Where’s My White Knight?
by John Wolf
A response to Caligynephobia: A Collection of Stories and Reflections
I spent the best part of my youth with my head in the stars. I threw a baton for the high school band in a white Esther Williams one-piece, covered with spangles. When I got looks from boys, it was for all the wrong reasons. By the time I was fifteen, I had a figure they build magazines around, and I don’t mean the ones next to Good Housekeeping, but the ones found in the backs of liquor stores or under counters near military training bases.
Me and my close friends Sissy, Darla, and Mary Beth would sit around plucking eyebrows in our skimpiest teddies, practicing the lusty looks from watching the movie Grease, and listening to 45s loud enough to keep my stupid brother from eavesdropping. He was always seeking peeks. To us, he was the just a clumsy clump of mud and grass stained jeans. Sissy had an older brother that I adored. He had dreamy hair. She was so lucky. She learned what made boys tick early on. But she didn’t keep any secrets. She told us everything. Maybe my lack of interest in boys was because Mom made me clean up after the boy in my house all the time. Later in life, I found that training useful, but still demeaning.
I was jealous of my girlfriends. They all had prefect skin and perfect hair. I was afraid of becoming a crater-face with skin that was so unfair, ready to errupt at any moment. I got kidding at school, so I just studied a lot. My favorite subject was Spanish. The teacher was the poster child for Glamour magazine, Miss Linda Collins. After I graduated from college I was surprised to find out she had changed her name to Joan Collins and became a British porn star. I guess she was good in many languages, especially body language. She didn’t have to go so far away to draw attention from men or boys. Every high school weenie I knew of drooled over her. I’ll bet they did more than drool when they saw her first movie.
Mary Beth was shy when I first met her, but she had a lusting for something that she couldn’t even explain. She had dreams that left us gaping. We all wanted to take a chance with a boy, but Mary Beth seemed to know too much. She wouldn’t admit she’d been with anyone, but she had gained a smug confidence the rest of us didn’t understand. It was probably why she had clear skin.
I remember the first time a boy came up to me and asked me to go to the drive-in with him. I was thinking about a movie I’d seen over the weekend, Rome Adventure, and how that God, Troy Donahue, laid smoldering kisses on Suzanne Pleshette under the olive trees, then this scrawny boy came up and popped my bubble. It was exactly what I wanted someone to ask me. It was all me and the gals talked about, take a chance, go ahead, you don’t have to go all the way. But it hit me too fast. I kicked the snot out of him. It just happened. I felt awful when I saw the shock on his face as he limped away. I never saw him again. But Darla did. Somehow they found each other in college.
We all ended up in Gainesville – go Gators – except the dollies that had rich fathers and good looks. Every one of them ended up pregnant. So much for the rhythm method. They ended up as trailer park moms. I decided to change my name from Micki to Michelle. It sounded so much more grown up. Most of the bozos from home did just the opposite. Billy McPhillips changed his name to BoDog. Darla was the only one that thought the name was cute. I can’t believe they got married and had three kids. I hear they’re still married. Well, good for them.
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Sissy’s older brother was on the football team and still made my panties wet when I saw him come over to see his sister. Of course, he had a blonde waiting down stairs in a convertible, while he made a quick stop to tell Sissy he’d pick her up to drive them back to their parent’s house for the weekend.
I was glad I was spared the chase around the water fountain in high school. My face cleared up and it had no craters, thank God. I got taller and the proportions were better suited for the dancing and the acting classes I took. I found my calling with acting and became a drama major.
I still had a lot of young men sending me gifts I couldn’t resist, but I was hungry for a career in Hollywood, as stupid as that sounds. But, I did make it through college without getting pregnant, and I did make it to Hollywood.
A Southern gal in a snake pit of guys in Hawaiian shirts open to their navels, wearing two or three gold chains around their necks and always on the prowl. I don’t think men ever really understand that when you have the responsibility of creating life inside your body to carry on the human race, sex as a sport, doesn’t make sense. I have to make my babies perfect from a marriage of body and soul. It’s hard to imagine why knights on white horses are an image of desire for women. Being dragged off to war in the back of Clydesdale with a man you’ve never seen outside his sheet metal suit is just not going to happen, if the girl has her head screwed on straight.
That’s exactly how I felt until I met Charlie Beauchamp. He had this big, beautiful, candy-apple red Harley-Davidson motorcycle and killer looks. He was tall, dark, and the best dresser in leather pants I had ever seen. There was no mystery under a metal suit. He had a full package of tight black leather, smooth, and soft to the touch. The first time I rode on the back of the bike and felt the vibration come up between my legs, I couldn’t catch my breath. I had to reach around Charlie’s thin waist, grab his tight abs and just hang on.
We’ve been riding out to the Burning Man Festival and spending the week for two years now with Charlie. I love the open air, blowing knots in my hair. I have my own leathers now and a couple of tattoos – an alligator on my bum and a Maori Indian ring around one arm. I never would have dreamed back in that little hick town I grew up in that I would find my perfect man, a sweaty lanky dude riding a motorcycle for kicks, but I did. I tried not to think it was because he is a lawyer during the day, making a six-figure income.
This interview was done at a tattoo stand on the desert, during a Burning Man Festival. I couldn’t help but be amazed at the number of beautiful women lining up for a another session under the vibrating needle, hanging on some derelict, looking like he just escaped from prison. This is the no fear generation.
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Thanks Mr. Earp - I love your stories. I just couldn't help but jump in with one of my own. |
John
Wolf
Thanks to all the Fox & Quill readers... John Wolf
