosie on the left, in her polka-dot bandana, flexes her
muscle in the "We Can Do It" 1943 poster. And do it she
did, once she got to California.
Rosie on the right is Norman Rockwell's Saturday
Evening Post cover. Think she got that satisfied in an
afternoon of peening rivets? Dr. Freud! We got one for
you!
If these two Rosies had just been building war
machines, they would have had to wear hardhats.
SECOND AUTHOR'S NOTES
See if you can find the "play within the play". I
didn't invent the structure. I think Shakespeare did.
NEW HIRE #1
Richmond Kaiser Shipyard Welding Crew #138: Calvin
McKee, chief, Dennis Selfridge, Alice Jean Crowder and
Warner Marti -- Kaiser's best burners, we boasted. Our
hardhats had 138 over a big V for victory. I'm Alice
Jean. I bring in more take-home pay than my husband
Stan who's a rigger.
But Calvin got on with General Electric's sub division,
and Dennis had the seniority. Myself, I'd started later
in the shipbuilding trade, leaving college for the War
effort. I'd been studying for the stage, since I have
some talent. (Well, OK, I was having some grade
problems, too.) But now welding for two years, I was
getting to be an old hand. Hell, it got me to
California, same as if I'd opted for the cinema.
Stan, the first rigger I ever met, swept me off my feet
by the Golden Gate and got me in what looked to be the
family way, so we got married. Turns out to have been a
false alarm, but we'd already tied the knot.
Welding Crew #138: Dennis Selfridge, chief, Alice Jean
Crowder, Warner Marti and one new hire -- Kaiser
Shipbuilding's best burners, we hoped.
"So this must be Chester Estes," I judged when I saw
Personnel escorting the gangly new-hire into Shipway
11. LeeAnne in Personnel had tipped me that the new one
was single; it's interesting how new hires get
classified. Her understanding was that this one learned
to weld on the farm. Kaiser gets us from all over.
Watching the new hire reminded me my first day, but
twenty times more, me being a woman. Poor guy. Males
want so hard to impress. Dumped into the scurry, he's
thinking he made a bad job choice. My first day, I'd
known the Bette Davis bit. Hi there, fellas! Worked
like a charm.
I just hadn't realized why Stan had driven me to see
the Bay lights from the far docks. I just wasn't used
to brandy, I guess, but maybe at the same time I was
ready to live a little. Welcome to California!
I hoped this new one would give it a couple of years;
it can take a while, but you get to like it. Me, I'd
chosen Kaiser for the wrong reason -- the overtime. Now
I'd found a better reason to punch in, welding real
ships, proving that us dolls can do it faster, even.
I was pleased that the guys made a point of formally
introducing themselves to Chester, the new one. And
after a few jokes, he'd quit refolding his goggles (men
like their hands occupied) and was discussing which
Yankees were likely to enlist in which Armed Force.
Those service teams could whomp the Majors these days,
he said.
Women tend to get acquainted in terms of what we like,
the soaps, for example. Men, by what they think. It's
good to have something in common besides ironwork.
Chester hailed from Oklahoma, went to the Baptist
Church, was in sales before the War, ruefully conceding
that welding was harder, "but sure beats commissions."
I circumspectly sleuthed two crucial items: he wasn't a
fag and admitted to no spouse. Most gals just check the
latter, but I'd known a boy in school who wore his
sister's clothes. Secondary positives included that he
smoked, enjoyed dancing (not competitively, he wanted
to be clear) and had good manners. A potential negative
seemed to be the seriousness with which he took
baseball. On the other hand, he could have liked the
bottle too much, a sure-fire Monday-morning problem for
the rest of us.
Then Dennis got a transfer to Kaiser Vancouver and crew
chief goes by seniority.
Welding Crew #138: Alice Jean Crowder, chief, Warner
Marti, Chester Estes and another new hire -- Kaiser
Shipbuilding's best burners, I wondered.
I was glad I'd worked my way up, Heliarc in glove, so
to speak. Chiefs need to earn their respect, especially
woman ones.
NEW HIRE #2
And our new welder was another woman! Another Rosie the
Riveter to the public, still a broad to most guys in
Richmond. But to hell with that! Because I was now a
"Chief Broad" whose beads stayed tight. It just takes
that little bit of extra heat and not pulling the rod
away too fast. (I'm talking welding technology.)
But another gal? I was as doubtful about this new one,
Diane Stapleton, her name, as were Warner and Chester.
Could she carry her weight? She seemed to have the
biceps, I agreed. Be trusted not to burn the guy on her
right? Hell, would she do her part cleaning up?
I could tell from her union book that she'd apprenticed
in Kansas City and she probably knew her theory. Rosies
usually do. And for $1.05 an hour, 40 hours plus, two-
week paid vacation, sick leave, Rosies move to yards
where there's more water than ever flowed in the
Missouri. Did the same, myself.
Welding Crew #138: Alice Jean Crowder, chief, Warner
Marti, Chester Estes and Diane Stapleton -- Kaiser
Shipyard's first half-and-half burners.
I was pleased to have an unattached gal on board (thank
you, LeeAnne in Personnel) for Chester's sake. I didn't
foresee romance right off (this Diane seemed too
pretty), but something to think about. Plus, single
Sallies make better friends -- no raised-eyebrow, "Oh,
my husband wouldn't want me to, but it's your
business." Plus, as the three of us noted first day,
this one could submerge ark as fast as anybody could
feed her electrodes.
Crew chiefs need to watch things.
Diane and Chester exchanged greetings at the gate, I
observed, and chatted over lunch when a bench was free.
Maybe there was hope for Cupid, but after a month I'd
suggest a little faster. There's a War going on, you
know?
I'd been a virgin when I arrived, too. I could tell
that about Diane just from her giggle. Shoot! If I'd
taken the bus to Hollywood and traded mine off smarter,
I'd not be in these coveralls. But I'd not be making
big ships.
I was, I'll admit, a little glad that Warner wasn't the
one making eyes at Diane (if that's what Chester
thought he was doing. It takes a little action, too.).
I liked Warner to pal around with.
BARN DANCE
Knowing that Chester danced gave me the inspiration.
"Third Friday every month, 7:30, they open up Store
Shed 19 for a country hoedown, just like what we got
drug to when we were kids on the farm." Casually (I
hoped), I added as an afterthought, "I'll ask around
and see who else is going."
When Diane laughed, "Barn dance?" I guessed it was at
the idea of stepping out with string-bean Chester, not
alternate left and righting. No, really. She'd love to
go, though she admitted to only a city girl's idea of
barn dancing. Chester knew how, I assured. When I
promised there'd be no cows or hogs, I had to add that
it was a joke.
A barn dance is about as safe as a social can be.
You're in the arms of a different fella every 30
seconds. Even still, I pulled Diane aside, "You get
everything pretty in your room, honey, the other girls
ready to slip away for a soda, just in case." It
doesn't hurt to be prepared, even if you're not that
kind of girl. She didn't see it my way, but knew I was
trying to be helpful.
On Monday, "Kept those knees together, honey?" Rosies
can ask.
"Alice Jean, you're just awful!" cuffing me like I was
a single girl myself. "And even if I loved him, while
do-si-doing?"
Several weeks passed and Chester needed a shove
"There's another barn dance and Diane's been rehearsing
her Whoo Hoos," I prodded. Hardly Hollywood script, but
this wasn't Bogart and Bergman.
Diane followed my pointers a little better, making
Chester wrap her breast in the swings. He didn't pull
her into him as a smoothie might, she reported, so she
turned sideways to help. Smart chick, I told her.
Walking out to the street, she'd taken his arm.
She shared his cigarette like I told her ("Pop it out
of his mouth, take a deep drag and tease him with it
when you put it back in."), but didn't ditch her
girdle, my other suggestion. At least she was getting a
little more modern. (Shoot. If I'd have worn my girdle
to see the Bay lights, I'd probably not be married.)
But still no follow-up from Chester, just a "Had us a
really nice time."
Why was Chester so chicken? Being a Baptist? Full
church nursery, so those folks know how. Okie babies
have Okie daddies, so it wasn't where he was from.
Warner said lots of Okie babies are due to Route 66,
but still thought Chester's problem was just shyness.
*****
"Chester?" interrupting his small-talk about union
scale while we were hauling gas cylinders. "Diane a
good dancer?"
"She's swell. Better'n me and she just started."
"Ever get, you know, those little romantic thoughts?"
"About her? Well sure, but not for real. I'm not her
type."
I pursued, "Why not?"
"Oh, you know, she's real pretty."
"That's a reason?"
"Well, I mean, I'm not maybe that experienced with
girls. I can josh with you 'cause you're married, but,
you know..."
"You ever made a little whoopee?" Chiefs ask what's on
their mind.
"Not exactly. I'm sort of slow on the draw, maybe."
You've done it exactly or you've never done it at all.
Heavens to Betsy! Me plus two virgins plus Warner, who
I didn't want to ask outright.
ASSISTANT CREW CHIEF
As I mentioned earlier, there was no payoff to me for
finding Warner a lady-friend. I tried to help, but not
like I was thinking of Chester as a project. Warner
called me his "bossy sister" when I tipped him off
about the knockout receptionist in Security. He looked
her over, but she was already taken, he decided.
No wonder Warner and Chester are single!
I told Warner that I'd check with Casting. (Get it? We
had a foundry at Kaiser, but I meant "casting" like for
a play.) I could always swing a joke about plays with
Warner because he and I were both in the Kaiser
Players. Just bit parts, but fun. It's so strange: put
a guy on stage and he assumes a new personality: Warner
the butler, Warner the shopkeeper, Warner the guard.
I'd usually get a role involving a great costume. We'd
do each other's makeup, usually. And, shoot, if it's a
tight costume, you ask whoever's handy to help you into
it. Stan wasn't much into theater, so I told him it was
pretty much like Shakespeare and he went out with his
mates instead.
How many companies provide their workers a stage with
actual curtains? I mean, we welded the superstructure,
but it was on company time.
"What's your score on that audition?" I'd ask when a
bleached bombshell from Inventory sauntered by where we
were securing gun mounts. "You wear coveralls, I wear a
skirt," her ass more or less advertised, but I didn't
take it personally. "Shoot, bud," I told Warner. "If I
let on that some crane-man was a good looker, you
wouldn't be telling Stanley, would you?"
"And get my nose smashed for my effort?" he agreed.
"'Course a friendly girl wouldn't need to look as far
as the cranes. That's why I never talk work at home," I
assured, brushing back my partner's wayward lick of
hair. "No sense getting Stan all agitated about
somebody on my crew." But he missed my thought.
Warner lived on the same bus line, Number 14. If it
were raining at quitting time and I forgot my umbrella,
we could dash for the 14 under his. He didn't mind me
clutching his arm to jump a puddle. Such a "gallient",
my French word to sound better, though I'd expect a
Frenchy to have less of a pot belly. I'd hold on
afterwards if I didn't see Stan or any of the guys from
my husband's crew.
Jointly securing deck-plate, Warner could usually see
some underwear under my coveralls, particularly if the
second button came undone. I liked watching him
struggle. At least he didn't try the old "Alice Jean,
help me move this angle iron" lure. If I caught him
eyeballing too much, my "Need some air down there," got
us both off the hook. Needed some air further down,
too, but didn't tell him.
Warner could now and then at least have made a pass!
Just for fun, me being a girl and all. Probably best
where nobody else could see -- maybe where Provisioning
stocks the kapok life vests. Wanda in Inventory has the
key. Rosies pretty much run this place, actually.
"Hey Warner? You ever do Shakespeare?"
"Merchant of Venice. I was the Jew."
"Romeo and Juliet? We could practice lines while we
worked, even. Don't move, OK. I'm coming up the ladder
behind you. Squish in and I'll slip right over your
back." The more it's public, the less anybody sees.
But he never figured it out, ole' pal-o-mine Warner.
Nothing wrong with Stan on the home front, but our
shifts usually didn't even agree.
*****
But back to the rest of the crew. "Hey, Warner?"
pulling him aside him at pee break. They just do it
over the side if I'm not looking, but with me the
chief, he was heading toward the head. "I need some
advice. Crew chief type help, crew chief and next crew
chief type, you know."
He was listening. Maybe I was pregnant.
I started right in. "Chester and Diane. You think
they'd have fun together?" Warner looked surprised, but
hearing no objection from him, I continued. "Something
for us to think about, anyway." Still no reaction. "So
here's my plan, just for kicks. We'll stage it so
they'll get romantic."
Warner's switch clicked. "I though you were already,
that dance stuff."
"Died in Scene 2." I looked around. "I mean where
they'll get real romantic, if you get the gist."
Warner looked around, too. "Real romantic?"
"Maybe more than spooning. Get them to hoochie
coochie," bumping my hip against my partner's.
"Well it's not my business, but how you'd do that?" he
wondered.
"That's what we're planning. If it takes two to do the
act, maybe it takes two more to set the scene. An
actress and an actor like us Kaiser Players."
"To do what act?" Men are so literal, and here he
missed it!
"Get them thinking that they better get married. They'd
be as happy as turtledoves, rent a little bungalow"
"We can't do that!" Warner looked perplexed, but only
till I goosed him and made him jump.
"Actress part," I grinned in explanation. "But Stan's
not into drama like you and me," strategically bending
over to move his welding rod. "So you got cast in sort
of Stan's role, except we were in his car."
I kept fiddling with the rod as long as Warner had the
balls to enjoy it.
USS GEORGE D. PRENTICE
Kaiser's slipping one Liberty Ship per day meant that
no deck on the USS George D. Prentice stayed the same
for long. If we wanted use of the George D's quarters,
we hadn't much more than a day between when Cleanup
swept out the grime and Outfitting bolted down the
mirrors, even while George D's deployment crew was
getting off the train at Oakland Station.
Diane and Chester should have been suspicious of the
work order. Welding Crew #138 to the George D. Prentice
for "strut stabilization". Fanny in Scheduling had
freed us from traceability that day. We'd reappear in
one of Kaiser's 27-shipways tomorrow. Rosies help
Rosies.
"Don't explain much, if anybody asks," I directed my
three. "We're fixing a screw-up that Contracting
doesn't want public. Stuff's there."
Transport ran us out to the moored George D. "Pick up
at shift," I requested. We made our way up the gangway
and into the corridors of the almost-ready-to-sail
transport.
"Well hell's bells!" I bellowed, peering behind the
radio room firewall. "Someone got to it, did our job."
"You're kidding," exclaimed Warner on cue. "Went and
did it for us! Fat City! Stuck out here till shift
change." He paused for effect. "And guess what's in my
pocket?"
"Oh no we don't, mister," my crew chief role, relieving
him of his flask which I thoughtfully hefted. "Well
there's just a swig apiece, not enough to make any
difference if we're killing time."
I'd put up with no drinking, even for the little
charade I'd planned, but was hoping that Diane and
Chester's intoxication would exceed anything spirit-
produced. It's just good to always have the fallback,
"It must have been the booze."
"We can be the Admirals," I ruled, exploring the
superstructure and ending up in the captain's quarters.
"Let's kick off our boots, though, so we don't track
around." None us liked our steel toes. "Socks too," as
if it were an afterthought. "And ditch these damn
hardhats."
We speculated where the captain might want to hide his
inflatable companion, me mentioning the possibility
with a little wiggle.
Then I looked at Warner, our ad-lib thespian talent
primed. The Kaiser Players, stage center!
"Hey, you two?" to Diane and Chester. "Mind waiting
while Warner and me go next door?" to their quizzical
looks. "Chester? Diane was wondering if that Air Corps
ball team's got enough pitchers?"
"We got time," brightened Chester before Diane could
correct.
"Got some old business to attend to," added Warner,
taking my arm. The two of us exited and noisily entered
the adjoining cabin, loudly snapping the lock from the
inside.
"Don't worry, Alice Jean. We got a steel wall between,"
loudly assured Warner about the thin-gage partition. In
a downtown theater, the set designers would make a wall
at center stage, but so the audience sees both sides.
It's tricky.
I waltzed Warner to the center of the first mate's
domain, Warner's back to the wall shared with the
captain. Holes drilled in the partition squared where a
mirror would hang. Maybe a mirror on both sides, I
decided -- bolt, mirror, wall, mirror, nut. Stage
design's more tricky.
I stood facing Warner and the drill holes. And now our
lines.
"Oh, Warner," I stage-whispered. "Nobody must ever
know."
"Alone at last," he declared, a bit stiffly, but acting
takes warm-up, just like baseball.
Not to my surprise, one, then another, of the drill
holes darkened, an eyeball to the far side.
"Just one last time," in the breathy voice I'd been
working on in college. "I may never see you again,"
added for somber measure. My leading man was quick
enough to catch the cue. Maybe he was being sent to a
secret project for the War effort.
Of course the scene called for a kiss. I'd known that
from the start, but hadn't explained as much to Warner.
He deduced my direction, though, when I tilted my head
sidewise and puckered.
Actually, he was pretty good at it. For acting, of
course. Maybe he once had a steady, I wondered.
"Just one more," he winked, as they couldn't see his
face.
Why not? The other two weren't going to fall for just a
stolen peck. This time he pulled me to him, too
abruptly for a romantic comedy, but surely convincing
from over his shoulder. I'd no idea that he kissed so
wonderfully, actually.
"Mmmmm!" for that special effect.
"Alice Jean," he broke away. "You're precious to me,"
making as to put his hand on my heart. He'd not, of
course, but they'd think so.
"I'll miss you so," I stalled, wondering if Diane and
Chester had perhaps taken hands.
"I want you," he confessed most convincingly and then,
to my surprise, fingered my coverall top button.
"No, don't," I reproached. This just needs to be
suggestive, I wanted to whisper.
"Remember when Stan had the month of night shifts,
Alice Jean? Those tub baths?" For on-the-fly dialog, he
was pretty good.
"How 'bout in the back seat of Bus 14. us missing our
stops?" I could pen a few lines, myself, but didn't get
any more delivered because he was opening my coverall
top.
No way, Buster Brown! I'd still a hand on each of his
shoulders to hold him in a view-blocking position.
I didn't mind so much about my coveralls, but I hoped
it might look like only a touch, not a fondle. In fact,
he was acting as if it were a regular thing with me. In
welding, you reach across your partner all the time, so
it wasn't that he'd not felt me before, but in welding,
you're reaching past your partner.
"You know I love 'em," he winked again, flipping open
my buttons, one after another, me wordless. "Remember
that old davenport in 'Charlie's Aunt' they parked
behind the set for Scene 3. What'd we have? Maybe four
minutes till your entry?" What a fibber!
"Remember in the lifeboat, there under the canvas, when
the War Department inspector walked by?" me trying to
regain the spotlight.
"Shoot!" came back Warner. "He could see you wiggling,
but they told him the chick's the best welder we got."
He was going for the laugh, but I saw it as a
compliment.
It wasn't even as if I really cared about the others
seeing my bra, but I'd have wanted it to be only in
passing. It didn't matter as much, Warner seeing it, as
he saw it accidentally every day. This was too
impromptu, however.
I thought it time to end our performance, but he closed
to kiss again, this one long and deep. Playing the part
of the maiden was so engrossing that I scarcely felt
him reach around to unhook me. I knew it, I guess, but
I just thought it was for pretend.
I was surprised, though, when he lifted my bra free, my
nipples hard from the drama. Diane would be thinking
that I was this way because of the temperature. I
didn't think Warner had seen my nipples before, though
they said that some of the guys in Carpentry had made
this place to spy on the Ladies Dressing Room. At least
with Warner's paws over me, I was a little covered. In
the Ladies Dressing room, we'd spend extra time
reaching behind our heads to fix our hair, but with our
bras still on.
I wondered if Chester had slipped his hand onto Diane's
breast. From the darkened drill holes, I knew where
they stood -- close enough.
I wasn't sure if I'd best pull away, exposing my chest,
or let Warner shield me until we could sidestep. I
opted for the latter, as indeed, he was holding me as
would my Romeo. Maybe not on stage, though.
"Take off my top, darling," Warner suggested, and as it
bought us a bit more stage time, I undid his buttons,
pulled down his top down and his jersey up. He had a
hairy chest, and even with his belly, looked strong as
hell.
"Say yes, Alice Jean," he murmured, and taking the cue,
I complied before he again claimed my lips.
The scene was progressing further than I'd scripted.
Diane and Chester would assume the worst as to where
our tongues were, I realized. They couldn't see my
resistance. But then, we're just doing our parts. I
giggled when I lost the fencing match.
Warner rotated me to provide better view of my breasts
to the audience, but I wiggled back for modesty's sake.
But doing the kissing convincingly, I couldn't stop
Warner from dropping my coveralls, leaving nothing
above my knees but a lifted bra and white panties. (I
wouldn't want it to appear that I'd dressed up; nobody
wears girdles under coveralls.) I pictured Diane on the
other side, no girdle to keep her from sensing
Chester's hesitant admission.
As tripping would ruin our hoped-for effect, I stepped
out of my cuffs.
My costuming lost even my covering-nothing bra with
another tug. Warner was now grinning far in excess of
what the passionate lover in our play should do, but
our audience couldn't see his mouth.
My face they could watch, appropriately overwhelmed for
the scripted role, though in the script, my demeanor
would be more illusional. Playing your part in just
panties doesn't leave much to illusion.
I pictured Diane on the other side, likewise bare
breasted, her coveralls falling to the floor.
"Let's love like we did on the anchor winch." Warner's
acting like he was the chief was a little too much!
"But..."
And with that he pulled off his trousers and shorts,
exposing a surprisingly realistic erection. A
surprisingly big one, compared to Stan's, anyway.
Squeezing down crawlspaces with our tools and
everything, sure, I'd slid over Warner's crotch a few
times, but never long enough to make it do anything. If
he'd groped me, I'd have given him a what-for after
we'd gotten to a place we could talk.
"No, Warner," I protested, making sure he remained
faced away from the voyeurs. Showing them his backside
wasn't proper, but his front was worse. We couldn't
have them knowing how erectly he was enacting the man's
part. In drama, we'd say, "really up for his role", but
it's more figurative.
It was harder for him, I realized, having to play his
character buck naked, than for me, retaining at least
my panties.
But so much for that advantage. "Oh, darling," was his
brief ad lib after pulling them off. We girls sort of
knew that some carpenters might be watching in the
Ladies Dressing Room, but having your welding partner
stare down there is more personal.
But at least he'd shifted his hips nicely to block the
drill hole view. My naked-top part wasn't OK,
absolutely not, but my naked bottom might be almost
lewd. Especially when his penis keeps brushing against
my hair. (Did I mention that it was a large one?) If I
hadn't steadied it, I fear it would have flopped to the
side and the others might have seen.
What if somebody besides Diane and Chester should be
peeking? Thank God I'd called for pick-up at the end of
the day! Since I'd gotten married, nobody but Stan had
made it this far, but with Stan, it was sort of his
right. Some might say responsibility, even.
With a swoop, Warner was on his knees, feigning to
caress my breasts, his cheek suggesting interest in
even lower. Just as I couldn't help seeing Warner's
ready erection, he couldn't help noting where my legs
meet. Everybody's meet somewhere, I justified. Besides,
he probably grew up with a sister or two. Even still,
he did a super job at acting interested.
To minimize the drill-hole view of my pubic region, I
too drooped to my knees.
"Our final time," he grandly remorsed, folding his
knees in front and pulling me forward onto his lap.
Given our orientation to the wall, I had little
alternative but to scoot as bidden. At least with our
privates concealed, we could deceive. If ever I had to
explain the sham to Diane, she'd know I'd done nothing
for real, a married woman, their chief.
But when Warner pulled me downward, his penis wasn't
turned away and he'd not realized his mistake! But then
I shouldn't be critical; he must have been working like
the devil to keep it looking like it wanted to do
something.
"But Warner..." I protested, but against the smother of
his kiss, I wasn't loud enough for him to hear.
I guess he didn't realize the alignment until he felt
me slip around him. For me, anyway, I wasn't sure until
I felt him inside. Wow!
I'd descended a bit further, I judged, than required
for dramatic suggestion. My being a bit more slippery
than foreseen may have been part of the problem as
well. And somehow we'd started a bit faster than a
director might want for a well-paced scene.
"We shouldn't..." more loudly. I suspected that I was a
little too much into the enactment to be directing.
Anyway, he was already all the way.
"..be doing this during working hours," he stole the
punch of the cheap one-liner.
"But this isn't the way..." I argued, picturing Stan's
repertoire, me flat on my back or frontwards over the
side of the mattress. I smoke Luckies too, but not
during sex.
"Sure is!" Warner bounced me, making my trying to get
off look like trying to get on. Maybe they'll think
we've not actually connected, just doing it on the
outside, I hoped. I resented how unwieldy my breasts
must look to our observers.
It was getting too confusing, the acting and the not
acting, knowing when to bounce for stage effect, when
to bounce for my own effect.
His grunts and grimace were classic enough for a real
climax. Maybe his flush wasn't necessary (the others
just seeing the back of his head), but an actor
appreciates the other's intensity, something to play
against. Every starlet needs a supporting performer.
As the drill holes saw my face straight on, I had no
option but to perform my best dramatic crescendo. It
wasn't hard, as in a proximate sense, he was rubbing
realistically. Actually, I just let the mood define
things. Did they know I'm this good an actress? The
audience had liked me in comedies, especially ones by
Thornton Wilder, but I'd never done an orgasm with the
Kaiser Players.
Acting can be as lovely as reality. More so, sometimes.
Give the mental part your full and the rest of you
follows.
And in our romantic scene, Warner and I naked together,
every line was better than the one before! A
playwright, of course, doesn't script romance as
distinct dialog. Rather, he relies on the performers'
art in the non-articulate. I forget which I expressions
chose, but I doesn't matter because they change with
performances.
Wow, oh wow! I just wished they hung that mirror so I
could have watched myself.
As we caught our breaths (acting takes as much work as
real life), I noted the non-prop semen dripping from
me. Looked like soldering flux. The others couldn't see
the proof, but surely sensed that Warner had done a
superb job opposite me.
"Good job, Alice Jean. I hope we finally made that
baby." I couldn't believe he'd invent such a line!
I couldn't believe how off-track had wandered my script
for this half of the wall.
Looking to the wall, I caught the drill holes change
from dark to light, and not a minute later came sounds
from the captain's side. Passionate sounds, the same as
we'd delivered. Warner and I had played our roles
convincingly. My heartbeat told me that, even without
the sounds.
Plays can get good reviews even when the cast muffs
some of the script. Critics like spontaneity.
I wanted to use a drill hole myself, but decided that
it was different. Diane, being a virgin, wouldn't be
nearly so professional, though in a salary sense, we in
Kaiser Players were technically still amateurs.
I gave my co-star a kiss (not play-acted since nobody
was watching), and leaned back, my heels still round
his hips. As the first mate's deck was cold, I used my
coveralls to make my pillow and his coveralls our
floor-covering.
And somehow in the leaning back, in the pillow
placement, in Warner climbing on board, we'd rotated
90, so that our sides, not his back, faced the wall.
Diane and Chester wouldn't be checking for a while, but
when they did the eyeball, we'd be better blocked.
"Stage-positioned for viewable presentation" -- I
studied acting in college.
As nice as Warner is as a guy, his hairy butt shouldn't
be bouncing like a basketball between the audience and
me.
I wasn't pleased about the semen, but don't cry over
spilt milk.
I kept my eye on the drill holes, ready to encore.
After all, Welding Crew #138 had the rest of the
afternoon.
And you never know! After this war's done, there might
be movie opportunities opening up. Maybe in the little
studios in the Tenderloin District? The ones where I
wouldn't have to give up my welding job.
*****
Sure enough, our one act did the trick for Diane and
Chester. (Get it? One-act play and the you-know-what
act.) Wedding on an anchored transport newly outfitted
to Win the War. Bride, groom, best man and matron of
honor -- Welding Crew #138. The other crews stood with
torches raised, aisle alit with flames of blue.
I told Warner he had to give the bride a real kiss,
even if he had to sneak it in the galley. I guess he
did, because she came out giggly, redoing her little
pearl buttons and winked at me, Rosie to Rosie.
And Warner did leave Kaiser. He couldn't say where, but
where he was heading they said he'd never know what he
was fabricating. He did know that they'd checked his
gas tungsten credential, what they'd want for
magnesium, stainless and aluminium.
Welding Crew #138: Alice Jean Crowder, chief, Chester
Estes, Diane Estes and one new hire -- Kaiser
Shipyard's best burners.
A great thing about Kaiser, of course, is that they we
have our own hospital. Diane was in the bed next to
mine, girls born not a day off from nine months after
the USS George D. Prentice. Mine's as cute as a kitten
and has that wayward lick of hair. Stan never would
have noticed Warner's because Kaiser makes welders wear
hardhats.
Diane and I both wanted to name ours Rosie, so she and
Chester settled on Rosemary and I opted for Rosalyn.
END
ENDNOTES
At its peak, the Kaiser Richmond workforce was 27
percent female. And for these broads to make warships,
Kaiser had to turn a profit. Accounting looked at our
Rosies, the cost of maternity wards and the lost
productivity and made its recommendation to Employee
Benefits. In providing birth control to married and
single, Kaiser Permanente was on its way to becoming
America's most successful HMO.
And having briefly mentioned America's second favorite
pastime in the story, did you know about the All-
American Girls' Baseball League started in 1943? The
Rockford Peaches, Kalamazoo Lassies and Grand Rapids
Chicks kept the Midwest buying hot dogs. Rivet gun,
welding torch, catcher's mitt -- Rosies doing their
part. Mayonnaise on that, sir?
Next time you're in the Bay area, visit the Rosie the
Riveter World War II Home Front National Historical
Park in Richmond. And tip your hardhat, Jennifer.
HOLLY ON THE WEB
Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way
to update the various servers. As literary errors (or
just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll
repair that which is salvageable on
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.
You can contact me via the site's message form, that
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.
I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more
cleanly.
Holly
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 29