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

   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
yhe 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

   From: observer@onramp.net (observer)

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: **New - Meeting Shirley [Damn You Charlie][2/3] M/F Rom

   Date: 20 Jun 1996 02:32:00 GMT

   ***"Meeting Shirley" subtitled "Damn You Charlie"***

   by Observer (c) June 1996, all rights reserved - Edited by Chris

   Part Two of Three Parts

   ***

   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.'

   *****

   The music was turned low as we drove back to Houston.

   "That was .." We both laughed as we tried to say the same thing at the
same time.  "That was fun," I said as she let me go first.

   "Oh God, I can't remember when I had so much fun," was her emphatic
response.

   I squirmed around trying to control my burgeoning erection.  Alone at
last with Shirley, my cock was making its presence known even more so than
it had numerous times during the day.

   And Shirley noticed, with a giggle.  "Oouewee, you sure get hard a lot."
The challenge was back, but with a completely different edge.

   "Right," I said flatly.  We both were silent for a few moments.

   Then I said, "Why not, you are one sexy young woman, and you know it."

   "Well, I didn't before, but I do now.  Last night and today I discovered
something, and I like it.  I like it a lot."

   "Brazen hussy."

   Shirley stretched and pushed her breasts out.  Then shifting around in
the seat, she leaned against her door and curled her legs up on the seat.
This almost gave me a shot of the bulge in her bikini, something I had done
my best not to stare at during the day.

   "Jack, I have never felt so, umm, sexy, in my whole life.  My entire
body is tingling."

   "Yea, me too, but we can't do anything."

   "I don't know if I'm ready yet or not.  But I do trust you enough to
tell you how I feel."

   "Thank you." I gave Shirley a genuinely sincere smile to let her know I
appreciated what she had said.  This seemed to raise her level of
confidence even more.  I was being judged, I knew it, and was damn glad the
grade appeared to be A+ so far.

   Then, curiosity aroused, she asked, "Why can't we do anything?"

   "Because I promised Charlie I wouldn't try to fuck you."

   "What," she sputtered and raised her voice.  "That asshole.  That
lowlife.  How dare he.  You just wait till I see that no good, rotten,
son-of..." Her words trailed off as she internalized what she was going to
do to Charlie.  Her reaction was so comical I couldn't help but laugh,
which served to direct her ire at me.

   "And what, pray tell, are you laughing about?  Both of us are horny, I'm
not ready to do anything, you say you promised you wouldn't, and now you're
laughing.  What the hell is so funny." Then she broke down in giggles,
unable to keep up the facade of fake-wounded ego.

   But she was genuinely pissed at Charlie.  'Better him than me,' I
thought, as I heard her mutter, "He has no right, or not m..."

   We gave each other one of those looks that are supposed to only pass
between long-married and thoroughly enamored and sensitive couples.

   Shirley and I had reached a new plateau.  I liked it and I could tell
she did, too.  Somehow it seemed as if Shirley had known me forever.

   Communion-of-the-soul silence crept into the car.  I could feel her
focus, her eyes watching me as I half concentrated on the road, half
concentrated on her.  A good fifteen minutes passed in this manner, when
she suddenly blurted, "Let me give you a hand job.  I know a little bit
about how to do that."

   Of all the things Shirley could have said, she had just said the most
unexpected.  I almost wrecked the car.  A whirlwind of thoughts cascaded
through my brain as I fought to imagine what on earth had aused her to say
she wanted to give me a hand job.  I hadn't had a hand job in too many
years to count, but suddenly it sounded like the best idea of the decade.

   "You just wanna see what I've got, little girl," I said crudely.

   Then I temporized with, "And I wanna see yours.  So if you show me
yours, I'll show you mine."

   Shirley did a tinkle laugh again, then said, "I don't wanna just wook at
it, I wanna pway wif it.  You gotta little dolly I can pway wif?  Ouch, I
can't believe I'm babytalking." Then she said with a smirk, "I wanna do
something nasty."

   I started looking for a place with some privacy where we could park. 
The next exit sign said LaMarque - 2 miles.

   "Jack, I'm almost ready to find out what it is to make love.  When I'm
awake, anyway.  I guess I'm supposed to play hard to get or something.  But
I don't really feel like it, I mean I don't feel like playing hard to get.
But I don't want to be easy either.  Shit."

   "Don't worry about it Shirley, nothing but some heavy petting is going
to happen tonight, and I can't wait to get my hands on your body.  Is that
rotten, or what?" I was grinning -- leering -- at her with turns of my head
as I continued toward the exit.

   "It isn't rotten if I want you to," she said with a smile.  Shirley was
looking down at her hands in her lap, which were kneading each other with
nervous energy.  "Besides," she said with a giggle, "I want to see if
that's all you, or you have a sock in your pants."

   The next exit presented itself, and we left the freeway with me driving
almost completely on auto-pilot.  Shirley had eased the hem of her wrap up
to the point where her fat little mound looked at me from under the wrap.
She voluntarily (or unconsciously) was rubbing her hands very slowly across
her thighs.  Her nipples were making bullets in the bikini top.

   I may have been turned on; Shirley was in orbit.

   A deserted shopping center under construction was just a few hundred
yards from the freeway, and I found a quiet place behind the nearly
finished building to park.  As one, we dove into the back seat and began
trying to absorb each other whole.

   Shirley plopped into my lap with one of her legs on each side of mine.
Her knees were bent, and my slumped position allowed her to rub her most
erotic center against my still clothing- captured cock.

   It was wonderful, except my dick hurt from the confinement.

   I said so.  "Dammit, that hurts.  Let me take it out, please."

   She pulled back just far enough to give me room to push down the bathing
suit, then got in the way trying to help.  Eventually we got the job done,
Shirley giggling, and me cussing.

   "Ouch, dammit that hurts."

   "Oh shut up, I wanna help."

   "Okay, okay, you pull on each side, I'll take care of the front."

   As more and more of my cock appeared to her avid gaze, her pulling hands
slowed down until, with all of my throbbing erection exposed, and most of
my balls, she stopped.  There was still enough sunlight for me to see the
expression on her face, and it was comical.  Even with the slight sunburn,
I could see her flush, then turn pale as she looked at my manhood.

   With a visible swallow, she said timorously, "All of that, is supposed
to go in tiny little me?"

   "Maybe not at first, but yea, eventually."

   Shirley looked doubtful, then reached out tentatively to touch me.

   I was leaking, and she smeared the fluid around in little circles.  My
young girl friend was playing, and I was going nuts.  Having enough of that
for the moment, she shifted up to straddle me again, and began kissing my
face while working her bikini covered crotch on my uncovered tumescence. 
Now that was fun.

   Small shudders captured her body as we kissed and fondled, while her
cunt rode against my hardness.  My hands cupped her ass, and found real
muscle where I expected only softness.  Shirley may have looked soft, but
underneath the smooth-as-silk skin she had terrific, but not overdone,
muscle development.

   In the closed confines of the car, the smell of her skin, mixed with
sun-tan lotion, what was left of the perfume, and a light musk, sneaked
into my nostrils.  I inhaled deeply to capture more of her erotic scent. 
Then I nuzzled her neck and shoulders, kissing with moving lips and mobile
tongue.

   After long minutes -- or long hours, I don't know which -- I lifted her
up by the waist and deposited her on the seat next to me.  Spreading her
legs with one hand to cup her sex, I wrapped the other hand around her back
and pulled her to me for more sweet kisses.

   She was more than ready.  The small shudders became large shudders,
which turned into a respectable orgasm as I squeezed and pulled at her fat
mound.  Her tongue found the inside of my mouth, and she pushed her breasts
against me with abandon.

   As she trembled and quaked to her climax, I gradually leaned back while
keeping my active hand busy giving her pleasure.  When she finally pushed
my groping hand away from her suddenly too-sensitive flesh, we were almost
lying down in the back seat of my car.  Her hand immediately found my
erection, and she began clasping me, then pumping me, as she tried to
return the pleasure she had just experienced.

   From somewhere inside, my command voice said, "Kiss it.  Make love to me
with your mouth." Shirley obeyed without even a momentary hesitation.  It
was only after getting a taste of my precum on her lips that she realized
what I had just done to her.

   Looking up at me, she gave me a momentary glare, then a look of pretty
confusion and contemplation as she suddenly realized there was more to me
than she had seen so far.  Emotion was thick in my throat as I said
hoarsely, "Suck me."

   For a moment, my girl looked defiant.  Then with a shrug, she said
matter-of-factly, "Why not." Then she lowered her head and gave me the
worst blow job of my life.  It was sort of wonderful.

   Snagging teeth, lips too loose then too tight, as she tried to suck the
end of my dick off, Shirley had not a clue how to go about making love to a
man's pride and joy.  Her tongue made a couple of tentative motions, and
her hand clasped my cock with entirely too much strength.

   It didn't matter.

   I came almost immediately.  More, I think, from a too-full seminal
reservoir aggravated by the all day sexual tension and recent caresses --
and self defense -- than from any likely future addiction to Shirley's
style of oral copulation.

   One, then another gush of hot seed squirted into her surprised mouth. 
The first caught her unprepared and she choked.  The second caused her to
back hastily away from my spurting manhood and start hawking and spitting
while making grim reaper faces at me.

   I came like a whale.  And Shirley, bless her, had the courtesy to
continue to massage my erupting cock until I was finished.  Her reaction to
my explosion had loosened her fingers around my shaft.

   That, and the semen she had spit and drooled out of her mouth when I
first started cumming, provided slick measure for her rubbing fingers and
hand.

   As I came down from the heights, she kept gently rubbing my now overly
sensitive organ, and looking down at it pensively.  I could only hope that
our first effort at mutual exploration hadn't turned her off to future
events.

   My apprehension grew as Shirley remained silent while I used one of the
towels to clean up.  After pulling my swimsuit back up, I helped her return
to the front seat, then followed her.  Neither of us spoke a word until
well after we were back on the highway toward Houston.

   Irrepressible Shirley was quiet, too damn quiet.  After finally finding
a woman who just might be my long sought love, I was afraid that I had gone
to far and turned her against me.  It looked as if my 'little head' had
gotten me in trouble.

   Trying to find a way around the wall that now seemed to exist between
us, I said, "I think the next time we try to make love, it will be in a
nice bed, with some wine, and all night to get it right."

   Shirley didn't respond at first.  Then she looked over at me.  I could
see a small tear in one eye when I glanced away from the highway
momentarily to gauge her reaction.  'Damn,' I thought.  'I did push her too
far, too fast.  Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to cum in her mouth.'

   Then I got a big surprise.

   "I don't know how," said Shirley flatly, then she started to cry a
little.  "God, I was awful.  I feel like a klutz."

   Intense feelings of relief and joy surged into my heart.  'Gad,' I
thought, 'If that's what was wrong with her, I know just the cure.'

   I chuckled lightly, then held up my hand when she bridled.  "Don't you
laugh at me, dammit.  It's not funny."

   "I'm not laughing at you, I'm relieved."

   "Are you sure?" she asked pensively, then, "What did you mean by that
crack?" On that note I knew my new-found, almost in love, friend was back
in control.

   "You have no idea just how erotic what you just said can be to a man. 
Shirley, dear heart, I have never had a virgin.  You just don't understand
men.  Believe me, it will be my greatest pleasure and joy to teach you
anything you want to learn, and a few things you might not even imagine."

   "Shit, I'm not a virgin." Then she went back in silent mode.

   "Oh damn, I blew it." This was all I could think of to say.  It seemed
to help, and she began glancing at me, then shifted around so she could
look at me full on, the way she had been sitting on the way down to
Galveston.

   "I don't care if you're not a virgin, even if you did get my hopes up.
Like I said, in many ways, you just don't understand men."

   "I do too."

   "No you don't."

   "Yes, I really do.  My grandfather taught me.  And he knows everything,
or so he says."

   "OK, so you understand men.  Do you understand that a woman's virginity
isn't very important to building a lasting relationship?  Do you understand
that I am old enough and have screwed around enough that there is no way I
could reasonably expect any female I want to be with to also be a virgin?
It's the late sixties, hon, and all the unicorns have disappeared. 
Virginity is now an official myth."

   This seemed to hearten Shirley.  She brightened up a little, although
she still looked at me as if trying to read my mind.  Then she said, "I got
drunk."

   "OK."

   "No, I mean really."

   "Again, OK"

   "You shit.  Let me talk."

   "OK"

   The tension was broken.  I relaxed and resolved to listen to whatever
she wanted to say, for however long she wanted to talk.

   ***

   End of Part Two of Three parts

   If any part is missing from your server, E-Mail me, I will respond.

   observer@onramp.net

   From: observer@onramp.net (observer)

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: **New - Meeting Shirley [Damn You Charlie][3/3] M/F Rom

   Date: 20 Jun 1996 02:36:16 GMT

   O

   ***"Meeting Shirley" subtitled "Damn You Charlie"***

   by Observer (c) June 1996, all rights reserved - Edited by Chris

   Part Three of Three Parts

   ***

   "Well.  I didn't start really developing until two or three years ago. I
was an ugly duckling."

   "Doubt that."

   "No, really.  Please be quiet, or I'll freeze up."

   I was silent.

   "Anyway, all of a sudden, I got boobs.  All the boys who ignored me
before suddenly wanted to screw me.  I was revolted.  I had a few dates,
but a couple of hand jobs was all any of those assholes got out of me. 
Bastards."

   Shirley continued to pour out her heart.  I knew this was a catharsis
for her.  I resolved to go shoot all the assholes who had hurt her. 
'Damn.'

   "If it wasn't for my grandfather, I would probably be more screwed up
than I am.  I'll introduce you to him sometime, he lives in Houston. 
You'll like him, I promise."

   I knew I would love her grandfather, if she said so and wanted me to.

   "My grandfather paid for me to go to a clinic in Minnesota.  I had
something wrong with my pituitary gland.  They have a complicated name for
it that means arrested development.  They also have an experimental drug.
In my case it worked."

   'Too right it worked,' I thought.

   "That's why I'm so short.

   "After I got out of high school and away from all the boys I hated, I
decided to start dating for real.  That's when it happened.

   "It happened about, oh, I guess six or seven months ago.  I started
dating this asshole.  He was nice at first.  We had a good time.  But I
still didn't trust him.  I was right.  Oh, I thought I was a little bit in
love, and I told him so.  I guess that may be why he did what he did.

   "One night we were at a party at his apartment and I think he spiked my
drink.  It was about three o'clock in the morning when I woke up next to
him.  My privates were sore and there was a little bit of blood.  He knew I
was pissed because I grabbed his dick and balls and tried to pull them out
of his body."

   I resolved to never piss her off that bad.  My cock and balls tried to
crawl up inside me to find a hiding spot as I continued to listen to her
story.

   "He started screaming."

   She smiled with the memory of revenge.  "Somehow he got away and he
started yelling at me, calling me names.  I screamed back at him and said I
was going to turn him in for rape.  I also told him I would file for child
support if I was pregnant."

   Shirley was silent for a moment.  I said very, very softly, "I'm
falling, falling, falling in love with you - killer." She smiled at me with
her best radiant-reward look.  The one that lit up her face and caused my
heart to flutter.

   "The bastard said he used a rubber.  I believe him, because nothing came
out when I checked, thank God."

   "I will hurt him.  I will cut off his balls and stuff them in his
mouth." I gave her all the support I could.

   "Thank you.  Anyway, I called a cab and went to my grandfather's house.
We talked off and on for two days.  I didn't turn the bastard in, but I
think my grandfather talked to him, 'cause he disappeared.  I heard he went
back home to some damned place in West Texas.  My grandfather probably
scared the shit out of him."

   "If you had told me, I would have put out a contract on him."

   "I believe you." Shirley was silent for a few moments, then she looked
at me with that trusting look that only children or women in love can truly
achieve.  "He had a wee-wee compared to you."

   My ego soared.

   My new-found love giggled, then sniffled.  She looked at me out of the
corner of her eyes, and said with a sly smirk, "The big giggle in high
school, was 'hung.' Now I know what it means."

   My ego left the stratosphere.

   Then she turned a little fearful.  "You will be gentle with me, won't
you?  I mean, I want you to do it to me." She was flushed with renewed
excitement and a little flustered at her own boldness.

   I smiled and glanced at her while I continued to drive.  "No, I will not
do it to you." Her face fell momentarily, until I said, "We will do 'it'
together.  Understand?"

   This earned me a quick kiss on the cheek.  Anything more would have been
dangerous since we were back in the city and nearing her domicile.  In a
word, I was ecstatic.  In just twenty-four hours, this feisty little girl
had nearly erased the pain and agony of a lost love that had eaten at my
soul for almost two years.

   Shirley was happy.  She turned up the radio a little and began to sing
along with whatever song was then playing while she repaired her face with
a kleenex.  I don't remember the song.  My mind was on other things.  And I
needed to tell her part of what was on my mind.

   I needed to buy some time.

   "Shirley," I said.  She reached over and turned off the radio, then gave
me her full attention.

   "When is your next period?"

   She thought for a moment, then said, "It's been 12 days today.  That
means 16 days exactly when I start again.  And I'm always on time."

   "Are you on the pill."

   "No, no reason to be."

   "Do you have a reason now?"

   "Maybe," she temporized.  "Is there a reason I should have a reason?"

   "That's for you to say, and me to find out."

   "What about your promise to Charlie?" Shirley wanted to prolong making
the commitment - and to tease me.  Females - bless 'em.

   "What Charlie meant, was for me not to try to bowl you over or take
advantage of your vulnerability.  He wanted me to wait and get to know you
as a person before I screwed your brains out."

   "You really think that's what he meant?"

   "Do you know something I don't know?"

   "No, not really.  Nothing important anyway.  So you really think that's
what he meant?"

   "Well no, now that you pin me down; but it's what I hope he meant.  Are
you going to get on the pill, or argue about Charlie."

   "OK, OK, I'll make an appointment next week.  Eeek, I sound so clinical.
So then what do we do?" Shirley was slightly flushed beyond what could be
accounted for from the sun.  Without a doubt, she had a mind of her own,
and that mind had decided I would be the male participant the first
conscious time she had sex.

   "Right answer.  Now here's how things will have to be.  You and I are
going to have a weekend together at my apartment in two weeks.  We can see
each other next weekend, and I want to if you don't already have plans. 
This coming week I have to clean up some old business - shut a door, so to
speak.  By next weekend, the slate will be clean and then I want to spend
all of my free time getting to know you better."

   A look of complete trust, mixed with a little fear, came over Shirley's
heart-shaped face as she absorbed what I was saying.  Her ice blue eyes
drilled into me.  Her cupid's bow mouth puckered up just a trifle as she
chewed on my words.  Then her look hardened and she said, "You mean get rid
of another woman?"

   This startled me, but I rose to the challenge.  "No, not exactly.  But
almost.  I can't explain it very well, but it's old business.  Charlie
knows all about it, except what I have to do this week.  Ask him. 
Remember, he said 'trust him, not me.' Eventually you will or will not
trust me.  To feel truly comfortable making love with you, I truly must get
rid of old baggage that was supposed to go away a long time ago, but keeps
coming back to haunt me.  This time, I intend to drive a stake through its
heart."

   I meant everything I said.  I suppose Shirley could feel the truth in my
words, because she visibly relaxed and simply said, "OK.  But you better
take me somewhere, anywhere, next weekend, and the following weekend, you
better be ready.  I have a lifetime stored up for somebody, and I want it
to be you.  I mean, uh..."

   "Oh forget it, I know what you mean.  As my Brit friends would say, 'You
need a damn good seeing to.' And I'm the lucky guy who gets to see to it,
right?"

   "Right, and I'm the lucky girl - woman - who finally gets to know."

   We had arrived at the old hotel - YWCA dorm - while talking.

   Shirley leaned over and I met her halfway.  We kissed as if we were
dancing, and Shirley was letting me lead.

   Finally, I pulled away, reluctantly whispering, "I gotta do radio in the
morning.  Brunch tomorrow be ok?  About one-thirty?"

   "Sure, I'd love to, " she said against my lips.  "And don't you be
late."

   "Giving orders already?"

   "About some things, yes."

   "About other things?"

   "I still need a little time to think about it."

   "Out of the car wench, I need my beauty sleep."

   Shirley bit me on the lip - gently.  Then we scurried around sorting out
her things and making sure her bag was packed.

   As she got out of the car, she paused and said, "It was St.  Patrick's
Day," then waited for my reaction.

   To which I replied, "Duh?"

   "You shouldn't have said anything tacky about Gretchen's green hair
'cause it was St.  Patrick's Day.  But I'm glad you did." On that note, my
devious young girlfriend dashed into the building while I kept protective
watch - and marveled.

   Then I went home.

   *****

   I got caught doing it again.

   My 'news report' on the sighting of the gorgeous and delightful Shirley
at the beach in Galveston earned me a chewing out by the station brass.  I
liked my part-time radio work, and fortunately I didn't get fired.  After
the ass chewing over the phone, Harvey, the station manager, wanted to know
if she was really that good looking.

   I assured him she really was that gorgeous.

   He accepted my invitation to join Shirley and me for brunch, and
promised to bring his wife Linda along.  I knew Linda to be a taller
version of Shirley, and I anticipated the looks of envy Harvey and I would
earn as a result of any entrance we all made together.

   Indeed, it worked out that way.

   Harvey and I went way back - many years before he met Linda.  The
standing joke between us was that if I had seen her first, Harvey would
have been on the outside looking in.  Except it almost wasn't a joke.  I
admired and liked Linda more than any other female I knew save one, before
Shirley entered my life.  Harvey got drunk one night and confessed that
Linda had screwed his brains out one time over me.

   It seems that I had given Linda her one and only full body massage, in
an effort to teach Harvey how to do it, and under his watchful eye.  He
didn't see everything my hands did, because I'm still here to tell about
it. After I left, she attacked his ass big time.

   I think one of the reasons he wanted to go to brunch was to help get me
hooked.  Some married guy thing.  Maybe he wanted a female between me and
Linda.  I could have told him it would never have worked with me and Linda,
except for a night or two, but I didn't bother.

   Whatever he thought was mostly at the unconscious level.  Overtly, he
would have said he trusted me alone and naked with Linda, and meant it. 
The truth is, he was probably right, but I didn't want to be tested.

   Shirley was dressed to the nines.  This means in the same awesome
fashion as the night we went to Romano's.  The hemline was lower, but the
style was still simple sun dress.  I almost passed out.  Her dress was
white.  I couldn't help an instant comparison with another day and another
woman dressed in white sun-dress style apparel.

   Shirley won the comparison, hands down.  I was relieved.

   The two girls fell into instant cahoots.  The minute they laid eyes on
each other, the female conspiracy closed about them like a breath of wind
mixed with sheet steel.  Harvey and I were left on a deserted beach to fend
for ourselves.

   So we talked sports, radio, flying saucer rumors, the ever-changing
exchange rate for Japanese Yen, and kept trying to look down the dress of
the other one's companion.  Normal guy stuff.

   Since they were leaning across the table whispering to each other,
covert looks down their decolletage was easy.

   Harvey and I beamed at each other in our own version of a conspiracy -
male.  Linda had on a low cut 'aren't I gorgeous - eat your heart out' -
electric blue version of the same dress Shirley was wearing.

   Her tits were simply magnificent.  I blush to admit that I almost got
hard.  But then, Shirley had pumped me up with a squeeze when she got in
the car.  Brazen hussy.

   The two of them turned every head in the place when we walked in, and
again when they did the female entourage to the bathroom bit.  Harvey and I
immediately got into serious conversation as soon as they were out of
hearing range.

   "You hit a home run, asshole." Harvey was ever the blunt spoken.

   "Yea, didn't I just." I grinned with that smug, superior, male look of
triumph.

   "Is she a keeper?"

   "Don't know yet, but I think so, maybe.  Actually we haven't visited the
prone position yet, so while I think so, the jury is still out."

   "Jack, I'm surprised.  You mean to tell me ol' home run Harry hasn't
gotten to first base with that sweet, young, female person?"

   "Oh shut up buttlick.  No, I haven't, not yet anyway.  I haven't tried."

   This intrigued Harvey, who said, "Oh.  Well now.  Either you're serious
or her pappy has got a big ass gun and you're afraid he knows how to use
it."

   "Yea, well both.  I like her.  And you know old Charlie at the
drugstore?"

   "Yea, I know the old goat.  I saw him out with Mildred Painter a couple
of nights ago.  He was trying to grope her ass in the parking lot of
'Gator's,' and she was giggling and acting as if she liked it."

   "Sounds like him.  Well, anyway, he introduced me to Shirley.  Says she
has potential and I need to take my time before fucking her bowlegged.  I
trust Charlie's advice, so that's what I'm doing."

   "Bullshit.  Charlie said don't fuck her, and he's got the goods on you,
so you won't.  At least for a while.  Why does he care?"

   "Hmmm," I demurred, "Uh, you could be, uh, accurate with your
interpretation.  And I have no idea why he cares beyond what he said."

   "She's kinda little.  You better take your time when you do get around
to sticking your horse cock in her."

   "Yea, you're right."

   The girls came back, turning numerous heads as they walked.  I started
to pay because Harvey said I owed him one for something I had done that
morning.  This intrigued both girls, and when they found out what that was
all about, Harvey ended up paying by way of apology, to me.

   They ganged up on him and roasted his ass.

   "What did he do?" Linda asked curiously.

   "Oh, nothing much, it's a radio thing." Harvey was being evasive.  He
had suddenly realized he might be in trouble.  He sure was.

   "Jack did a fake news report about our trip to Galveston," said Shirley.

   "What was wrong with that, Harvey?  Nobody cares that early in the
morning." Linda was going into attack mode.

   "You just can't do that kind of stuff on the air," protested Harvey,
digging his hole a little deeper.

   "Why not?" Both girls chimed at the same time.

   "It just isn't done," Harvey lamely concluded.

   "Well I think that's terrible," from Linda.

   "What Jack said was a lot better than some of the news we hear." Shirley
got her two cents into the ass chewing.

   "Right," said Linda.  "Wars and car wrecks, yuck.  What about a nice day
at the beach?"

   I grinned at his discomfort.  "Harvey, old son, around females, don't
every admit being a wet blanket to the progress of romance.  They will turn
on you and rend you into itty bitty pieces, even Linda."

   "OK, OK, I'll pay." Harvey gave up.

   To prove the point, both Linda and Shirley chewed on Harvey's ass some
more on the way to our cars, then we all hugged each other and they told
him they would forgive him if we could meet again the following Sunday.  He
agreed with a relieved grin, and we went our separate ways after Linda and
Shirley exchanged phone numbers.

   I hoped Harvey didn't catch a little hell on the way home.  I hoped he
caught a lot.

   We drove like crazy to get back to Shirley's place.  She was expecting
her grandfather to come by.  They were going on some kind of appointment
dealing with family business.

   After I dropped her off I noticed the lights were on in the drugstore,
so I rattled the door thinking Charlie might be around and I could talk to
him a bit about Shirley.  When he didn't answer, I guessed he had left the
lights on by mistake, and off I went.

   *****

   I took care of what can best be called 'a somewhat responsible act,' the
following week.  Something happened that burned itself into my heart and
soul for all time.  It is impossible for me to talk about it except in the
most oblique way.

   By the following weekend I desperately needed Shirley's company.

   We had only spoken a couple of times over the phone, for no more than
thirty minutes total.  And met once in the drugstore under Charlie s
watchful eye.  This was probably just as well, since Harvey told me Linda
and Shirley had phones growing out their heads from all the time they spent
yakking with each other.

   Those two had become lifelong buddies in the blink of an eye.  I
suspected a good deal of the conversation involved my humble self.

   Suddenly I felt like a nail confronted by two hammers, possibly more,
with Charlie and Harvey involved.

   Shirley may or may not have been totally what she appeared to be.  For
all I knew, the young woman could have been a reformed hooker who had
regained her virginity and was now on the hunt for a husband.  I doubted
it, but I had been fooled before.

   Most likely, in my mind, was something close to the story she had
related.  I would have bet cash that some details had been conveniently
left out, in particular those relating to her prior love life.

   'After all,' I thought, 'the term 'Female Mystique' didn't become
popular because women were totally open and honest in all their dealings.
While not obvious, I could still tell there were a lot of schemes and plans
circulating around in Shirley's pretty head.

   Sneaky, devious, underhanded bitch, were all terms of endearment as far
as I was concerned - if, and that was a big 'if,' the female being
described was bonded to me.  I could feel within myself that I was ready to
bond with Shirley, or someone like Shirley.  Charlie had been absolutely
more right than he could have possibly known.

   Shirley and I seemed to fit.  It was as if we had known each other for a
lifetime.  She seemed to anticipate my moves and moods with easy knowledge.
I didn't know or understand her as well as she seemed to know and
understand me, but I knew enough to draw some conclusions.

   'There are only a few questions remaining,' I thought.

   Was Shirley ready to bond?  I felt the answer to this was an almost
certain 'yes.'

   Was she ready to bond with me?  Again, I felt the answer was almost
certainly approaching an enthusiastic 'yes.' Shirley was comfortable with
me from the beginning.  She busted my balls when we first met as if she
were born for the job - but was willing to back off and use chicanery and
female persuasion when my male ego became aroused.

   Shirley's transformation had caught me completely off-guard; driving
directly to my carefully guarded center.  In a word, I was enchanted.

   Could she deal with the jerk in me?  So far so good.  What about her
hangups and inhibitions?  Uh-oh.  That could be a major problem.

   I knew my range of sexual inclinations, which were pretty broad-based.
And they tended to lean just a little toward male dominance with
enthusiastic female cooperation.  Every now and then, with the right woman,
an occasional role reversal added spice.

   'Yep,' I thought, 'Bonding with our sex lives would be the big hurdle.'

   As I drove home, the seed of an idea took root and started to grow.  By
the time I had arrived at my apartment, I had a well developed plan to
determine our fate.

   'Shirley love, get ready.  Here comes the one man train.'

   Except, dammit, how do I get past Charlie, and why is he so protective
toward Shirley?



   The End - of The Beginning

   "Meeting Shirley," by Observer

   subtitled "Damn You Charlie"

   (c) June 1996, all rights reserved

   Edited by Chris

   *****

   Afterword:

   Stop.  Before you shoot me, please understand that the sequel will be
arriving on a news server near you with a week or so of this posting.  The
name of the sequel is 'Weekend with Shirley.'

   And there is a sequel to that.

   The sequence of stories in this series is as follows:

   A Night with Yokosan - Scheduled for posting in June

   Terri's Dilemma - Posted in April

   The Photographer's Daughters - Posted in May (Interlude, not important
to story line)

   Meeting Shirley - You're reading it.

   Weekend with Shirley - End of June

   Sequel to Weekend - End of July

   There may or may not be additional stories written as part of this
series.  I already have a germ of an idea for the sequel to the sequel.  We
will see what we will see.

   Over 50,000 people check into a.s.s., on a daily basis.  Damn few of you
bother to pay for your enjoyment with a simple thank you.  Until I started
bitching about this, my average response was one or two per story.  This is
ridiculous.  The net effect is that many good writers are leaving a.s.s.,
in favor of server based story archives, E-Mail to their friends, or just
not writing.

   So if you want to see more stories, especially the kind that are well
written, then get off your dead ass, and send a thank you to those authors
whose work you enjoy.  Yes, this means you, especially YOU.

   Because if you don't, you will soon not have anything much to read.

   *****

   As a reward to those who read the Afterword, here is an additional part
of 'Meeting Shirley.'

   *****

   At the time, I had hoped like hell Terri was pregnant.  We had both

   agreed that our long-term affair would be over at that point, if she

   was indeed pregnant with a baby I planted in her in lieu of the

   sperm bank.  I told her I had met someone else who was doing a good

   job of capturing my heart.

   At first she seemed a little sad, then brightened up, saying, "Well,

   I do love you.  I always will.  Why shouldn't you be happy?  I guess

   we really can't go on like this.  Especially when I'm going to have

   a baby." And she did.  Our bodies merged in the act of creation in

   a manner that seared into my brain.  Yet all through the act, little

   bits and pieces of Shirley intruded.  But I don't think Terri

   noticed.  She was intent on making a baby, and that's what we did.

   Charlie was another matter.

   The Real End

   "Meeting Shirley" by Observer

   Subtitled "Damn You Charlie"

   (c) June 1996, all rights reserved.

   Edited by Chris

   If any part is missing from your server, E-Mail me, I will respond.

   Adios for now . . .