Monday, April 10, 2006
Drive-By Lickity Lick
I hint of silk sari's. Of Greek Food. Of Chicago. And still everyone wants to hear of The Licking.
Let's call her Shirley, shall we?
Shirley's in her mid-50s. Relatively well put-together, if I'm being fair. A little on the garrish side, if I'm being truthful. And D-cup breasts. I know this, as anyone within earshot knows this. She likes to announce "they're boughten!"
I don't usually care, these things. You want green eye shadow? Knock yourself out, I respect you for expressing yourself. Larger breasts make you feel better? Go for it.
I'd "heard things" about Shirley, before I met her. She's a real pistol. Shirley looooooves those new D-cups, and she encourages you to take a look. Cop a feel. Shirl is getting her money's worth!
She's married to a pleasant enough guy, and as far as I know, scrutiny is for Ladies Only. Shirl also loves to touch and kiss other girls. Whether she's truly attracted to other women, or if it's a cute little game between her and her husband, I do not know.
So, I'd heard THANGS before I first encountered Shirley-and-The-Pips for the first time, a few months ago. She joined a large table of friends I was sitting with. True to form, Shirley was bawdy. Rowdy. Outrageous.
I guess. I suppose it's a matter of personal preference, when "life of the party" crosses over to "a bit tiresome." I know nothing about her besides her boobs, and though there must be more than that, she didn't have anything else to say. Surely there's more Shirley?
LAST FRIDAY EVENING, EARLY
I ran downtown to get Rani a going-away gift, and then found myself waiting with Momo at an outdoor cafe, for her hubby Mikey to get off work. We were then to run off for dinner and final good-byes. The temperature dropped, and we went inside, entering the bar with another couple, "Sharon" and "Dan."
Sharon and Dan made a beeline to friendly faces, and we followed. Said faces:
Shirl & Mr. Shirl!
I frantically whisper-warned to Momo, "THAT's Shirley! Watch out."
Shirley greeted Sharon by moving in behind her, and humping her like a dog. I was only pleased because I could then say to Momo, "See?"
It was standing room only, and Momo and I moved off to wait for Mike, and get out of Shirley's hump-line-of-fire.
But wait! I remembered that the last time I saw Sharon, I had been contemplating a tattoo, and NOW I have one! I had to show her how it turned out.
I called her over, "Look, I did it! I got it!" Unfortunately I was wearing a plain ol' black t-shirt, not conducive to viewing shoulder tattoos. Marcy and Sharon yanked down the back of my t-shirt, causing the front collar to tighten around my windpipe so that much gagging and choking ensued. But they got a peek.
A moment later, Shirley sidled up behind me out of the blue, and shimmied her breasts across my back.
GAAaaack! I moved away from her, and, through my teeth, seethed to Marcy, "she just rubbed those fake breasts all over my back."
Marcy responded, "Yeah I know. And I can't believe she licked your tattoo."
Sharon confirmed it: Shirley had snuck in and executed a drive-by-licking.
I had no idea! Had she slipped a date-lick drug into my drink?!! I guess I was too busy trying to get my breath from the t-shirt choking to have been aware of it.
How did this make me feel?
For the record: Not aroused. I'm no prude, dearies; there is a long list of ya's—all genders, races, and sexual preferences—that would be ALLOWED to lick my tattoo. In fact, I would be honored.
But Shirley was not on the list. In fact, I was *tuh-OTALLY,* shiveringly, creeped out, and I left feeling like I needed a shower, and wondering why on earth that woman acts like that: who she is besides a Double-D, if she has a job, if she's good at it, if she has kids, if she has any or all of those things and thinks it's fun to lick strangers, if her husband thinks it's adorable, at what age will she stop groping other women, if she really thinks it's cute, if she'd stop if she knew what people are *really* saying about her.
If a man had done the same thing, how would the incident have differed? I'd have felt the same way, but I imagine there would have been a little more interference and protection from those around me, both male and female. Isn't that interesting?
I've always wanted to throw my drink in someone's face, and this would have been a perfect, justifiable opportunity! I'm upset that I lost my chance, but not so upset that I'll hang out with old Shirl ever again: My entire shoulder broke out the next day; I'm not making it up.
I consider this a public service warning, then: watch out for little 'ol large-breasted red-heads with satan saliva.